To begin, because of AIDS, it isn’t rationally terribly consistent to speak of a Gay and Lesbian Alliance. Worse, to do it as a platform for a Gail and Leslie Alliance from Carnegie Mellon’s MachineIntelligence division who clocked the Les-lie behind a testing war game to the social science of rumor and cliques that processed the story line means the very strange riddle of Gays affirming the nightmare of attacks on themselves.
Presumably Gay men are intellectuals. Accordingly they have much to say about the status quo and are no more interested in yielding their place in the Civil Rights Movement to foolhardy notions about human rights than Black people are, so in debating advanced issues like earth’s capacity they are likely to cynically express sympathy for genocidal views. Blacks are themselves notoriously nativist, demanding a wall between Mexico and Arizona. Blacks were involved in the My Lai Massacre, at least so far as the cover up.
The case is clear cut. Seattle, as a people, passed up a chance to be important by siding with Miles Laboratory, notorious for insane crime, and Bayer, who created Zylon B, when Primo Levi embraced them at the University of Pittsburgh over the AIDS planet plan. I brought all this forward many years ago only to be laughed at, tortured and subjected to horrifying disgraces by various thugs under Obama at UW, and in the local media empire of New York.
In yielding to journalism’s dependence upon reality and the virtues of brevity we come upon the surreal notion that despite how obviously Hollywood specializes in optical illusion, the public media empire completely recoil at allowing announcement of what has been completely unearthed, as though nothing is real, nothing is relevant, nothing is left to dread as terrifying destruction of our dignities.
The Obamas have put me to death, that’s perfectly obvious. I’m sluggish, can’t get it up, have diabetes, and am very forgetful. 56 is young in my line, and getting to this age was a surreal, cruel and unusual series of hardships. My stomach makes public announcements of an unwanted nature, I am on heart medicine and many local slanderers have enjoyed a lifetime career owning my name. There remains however a question of what they have really done and what their potentialities really have been.
Everyone who knows me remembers and understands that I have had a terrible, lifelong run in with Peter Gabriel of the gaslighting, acid rock scene, who has engaged in no less that warfare towards me. His crimes are of such extravagant irrationality thatbillion dollar institutions like NASA cover for them asexperiments. Stay out of court, they advise thevictim. Gabriel put me to use on a song called That Voice Again at a time when his admirers were privately admitting to me thatthey had no concern whatsoever about AIDS, and in fact felt it was a neededremedy to the planet’s condition and political stability of London. Among the men who wrote to me, shortly after MingNa Wen, an actress working for Oliver Stone pulled a series of big dirties atCMU towards me, was Jim Marrs, his closest advisor on the film JFK. In one of his later books, published recently, Marrs states, G. Patrick Flanagan, author of Pyramid Power, has developed a devicecalled a neurophone, which can carry sound to the brain without the use of theauditory system. Using “hyperspacial nested modulation” technology, this devicetakes a complex signal, such as the sound of an orchestra, and electrically processes it into square waves approximating brain waves”. So the combination of factors arrives at the condition used to smother the detonation of an impacted neuroplasm so that police could flatten my emotions and leave me in the dreadful half alive condition where I somehow managed to be a straight A student, thinking clearly and honestly, studying long hours, despite the raging storm of their experimental voices, which continue and the rumors about which continue to infuriate the police and leave me helplessly isolated socially.
In Marrs’ explorations of the occult he doesn’t mention ECKANKAR the center of which cult are letters from a man named Paul to Gail, just as Gail’s letters which Paul McCartney sent t o me and then demanded belonged to him, spell out themagical mystery of the bullets from the TexasSchoolbook depository, showing the degree to which theFEMA at Pitt did not just plan to suspend the U.S. Constitution but effectively abolished it. It sort of shunts around malingering these days, dog eared and beaten to death. There’s no real time to explore the meaning of agent names in Pittsburgh like Marzlak andMarsden, but they provide an interesting presence in looking at Jim Marrs who wasin fact a dancer at JackRuby’s carousel club the night before JFKdied, andemerged swinging from the shadows for RR.
If you cannot accept that Ihave my own views andlifestyle as a dignified, law abiding person, I am going to have to ask for aPublic Defender.