This essay is the first such to be conscientiously not blogged. It is meant as an instructional essay consigned to peers. After writing this morning’s The Strawberry Traveller, and so renaming my blog, I face twofold: a difficult struggle with carpal tunnels, necessitating saving my arms for school, wanting simply to provide an example of how The Strawberry Traveller can be used as a point of departure for scholars. It involves the centrality of Sands of Iwo Jima in the Hitler-Reagan plot and can be used for a litmus in study of my personal notebooks. Sands of Iwo Jima is central because conspicuously innocent of Hitler-Reagan semiotics. In terms of psychological defense against the barrage of English slander and fraud it should be noted the letters were taken in stealth by force and justified as theft, when in reality they were authored for a staged and phony found art plot. Had I been asked I would have given them willingly, but framing me was central to defense of the truly guilty. England has no honor in the matter, but they can hardly be expected to back down.
The extrusion of the carrot tape was known to be planned as a sale, and the presence of NEVA personnel stationed for defamation at Natural Language Laboratories in CMU would be conspicuous had defense been intended or allowed. This line was a multi-connotation front line by Pentagon-Disney mayhem, fronting for the front. It voided civil rights, targeted a victim of torture, and allowed millionaire rockers to torture and ruin me, while escalating the fantasms of their method in horrifying precedent shattering off-the-record escalation. Wearing the mask of traditional values, enemy required, they put out an application in satirical seduction please apply. The minutes demonstrate the colossus, Celeron Road, the Caliban Bookstore, the conscription to the Post-Gazette Roundtable where my father’s killers put me on trial as a Red Witch, ostensibly in the name of HAIR, as a medium of flesheaters. In the background, Martin Andelman, who in high school could name every cop downtown and where they lived, drank and how they voted, selling a persona by ridicule in a Jewish solidarity program.
This was the drama school of the war effort in the AIDS attack.
The fighting man’s ethic evoked to bring men back to reality disabled me as a non-conformist in gradeschool. The summit of achievement was blocked this way also by the fist of reality in Dealey Plaza, a striker by Hitler against civilian command. The theme of the film is planting the seed for the Mechanic in Dealey Plaza by sowing the notion of the rise of the son. The discrete intellectual foundations of the jugular attack to come at this time, working symbols of Wayne as the fatherland figure to follow orbits American values as poster child affair of what Hollywood could do in the light of FDR, and serves as a pivot in the ups and downs of Hollywood accountability, but the periscope was on Broadway in the crosshairs of civic light metaphysics forming a revolutionary art theory to payback America for the Third Reich, playing the embarrassment of a child molested for a penitent of Hawklips and barefoot paparazzi feeling out for the hidden spasm hexed as a queerbait, snivelled as biological irritability by the sadism of British chickenliness.
How boring, but fatal, the backdagger.