In class we observed a film on the topic of toxic masculinity.
There is an arduous centrality to this topical material for me that is deeply personal and shabby, going to the heart of my failed attempt to get Protection From Abuse concerning Pitt Neurobehavioral Research who used me in a cruel and unusual vivisection experiment, beginning in childhood, aided Administratively by the faction I thought might help me, resulting in profound personal tragedy. I think it was feckless on the part of the academic community to just assume they knew what was going on and for allowing a brutal child pornography team who horribly mutilated and left me brain-impaired in abduction crimes as a very little boy to extend their doings under the claim of research into an AIDS testing war game justified by the lewd notion that my tears of suffering over an unrequited love were precursor to harassment. It was not fair, but the military got so carried away with faculty support they chemically limited my procreative powers and violently prevented marriage.
Obviously the fact that I am unmarried due to the military is something they have the power to enforce. I was entirely on the side of and in sympathy with those who made this film. I was chemically castrated BECAUSE of this, not because of my behavior, in other words, I was punished by the military, calling themselves “feminazis” for the sin of un-masculine behavior, meaning, I did not, and repulsed the inducement to, date rape, which the law team at Pitt openly and caustically jeered saying I blew it and that it wouldn’t have been rape, a fact the woman herself promoted laughing, “why should you get another chance.”
The rabid who fed me a nerve agent, made two allegations: One, that my detection of their mirror hypnotic dialogue reflected adolescent cognitions of my own, and second that I had a nerve injury potentially making me aggressive. They had implanted the nerve injury and knew I did not know it was there. Their agent, R$o$s$a was hired to detonate the plasm through sexual performance to depict me as losing control to justify the AIDS testing guinea pig operation that I proved was pre-planned when kidnapped and mauled as a child.
All of the tears and isolation, forces of coercion, humiliation and peer pressure that I repulsed are represented as doing harm to formative character in the film, yet I was never credited with the fact that despite many opportunities, the starlet of the text remained untouched and unafraid of me, excepting in so far as providing text about me when they proceeded to cover for child mutilation in their extended war game.
The murderers used to laugh at me as being the boy without a face to call my own, living in the cage of my inability to comprehend things after they pushed a nearly lethal, possibly sarin-laced nerve agent hallucinogen on me as a child of epic intensity while forcing me to breath paint thinner in a bag and soaked rag over my face, in a darkened garage where I was held in terror and bondage as they spoke to me in tongues, literally the age of watching Captain Kangaroo. No help ever came.
This meant I was a pussy, and these terrorists, almost all of them from the Lawrenceville and Warrendale KKK tagged me, “queerbait.” It got back to the NAACP who said I was an insignificant white who deserved to be humiliated.
What I believe about manhood is actually captured in the life of a woman named Anna Politkovskaya who was murdered, a mother with children in Putin’s Russia for documenting in her journalism the plight of enlisted men in the Russian Army, their case disappearances, their bereaved mothers, and what she witnessed in Chechnya. Although she was killed on Putin’s birthday, there is a saving grace in that Russia released a film about Chechnya, titled: House of Fools, about a mental health ward suddenly caught in the foray. It is an epic romantic comedy that changed the picture for me regarding my entire idea of cinema analysis.
The scariest part of all this for me was that women rejected me for being “soft”. I can’t imagine how Rosa’s gang justified the brutal rape of Chin I, the deaf Korean orphan with epilepsy and downs syndrome who taught me sign language, by calling it, “Evangelia Karmas,” or avenging angel of karma, but that’s Reagan for you.