The tragic evidence that America has already fallen can be seen in the faces of fraternity row. Martha Gellhorn wrote of Dachau’s liberation several unforgettable observations but the most diminishing and absolute was the woman who never varied or relented in howling one long shrill pitch of sound, leading Martha to comment: for her we came too late; among the sophomores in American colleges, wearing the squinted eye patch of the queer scientist, musing, I must see this marvel for myself, they agree in secret equally dryly among university administration to take one sacrifice in their demand for one small child. Dachau, in this sense, is a cloistered room just off campus, a closed forum for special detail. In this intense, ongoing campus outrage, without protest, Midori Goto achieved absolute domination by the craft of exquisitist secrecy. She achieved a paralinguistic miracle transforming hideous sadism into the language of fetish. I have never known a people so driven to commit acts of cruelty under the auspices of sincerity. I think that must have been what Gellhorn meant when she called American hate criminals ravenous. Whatever else Goto is cunning and extremely dangerous, while Martha Gellhorn left us undefended.
Goto’s strategy shows the effective secret is everywhere admired. In Gay Texas, who welcomed her intrigues, is a society for whom the elite Queers in Seattle cater themselves. The woman secret against the man they snickered as using non-violence against himself in a chemistry set ordeal about the enemy within emerged a gang plank they extolled. Many were the professionals engaged in loathsome catcalls. This fraud would hold domain they announced or the hidden Imam would go brother nuclear, laughing on the cover of the film 119 the playact that the Japanese race queen was laughing for help from the fireboy. Not even the appearance to the naked eye of Wattenmaker’s nerve agent in Jimmy Creary’s face made any difference. The killers of JFK made good on their threat to pour acid on the face of his children. King Edward Teddy Boys did this.
It’s ironic that Mrs. Gellhorn of all people would be the one to open to me (even though she lived in the Roosevelt White House and was featured after her suicide on a postage stamp, which to me is a coveted private honor of semi-transient distinction) because she never came home. She never said us in talking about America she always said them, even though she was the best sweetheart of the West, the cowgirl who wanted me in Montana when she laid bare her fear. I read her letter in Missoula, at Hellgate Station and Oxford Bar with pain. It was about the time the Berlin Wall came down, typed from Belize on a manual typewriter. Pitt and Iowa authorities were so unhinged they attacked me demanding I relinquish it to superior force for mysterious lieutenant to Clinton we now know was Obama. The reason I find it so ironic that Martha, with her American virtue and treasonous heart should be the saint of Saint Louis who wrote me is because I don’t feel severed from the United States as she did and yet it is always those who she called Them who refer to me as it, that or weird. The use of the word fugitive to describe me is criminally insane. Martha called the murder of JFK a ravenous act. Yet the evidence shows a whole faction in public limelight were slapping fives and sucking off that they got to do it. I don’t blame her for wanting out. I was surprised when Serpico came back.
Maybe you think I lack the talent and stamina to depict and ability to support my view of how evil and demonic this terrifying enterprise of cruelty has been. I’m 57. I have no history of wrongdoing. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m a writer. I have never know a people who take such glee in back-ripping to the tune of sincerity or who thirst for inhuman hatred with such unquenchable blood lust. They live to have the enemy’s blood boil in impotent and distraught horror, but let us be clear that their enemy is the American back that turned on them in trust.
If this letter had an alternative title it would be: The Assassination of Possibility. It isn’t true that nothing good came from the enemy’s mentality because if understanding them can help defend us we should labor to do so; and in the sense that we misunderstood why they shoot who they shoot as personal antagonism we misunderstand them and this weakens our ability to defend ourselves by due process and justice thereby. There is not in other words a Kennedy curse, per se, there is a curse on the ideas the Kennedys espoused, a curse on American possibility. This curse of assassination of our possibilities is old, it killed James Garfield and Huey Long, but it much more studied, intended and ruthless than dishonest professional historians admit, and of course the case remains the source was foreign English when it came to JFK. Our people would rather live out eternity in a fraud than admit this truth.
The transfer of blame to me was simple enough. It also provides what Peter Balakian calls a touchstone. The touchstone is a key idea, fairly mountebank in this incidence, that allows a focal point deception to gracefully evoke in blaming the victim and starting a feeding frenzy of denial. They needed and used me for a jinx, setting me up to tie the knot in the status quo ante, a hideous lifelong violation of my dignity as a person set upon as a storyline fixxe in the sociology written by the attackers. It allowed them to ad lib as they went along with the tune of the principle of feminine exclusion authority, saying so what, we just don’t like him and that’s a higher brand of civil rights than a person’s dignities under law.
Being gifted and the only person alive who can report and testify factually they have made clear that they may have to silence me to satisfy their gains. It’s not hard to read Obama. All the signals Geffen is sending are: I want Crary’s mind dead. I’m like the girl in the sack the Texans poked in the famous massacre film. We just pretend it’s only a movie. One identifying factor showing it is The White House is that they tortured and raped us and still have the power to stalk. The idea that there is a justice system is too parched to laugh. After admitting with bravura to serial mutilation they brayed that they humiliated me and even used Dr. King’s name for this. They fleeced me by torture after claiming to be from Amnesty International. It is extremely difficult to penetrate Obama’s America with even an iota of authentic information.
The one thing I can relate to about Barack Obama is his obvious desire to get the women and children off the racist Titanic. Certainly it gives me the same pleasure to see young, and happy black girls and boys in hard working jobs, enjoying themselves and making the best of their lives. I wouldn’t want anyone to take that away from them for anything. Barack himself was welcome to the Presidency, but not to ripper murdering threats directed at me. This situation came about because the British created through Alternative Conflict Resolution with the help of Gail Burstyn at Bryn Mawr a new class of mayhem that sanctifies grievance by refracting hostility onto innocent others, figuring the weight of guilt attached to mayhem involving such murder has a scientific element of pacification, meaning the perpetrators feel better after killing innocent people. They poison someone and they shoot up the usual suspects and shout from the rooftop: I told you to settle down. It has origins in King Crimson’s reading of a Gurdiev fable about a bell ringer at dawn who shouts at the angry spirits in the wind of those who curse him for waking them. Operating from widely admired syphilis the Fripps use any distortion at hand as a hotwired instrument for their idea of contract law, all of it fictive, but millionaire from Warhol’s House of the Insane. The weirdo writes to me and then has someone push me away viciously for asking to speak with him. I’m deaf at his lecture, have volunteered work all day, try to sit a little closer and he gets up to move away, a signal to his troops, this one’s been bothering me, like a flirtatious girl. They are simple particulars that illustrate the rabid animal’s craven sense of character and the dimensions of his cowardly prancing. He is the morbid author of dreams of shit world.
Public Relations is the enemy of all dissent. Our Government is reputable for being entrusted the requirement to endure dissenting views in discussion. This means it is lawful for them to be aired. Brainwashing techniques were allowed to the primary artists who betrayed our trust. There is no one else alive willing and able to testify to the mind control device they have developed in the name of Wright, punning on Wings, the Wright Brothers and wight makes right. Paul McCartney and Melvin Belli of Star Trek, the attorney for Jack Ruby and Hermann Goering’s estate beam down together from our past in an episode of The Children Shall Lead and the musical score of All the Children Sing. When your own mind starts calling you a liar from forces impinging on the persona’s experience you will be trapped in Star Trekphrenia by maniacs who demand such bypass directly in access to our nation’s will. The impingement of hallucinotronics allows the vicious program in the jurisdiction of our state. Denouncing it is more important than any loyalty oath. Do not let them normalize enforcing their personality cult by direct mind brainwave. Talking the truth about them is indeed a danger to oneself.
The Beatles are a scrap heap of vintage hatred and lies, pure poison. They were created to process ill-will during the AIDS attack. They see it as inhuman psychology. Gail Burstyn provides a lense into the truth but Seattle Gays behaved like a Raft of the Medusa, instead of sensible life preservers. I’ve never known anyone who took such delight in lying by show of sincerity. Science is at the root of the Church of Gail Burstyn, where they preach use non-violence on your own poisoned soul, making glorification of the criminally insane in small details and contraction names like Mancine, snickering let the white man fit through the eye of a needle.
Poachers from Hollywood led by Obama promoted this snuff film by deranged slanders licensing infamous and endless cruelty. They claim that the Pittsburgh Public Schools is the appropriate place to force amends for the age of the Orum Speculum. John Lennon’s lies often took the form of denial, even after his ripper hatters have announced their game, they loop his adage that Helter Skelter had nothing to do with him.
The announcement that the Axis wanted access to our souls began in D.T. with JFK. Limitations of resource once acknowledged as philosophical economics are afterwards structured to scorn appeals to minimize the damage to the truly poor. In saying that I am happy for the Blacks who got away, I am not entirely endorsing the petulant multicultural riff raff who control high value stuff and want the rest of us banished from the Magic Kingdom. You have to wonder in this age of bus stop ciphers about the meaning being a wallflower like Nordstrom. The murder of JFK was like waking up from a nightmare for the Axis Powers. Freedom to them is just an economic convenience, just letting the people they take for garbage roam cheaply.
Don Denis on Mt. Desert Island ran the British counter-narrative to the truth that the war game there proved AIDS an attack, he said I pour it on you steaming and hope it’s enough, meaning enough to fit the white man through the eye of the needle. It came with built in economic extortion to which Shannon Harps was sacrificed to a Warhol penny. Dr. Ralph Proctor of Pittsburgh Museums was one of the pussyball eugenicists at the forefront of the military operation. His wife gave me swastikas and told me they weren’t while shuddering with offense at the idea that her Japanese Kanji painting had a hint of animism. Proctor plays the game of Rick Finkelstein who when pleaded with for help fleeced me with the words, friendship is friendship and business is business. We already know that Abira Ali knew Will Zell real well. WQED was setting up Mt. Desert Island back in the days when mother introduced me to MisterRogers and he acted like he’d just seen Rosemary’s Baby.
Are we having fun yet?