This essay is for those who wish to have the pleasure of understanding how the Beatles started AIDS.   Your motive or mood in seeking to understand does not concern me, since the issue is only a public trust.   Admittedly it is disturbing, not least because of the hurdles put up by the mind of the reader inculcated with the pleasure of their infamies.   To learn that we are dealing with the criminally insane is without fail shattering, not least to me, who learned first hand that Love means less than nothing to these horrible Caligulas.  At you immerse yourself in the recreational reading I am providing you here today, you will feel yourself engulfed in sophistries whittled together by the frantic cobblers of England due set on making an unprecedented dirty.   Into the mind of stranglers.
       Rightly understood it was on November 22, 1963 that Mr.  John Lennon, star of the long-forgotten film:  How I Won the War, really changed his middle name from Winton as in Churchill to Ono as in Tojo.   He had in mind no greater victory.  How the tumblers fell into place, one after another, as the cobblers of doomsday thrashed with excitement over the excelsior of their cripe.   In no time at all, they would be announcing that Confederacy was the ghost of a chance offered by surrender to unbearable deceit.  The alternative, assassination, has never sit well with lawful society, but the law sighed and admitted defeat, better to do than to die, especially in the terrible, terrible way, under the mountainous cruelty and black despair offered by the goblin Ringo Starr.  Never has the pathetic old Wizard of Oz been mongered in such a gargantuan, blood-curdling ogre by trickery.
     Yet evil is an old story and such rivals to the throne of hell come and go on the earthly stage, what's one more?   The ravenous pig excelsior on his mountain of flesh, drolling at the gates of apocalypse, it isn't the Shakespeare he takes it for so much as the lowereds of Hieronymus Bosch.   Forgive or dies, he yammers, and what power it exhibits, knowing what we are being told to forgive, asked, he says soothingly, at the point of a gun.  The truth is too dark for me, too, but I recognize the revolutionary processes from what they did to me in stealing American Empire by twisted invasion.  I'm not fooled.  Power likes people to be fooled, because they cooperate better, but even when not fooled, they still can be forced to cooperate, it's just troublesome, so power would rather people are fooled.  Nobody who saw the ripper dimension of sadism that McCartney unleashed in Pittsburgh is still fooled, only the victims in whose name he claims to have acted still are.   The Beatles, like Jesus, were a Trojan Horse, they came not with an olive branch but with a sword; or more clearly, with a backknife hidden behind their oliver branch.
       The Beatles will hiss that their double fantasy island, Mt. Desert Island, seat of the Caspar war game, was psychiatric, a ploy, a fairy tale, in short:  conspicuously, pacification techniques.   Acting as though he is some sort of mega-ego fairytard who thinks he is Shakespeare, Penis Gabriel made out Adolf Hitler to be one.   His communications to me made lewd mention of terror films like Wait Until Dark and Eye of a Cat.   To his burned out routines, prostitution services, approach avoidance conflict about being seduced, is proof that the AIDS attack was a jest.   He adopted AIDS injection as a Unit 731 interrogation method, torture and rape, while posing as being from Amnesty International.  The syphilis of this ripper hatter is rendered scaramouch under the blistering fascism of Ringo Starr.  Texas Queers, uniting under Bush in the name of Midori Goto disturbingly supported this fraud. 
        The absolutely horrible meaning of the cloak and dagger show Seattle Black Panthers put together in defense of Reagan offends me as a 60's child.   One cannot be bothered enumerating the many disappointments of the sell-out generation led by the hypocrisy of the Beatles, but lying about AIDS and turning it into a grave digger paradise for loathsome British bounty hunters is sure one, and the fanatical union criminality that they fomented and sponsored, but the Beatles in the end will always be sort of a kicked dog in their own eyes, which makes them mangy and mean.  They, after all, aren't really rich among the company they keep, which means that they are thirsty for what riches they can squeeze by being greedy.  
       Donald Trump is sort of the rump of the AIDS Combine at work.  He freaks out when his most bloodthirsty subordinates convey the presence of a mind of their own, fires them within minutes of hiring them for showing signs of having minds of their own, banging on in fake news that political correctness has to go so his remarks about grabbing women (we hope not Ivanka) by the pussy can be rightly understood as a liberator's chivalry.  Even though I was tortured as a slave in lifelong unpaid labors, and held hostage in screaming suffering and homeless despair, and saw all the lower half of America, it is perfectly evident to me that Trump and Ringo Starr are unfit to clean the vomit of the lowest.
       Just knowing the cowardly agenda of lies and cunning behind the assassination menu of Robert Fripp is a ghastly encounter with being disemboweled of all you could possibly hold dear.   He promotes exterminator psychology as some sort of liberation theology.   Sow though he does all his poisonous and mysterious riddles of secret Empire, it is perfectly obvious that his guild was a lot more interested in playing a game about infecting me than on protecting anyone at all by public right to know laws.   Act like you have never heard of a bully or know what they do, and you have the blinders in place to ignore admissions to brutal beatings of a soft spoken, easily frightened child, and the tragically venomous manipulation of a neuroplasm.
          Dr. Nelson Harrison made a very interesting case for racial magnanimity on the topic of Midori Goto, and indeed, black love for her could imaginably have been so precious and so real that bowing out would have been mandated, but no one involved ever bothered to approach me in a dignified way about the issues and their Liar's Club.  They had to degrade me, worst of all, seer my very metabolism with a nerve agent, daring me to call them pigs for it, brutally torturing me and spitting at me as a white, something Apartheid Police in South Africa came to decide was too low even for them when they considered doing it to Nelson Mandela, they had a better idea, do it to a deaf white suck and watch the Black Nazis cheer!