The problem of using Art as a cover story for political crime is that the victim of the cover story is de-politicized and rendered a spectacle. In the 1980’s at Pitt News, swarming with skinheads like wind in the garden of nuns knocking down the trellis (a marvelously unpretentious word when it comes to spelling) and screaming in psychopathy at the anti-divestment whites who could only know non-violence from state to state (or the black man would hear of a Louie), there was issued a proclamation, like a fugelhorn from the conch of a rhinosaurus in One Million Years B.C., that a presumption of leniency in mitigating circumstances was called for in order to advance the claim, snickering like advocates, that contamination was being spread by not being spread. This seems contradictory until you realize their focus was to shift focus, a strategic method of locating how Vaclav Havel would frame the issues raised by the Posvar regime about a very minor writer. This situation exploded because I knew the word, “samizdat” and held the letters of Gail Burstyn. While inciting watchful landlords, community groups, police and mental health authorities on what increasingly became irredemptive resort to public exhibitionism as a form of social protest, the Art of the cover story for political crime enjoyed respite from allegations of unprovoked hate crime.
A curious result of this was Yoko Ono selling the justice of James Kasperowski’s decadent Roman Catholic position to Havel that making love to a 12 year old girl, now fat and ugly, at the age of 13, justified lifelong surveillance, home invasion, brutality, sexual trafficking and sporting me as a premier mandatory AIDS testing guinea pig in scenarios created by hateful, sickening Peter Gabriel, with Ronald Reagan in tow. One thinks of Christo, his massive fabric constructions, when seeing James MacRyland Crary pulling penis through the blinds on a dead man’s block, aching from heart and stomach poison. The incident in question is a result of prolonged, cruel and asinine hypno-brutality by foreign supporters for the authors of this sick war game, monstrously laughing like the behemoth Ringo Starr, a dangerous, sick, diseased mindset to render support a massive attack in creation of a laughingstock to sell Hitler’s revenge.
Tom Kemph, indeed.
Try V + R Planning from Dealey Plaza to Bitburg-Belsen.