I survived Ed Meese
The dour face of Santorum’s U.N. plotting 911.
You did that.
Growing old
Waiting for the Chinatown light.
When a black man
His face chagrined
Tries again
Still the victim
After lynching somebody.
How he sighs.
Richie Havens
Marching to the Mental Health War
Lost his life in a squeeze play
On queerball.
Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!
I survived Ed Meese.
At the top of the escalator this morning’s subway
A truck was decorated by five Medosweet cartons
She took the job something to do the money was good
Hired to do good fun
As far away from Jimmy as she could Poe.
A Jesse Helms/coward Fripp posturer stood at the truck
Offering me his back.
Effectuated by bought boy glory
Dissociation of the Kennedy loyal
By final call
Character assassination,
Looking for the character ploy that rules.
Backing Elaine.
Some tribute to honesty.
The Stone, Reagan, McCartney machine.
One word looms large in the AIDS Combine’s getaway: Israel.
That’s what you get for shagging J.P. Morgan’s granddaughter.
Anne Mitchell and Ming Na Wen had an agent to the Kelly School incident. Her name was Tara. She hung out a lot with O’Connor. She was a friend of Anne’s. They were at school together. I met O’Conor at the office of Steve Gibson. That’s where he was introduced to me. He was Gabriel’s favorite source. A chirpy little man I called Spunk, relevant due to suspicions of neurotraumatic hypnosis. It is the name of a Zora Hurston book a fact at that time I wasn’t aware. I was however studying Hurston and African American literature generally with Gwen Robinson.
If Gabriel hadn’t been looking to capitalize on a scapegoat someone would have noted the evidence that Gibson, O’Connor and Dr. Vaulx-Smith worked together and knew about the neuroplasm at a time when I didn’t. They are commissioning a homicide for profit. Hypnotizing the comaplasm to neuroimitative behavior was part of the process leading to the Langer note to the Pittsburgh Courier that empowered Aaron Dixon and Larry Flynt. Their goal was degradation of me by claiming me a clone. It is an angle that has property cult appeal among songwriter litigants underwriting Gabriel’s claim that the staged and phony intercept of the Burstyn letters was justified theft. I’m trying to escape an assigned role. This fact led to unspeakable brutality. Vaulx-Smith and Fripp, despite evidence of neuro-programming, demanded that I say the first thing that came to mind. Screaming in suffering at two o’clock in the morning in the rain in the first day of my homelessness ordeal lasting years, I screamed the message in the letter to the Courier and sent it to them in hatred.
Mandela and Vaclav Havel are suspected of cutting a deal at the initiative of Peter Gabriel of accomplice in the AIDS Onslaught in return for freedom and the abolition of Apartheid. They staged a barnburner. Clinton’s hit on my father was clocked to this as well as the appearance of Davey Jones, Jocelyn and Stephanie at Duquense. The usual angle was being pursued by Rusted Root and Dennis Brutus. Jimmy Creary only wants what’s good for him. He thinks he’s John Lennon and so on. They moved in with assrape Clintonism calling dibs on Midori Goto, the sacred spoil of the trust and holding company.
I’ve been trying to itemize the complex scenario developed in Pittsburgh after Peter Gabriel used me on SO, claiming to be advocating for me, when in reality attacking me. Rusted Root thoroughly implicated both Dennis Brutus and Bishop Tutu in the events surrounding Bill Clinton’s murder of my father, a Tang Line operation by the Southern aristocracy who were trading integration for the AIDS agreement. I had tried to befriend Prof. Brutus because I came out swinging at Reagan’s miseducation initiatives, his banging on about people being teams who lie and cheat to get ahead as the nature of reality. The horrible crimes against El Salvador’s people. Reagan didn’t know has always been Peter Gabriel override switch and signal for going along with his military-religious overthrow meant to benefit Queen Elizabeth.
Itemizing this complex scenario calls attention to such losses as my seven boxes of hope, my life’s work taken and destroyed by Harkin’s blackmail, containing, for example, an afternoon of labors in painting and photography by Steve Gibson, Brent Coldiron and Adam Eisenstat at the place on Beechwood where Parvaneh lived and received visitation from her first lover, an attractive black man. (Don’t kill her Mufabi!) The symbolic logic by the way of Aaron Dixon is very clear:
AD = 14
After Death profiteer
ADWAS
A for an A /Ron of Dixon
Mason Dixon/ Oliver North
In a complicated scenario it is hard to keep track of the incidents, the skinhead invasions, my attempts to get help from Mike McGough downtown. The Meese Era in Pittsburgh, where trauma was identified and read as guilt by Lewis Lapham. The murder of Linda Rosen. Peter Leo, Stuart Sheppard, Stew O’Nan, Lydia Street, the Van Sickles. It was a mayhem powerplay on the road to Mt. Desert Island. As a gangland act they sent in people disseminating rumors better than I could. Neuroplastic overload was one of their most criminal brutalities. It was a tactic for stealing the world from me, Bush’s game plan in the installation of Obama as a victory triumph over my father Ryland by the cunning of the Old Southern Aristocracy, an Ark of Colors. Pavlovian tokenism and a Shinto war game revolving around Two Virgins and the star, Queen Sex of the Beatles, Midori Goto.
The racists who easily could have resulted in vehicular homicide at Kelly School had black allies laughing with them about their hooliganism afterwards, egged on by Michael and Manette Seate, to name a few. The pussyball war game was an override.
My father’s cashmere coat was mauled by Tim Hagedorn and Tom Hodge’s dog when I was a neighbor of Alla Chertok and Sharon Samuels. I met Martha Lundgren at this time and was playing music with Linda Weiss. I also lived downstairs from Tony Dechischis in a house on Murray Hill Avenue, neighbor of Craig Steiner and owned by V.A. mechanic Billy Francis.
There’s an old German saying: If a man won’t let you forget ~ slay him.
I have no intention of ever allowing Vince Eirene to forget the carrot tape.
At the time of course I was still very introverted and felt both lost, phony and unhappy. My efforts against apartheid however were persuasive, although a deviant lesbian Penny Crary was quietly using her pull in Pitt psychology to denounce both me and my father Ryland as closet racists. I spent most of the days I was driving the Flynn Construction van (which I did often, although not at Kelly School) singing an anti-trafficking song I’d written. They laughed a lot about me, sort of depicting my tweets as a singing Eunuch and his pain. About this time media hypnosis of an odd sort was starting up, like Buchanan’s defense of that strange story about Demjanjuk. Baruch Fischoff called my mind disaggregated. It’s easier to see why that you might have been led to believe. All sorts of brilliant people were lying both to and about me.
Possibly the most complicated thing going on was Reagan’s approach to freedom of the press. Oh, you aren’t going to speak nicely about me, well, I have a right to shoot you and if you don’t want that prove you mean it by giving skinheads freedom of speech, too. Ming Na Wen was helpful to Reagan on this score and the Drama Department staged their obnoxious and loud situation comedy, a black comedy, called RADIO KKK at the time of the carrot tape made by Lieberman and McVeigh. I knew Robert Sampson, a Purple Heart Nam Veteran at the time I dated Anne Mitchell. She and I went out to his home shortly after his daughter Raven had been born.
Tom O’Connor would throw me to the ground and screaming into my head as he tied me up in knots he learned from wrestling, “Crary you work like a fucking nigger.” I honestly always took it as a compliment.
There was a firefly image in the web last night of a Japanese young lady from the back with the Charles Bronson veins of a mechanic, another sicko assault on the mind by British Labor supporting the Ultraclass concept of Midori with James Kasperowski.
One thing I’ll say about my stomach condition, I’m no longer superman.
It's hard to know how it feels to read an itemized account of a confusing situation about the gestating society that gave rise to the onslaught. It's clear that Pittsburgh Penguins have made attempt to make Pittsburgh physically safer for me and I've received an invitation for a room in Bloomfield I'm thinking of accepting, just to be with Jeannie a while again, then coming home. It's harder to imagine picking up stakes from Seattle than it used to be, especially in light of the criminal activity in Pittsburgh and the attempts by British Labor to secure final copy. However, such writings as these, even the old intervention tabloids that were circulated on Mt. Desert Island, are like survival manuscripts from Hitler's Germany. There are moments of life that one just never sees. Pittsburgh under Ed Meese is extremely important, it is the point and focus of what led George Bush to say, "History has come to an end." Wishful thinking, Georgie.
The miscarriage directed at Jimmy Crary is the most loathsome act of McCarthyism in human history. Nothing will ever make it well. Suspiciously, twenty years after their virulent attacks, the an English filth have begun a new rampage. While the idea of embracing a foe as a friend, leading to peace, is heady rhetoric, soothsay from Hitler, it is very disingenuous to equate the KKK in Lawrenceville with North Korea. While North Korea may well be the form of life who would accept AIDS being manmade and enjoy America's humiliation, insisting this is so may not result in the desired effect. The realizatin, however, that the KKK gave us Obama is extremely revealing. When treacherous people begin morphing their arguments ultimately it is with a victory objective. Friendship is friendship, Rick Finkelstein hummed, and business is business. The same procedure exists at the Mental Health Clubhouse.
Mitt Romney omojas that he can demonstrate the principle of an unsafe free press. He leers that the narrative will fall right into the hands of Pittsburgh and be used by individuals whose goal is to refashion it into tabloidalism, and this in turn will allow him to enjoy the magic carpet of cover artistry surrounding Mt. Desert Island, the very large pre-existing army of support for the course the AIDS Onslaught has taken. You are who you consort with, he groans. In reality, even though the clubhouse has peculiar rivalries and symptoms of outside manipulation, the course of involvement there is a recovery program that the public is required and entitled to scrutinize, so you cannot make the claim of some attempt at confidential insider trading by a journalist, they are the ones restricting press freedoms to generate that illusion.
The Queers of course are behind this. When blame and reality conflict they'll follow blame. It helps them to conceal from themselves why someone like me would be contemptuous of them even if they are stricken with the illness in question. The rapist English filth have tried to wangle that being sick gives them escalation dominion over the facts of what actually took place. Their point of departure is a sullen accusation based on an assessment that I do not share. They scientifically voided the evidence to make their stand and the situation in Pittsburgh evolved into my identifying Sean Strub in a profile as a suspect before he was found photographed outside the Dakota with Chapman. I wasn't even looking for him there. I had profiled him from other crimes he had commited. As I sang in anguish on the Night of Tang running, spinning and dancing through the streets of Pittsburgh in the snow: It's a gangbang in a Marked neighborhood.
Had Reagan never been born I would have be raised with two more beautiful sisters, but when they killed Kennedy they also instilled two still born daughters. I know this from the SONY partner of Ono: Tive who presided over my assassination as a child. He had two stomach, twin sisters, two of everything became the stomach of Noah. Say you're sorry sonny sony.
Churchill wrestled with the issue of poison gas on nazis if they invaded the British mainland. Getting kicked in the face by peacenik rockstars about being led by adults who had tortured me to bury my face in despair in a paperbag with a rag drenched in paint thinner just reminds me of how virulent the Reagan really were and how putrid the neo-nazi English. Why was it so easy for the Gay community to just accept a virilogical war game? Gay advance in America was party to Hitler's plan. Calling themselves victim is largely braggadaccio on that level. They've claimed that their war game, which led to 911, was a burlesque of Hitler exploitation fantasy which continues to play out in Capitol Hill, a crime full of lies by the profiteering grunts, but stationary in its evolution around standard deceits: That Reagan didn't know, and that the AIDS was aimed at the Black Man and not with insider knowledge by other Black men, most significantly Obama, Rice and Colin Powell.
Hancor was one of the most significant agencies working with the KKK in Pittsburgh AND black men in the loop trying to block Jimmy Crary from escaping torture and a comprehensive false witness campaign. Indeed Ming Na Wen built a dance hall with the local black night scene in mind. They knew my values, but considered me ineffectual. What's it going to take to make him resort to his fists. A black man lay on the sidewalk in one field test, O'Connor said, "it's only a nigger and drove by." Others were tending to him. Why did I stay in the van? Did anyone hear my mother shrieking at me because I was asking her for rent money? Washing dishes to help cover Ray? They had black allies, even at Kelly School. The allegation that I am a racist are just like the ones used to pin Oswald. Why I didn't exactly hear him espousing racism but when I looked at him chills just ran over my dear sweet body. Everybody likes that kind of thing.
The man who really said, "Jiggiboo" is a neighbor and lifelong friend of Peter Leo and the Van Sickles as well as Perlman, the optician to where Penny Crary dragged me for glasses who told me, "You have the devil in your eyes." I was eight years old, maybe nine. Similarly the persecutors about pornography ARE from the Neva Corporation. Sheppard was part of the Catcher in the Rye Movement that produced Obama as part of the AIDS crime. He was baptised at the church where I experienced the worst day of my life. Just across the street from Fulton School. It was where Ronnie Zsinski jumped out of the hedges at me.
Seattle seems to be perpetuating fraud as a brilliant address of complicit psychotherapy. Robert Fripp should be convicted for being so wrong. Although the word "jugular" lept into my head from a suspicious inspiration, I went with the flow on that one because the facts showing Reagan was behind the AIDS Onslaught does in fact have the potential at last to defeat Hitler. Seattle claim that their role is right and fair. The inner sanctum of the charting intended to de-privatize the home and license home invasion by Gore Yellow Line cyberstalking is a transfer to corporate dominion, SONY and Neva, courtesy Ono and Geffen. God knows all of these so-called secrets, so why can't a lying child-rapist like Robert Fripp? Far from being a consumer support base for human trafficking, adult online cinema is a good thing. When I was bukkake'd as a child it was in fact a crime, one that the English pig rubbed in with malicious neurology to summon up by vomit interrogation, but it didn't, beyond giving me a cold (I don't remember it leading to an earache) it didn't really hurt anybody. I've always prefered kissing my girlfriend and wouldn't myself advise bukkake. It is forbidden for children to know of it. When have I ever done anything at all suggestive with a child? The Bowies have had children come onto me suggestively to cover up how I was tortured as a child.
The essence of the question about Pittsburgh under Meese is the realization that Mandela evidently cut a deal with the AIDS Combine knowingly in return for freedom and my refusal to give Bishop Tutu his sanction was so bitter to Vaclav Havel that he tortured me. I have no idea what sort of role parasitic infection may play in my stomach problems, but Dr. Tran asked me an interesting question: Is it associated with some sort of food. The photography club mission seems to be angling with the term Urban Landscape towards the viper claim that the child raping English pig own me emotionally. 20 years can sometimes be a short span as the Auschwitz crow flies, but the last thing I need to hear about is the cheap glitz of Midori Goto's so-called aptitude for the expression of devestation.
The night I was framed for armed robbery the story went that I entered the store after Dollar Bank gave me my bonds saved by grannie when I turned eighteen with my OM-1 camera and the woman who later did not know who I was and protested supposedly told the boy I gave my number to because he said he liked photography, that I was who robbed him. He probably just gave police my number. Dollar Bank also sneered at me real snidely when I cashed the 1500 dollars that Lynn Atkins overlooked in getting daddy to disinherit me on his death bed. Pitt asked me if I wanted to challenge it. I stated only: Daddy would have wanted what was best for me, meaning if he did that he probably felt I was not trustworthy at that time. Pitt answered that I had no concept of morality. One witnesses this when they see me tipping my hat to an Irishman who paid me a compliment. Even the attempt to hide, jeers the loper English, is observed, then fails to look at the optic nerve damage or acknowledge the polygraph room testimony.
The sort of people who would commit a crime like the one that the Gay Community have don't want to admit it so they convene a Taliban where their pain overrides all dignity. I'm not in their shoes, maybe they're deranged. I know I would be. The name Sean Strub is an enosification of "do or die". It's important to see the structure underwriting Goto, Zell and the eugenic barrier of blood leading to identification of Strub but it would take a Church of Non-Deviants to acknowledge this fact. Eirene was just around in those days, I wasn't aware of him peddling penetration scenarios but I did meet Laura Bellows through his friend Kate when I let him sell one of my artworks and was answered with innuendo about celery.
Pittsburgh always reminds me of a scene in a bathroom of a friend of Glenn MacKenzie's in Boulder, Co (where I was unable to afford a marked down real butcher baby cover record and settled for Shut Up and Play Your Guitar after working (Nishanti?) at New York Cafe), back in the days when they were able to brag of being America's largest city without a murder. A tweetie bird was mutilated and stuck with millions of pins. It's a Neil Diamond fan sort of trick,like selling a deaf girl's rape with the sordid brays of Los Lobos. Reagan's United Nations, they hated America, just like he did.