Being seen by the public masturbating through blinds that were not closed all the way in my front of the building apartment for the second or third time in my life is one of the few occasions in my life I almost wanted to gratify Yoko Ono's revenge dream of causing me suicide. It is unimaginable to me that it wasn't unbelievably humiliating to the Japanese business across the street.
In order for an issue to be addressed effectively it has to be studied and contemplated. One of the major mysteries of human history will always and forever be why The King Family, and King County went along with Adolf Hitler in the AIDS extermination. The foremost issues everyone knows: Sex and Money. In this way, Yoko Ono's game was very cruel to the soul and legacy of The United States.
Everyone who reads my essays is well aware that they contain forbidden knowledge of atrocity. Occasionally someone wonders how it is possible legally for the criminally insane to do what has been done to me. Among the satanic labors of the King Family was to rub in my face the daily contact for twenty years with the diseased which was coerced and unjustified, and then arrive like a sickening anti-cavalry presenting a super-healthy Black female warhorse after torturing, raping and poisoning me because for some venomous reason this represents the thinking of their sick minds.
By what right was a private person like me subject to the mind-shattering rape of a mass raid on my dignity in the first place? How can our society not hate themselves for letting this happen? Or for the sense of humor it cultivates in a case of child mutilation? If I hadn't been so brutally tortured and left in such a piteous state I wouldn't be in the tragic position of poverty where in my dislocation I should accidentally become visible to the public from my window, no doubt a windfall for the assassins responsible.
It serves their purpose to ignor the injuries and incessant sexually predatory action involved targetting me because it allows the King Family to deny that pornography is an outcome of being brutally trafficked beginning in childhood by a large and carnivorous political action carnival. Their explanation, mental illness of an inherently progressive, self-inflicted variety, serves a great purpose allowing them sinister recreation in thrill kill of a witness to their venomous orchestration of mass murder as a cultural combat plan. Crary was beaten into form ripe for exploitation when the crisis arrived, well indoctrinated with the free love identity now from a bygone age. Trying and succeeding making me look and feel guilty for loneliness is their depth of wisdom in the grand scheme.
It's very interesting to have these murdering ingenues carp about pornography as a triumph of the will in a counter-explanation for Mt. Desert Island's devious and obvious premeditation. Being attentive to my lover for hours on a nightly basis was always my natural romantic state. Without cause or license these fascist pigs (as sinister as they are depraved) attacked me with morbid sexual viciousness beginning in childhood. Who Watches the Watchmen? has never been a braver question. They didn't have the legal right to violently demand information about childhood using neuroplastic extrusion, they did it anyway to a slave animal because they lacked the courage and decency to grapple with the problem of mind control in a damaged deaf child held in bondage by brutal pedophiles in an assassinated state at a gradeschool age. What crime did I commit by being dragged around the floor by the foot at Lanie Langer's house again? How did I bring down on myself a blindside attack by a ferocious and armed klansman when I was twelve years old? By karma?
There is more than enough physical evidence to show severe mauling and misuse of a child, that strange men were entering our house at will, and that I was in terror. Did that change anything? No, the Kings redoubled their efforts to terrorize and embarass me. Meanwhile Reagan wrote a big fat, felonous check against our entire national legacy, against our entire planet, in a piteous attack. The excuse the King Family give is that I protested the war in Central America. That made me some sort of freak pretender. The King Family put my name on a murder masquerade just like Saul Brecher would and they just pronounced it their right to do so, without any sort of consultation at all. Nobody saw anything but a zombie playing with themselves through the window because that's all I am now after over forty years of recreational brutalities by the police and sadism of David Bowie. A brain-damaged person fighting stupidly and with mortal injuries for some time alone to think about what life might have been.
No matter how odious the obscene and criminal mistreatment, it always denigrates me around sex. Deliberately leaving the windows all the way open would more realistically represent the invasion of the soul and spirit created by the spy-cam movie system in place and used in the rape of my girlfriend, to say nothing of the screaming Ultrahigh far better than a shuddering elevation of the blinds by accident did. Are such wounds of humiliation and mistreatment really as self-inflicted as the assassins on The Seattle Mariners cleverly claim? Who watches them with their wives and vibrating dildos at night? Who watched Hillary Clinton change her tampon and reach for her sex toy while getting her new cheap thrills essay out of deaf Mac, the Chinatown quarantine?
Who is someone like me supposed to call for legal assistance? There isn't anyone. Even the police get gunned down like the kids at Kent State if they question Obama, Clinton, Ringo and President Mehrabian. The evidence is clear. it becomes clearer everyday with The Film Project intelligence. JFK's affair with a nazi woman is a crypto-story from the age of Bill Donovan and the OSS that is tied to the letters signed Gail Burstyn sent to me when Pittsburgh began using me for a lifelong sex story of military derision. The Don Quixote refrain of unrequited virginity was part of the plan. There is at least a shred of modesty and dignity in that it wasn't purposeful exhibitionism, just the tragic misfortune of a challenge to cyberstalkers who authored Mt. Desert Island.
I can hear them very keenly: The man who cudda saved John Lennon was seen masturbating from the street in a business community through his window? That's great!
These forces pushed little Jimmy's face into paint thinner at Kings Estate in East Liberty of Pittsburgh and then they proceeded to pretend they were crying about Lennon. Oh, the poor little American children. How Ronald Reagan and Dexter King cared!
It is a mistake to have ever trusted England. It's clear from the way they brain-damaged me, made up contaminated food stories, and violated me terroristically, to the point where I can't even manage privacy in my home with the blinds properly closed, that the King Family, King County and King Crimson will never be satisfied until my masturbation ceremonies are front page news and a crowd of wheelchair children are assembled outside my home every night. It will never matter to anyone that I have a terrible neuroplasm that makes masturbating a medical necessity because of the juvenile humor of Ringo Starr's terroristic mind.
But it will be said that I owned up and showed dignity. I invite a showdown because it seems necessary.
Not that it will ever matter, someone will shoot me, then the real villian of AIDS will surely be known untold far and wide. The stigmata is justified, they already say it, so tear open the M.A.S.H. curtains. Behold! Jimmy Crary really is a natural blond!