I. The Assassination of Saoirse Kennedy

                   Kennedy assassination researchers have always, arrogantly, refused to be brought up to speed.  In this way, Duncan, who banned me from JFK Assassination Research Forums, is very much partly to blame for the murder of Saoirse.    When Saoirse died, media immediately pounced to make it sound mandatory to presume without investigation that she had overdosed. We already know, no matter how much evidence of trauma there could have been that they would never have admitted foul play.   Though there was none, no evidence of trauma, she could have been found wandering battered in St. Louis unable to remember her own name for all the media would have cared. One thing is clear from this, the people who don’t love our country aren’t planning on leaving.

                   When the toxicology report dawdled, at least I figured we already knew.   The Kennedys perhaps don’t want to keep lying but hard ball players are saying they have to.   Who killed her? One very important suspect is Oliver Stone.

                    As I recall the expression, “Unfinished Business,” cropped up repeatedly in Cineaste and around me after that magazine published my letter about his film, “JFK.”   Many things fall into place around this point that are so typical of the way that Euro-finesse has manipulated this tragic situation. So what is it about the abuse of the slogan, “Unfinished Business,” in Cineaste between me and Oliver Stone that rankles?   You see, the whole contraption he built has always been a perpetual motion machine in search of a finishing touch, something incredibly fitting to fulfill Hollywood’s bray about Poetic Justice. Saoirse was killed and Seattle knew, but it’s really a New York crime.  Lewis Lapham never thought much of that family and really came after me in Pittsburgh. No matter how fitting their triumph may seem nothing they do will ever bring closure. It is our society who have committed a suicide, not Saoirse, a psychic suicide.

    II.   America in the Balance

                   In 1994, a kid who was like a McCartney kid (who lived across the street from the Police Station in Squirrel Hill where I reported gang sign in the murder of Tupac, which was betrayed as usual as my sincerest about Donnie Chin has been, one of the crimes that was set up to misuse by killing other innocent people) this kid, at a tiled floor that is a design which comes to a point at CMU did a difficult to describe, insanely irritating balancing act.  It has always made me feel the way Seattle Queers do in their inability to question their premises because Authority has already told them they are correct, and that status, correct, is all importance, to them, and I must add, to Kennedy researchers who are the same way. In those days I had a lot on my mind. I had opened a letter in front of witnesses that I told them I was sure was evidence in the AIDS attack and it read, “this is mascara or blackblood.”  I couldn’t understand why CMU was helping those responsible. I also had begun hearing voices like, “Peter Gabriel is laughing his ass off.” This kid was on one foot, playing with trying to get a paper bird to stay straight on the point on the tile, and as he wobbled, it got tapped off center. His obsessive preoccupation went on and on, and he never stopped giggling.     

        Imagine a pendulum, call it iffy, and it totters between cultural biases, saying, hehn, and then just hehn, never settling on one right and wrong or another, but always taking itself top special-ly serious.   Cultural bias is just a matter of which box you check in a sociological survey. The obsession that led to this was manufactured, gimme more, I want satisfied, this is Unfinished Business, we need some finishing act.  Seattle particularly seethed and seethed, we need some finishing act, and this mentality from Obama is what has always made him such a spy for the attackers. The fact that I have been alone for 30 years is in fact to be entered into discussion as evidence that Oliver Stone murdered Saoirse Kennedy.

         III.  Ming Na Wen in the murder of Saoirse Kennedy

                      Oliver Stone worked with Ming Na Wen after she dated me in Pittsburgh.   Ming Na Wen’s film, “One Night Stand,” illustrates that Obama and Wen knew the buttons they were planning to push politically when they set up the Alpana Squad as a cover story for Mt. Desert Island.  The one night stand was a holy war mechanism by NAACP confederates of the AIDS attack. Dr. Ralph Proctor of WQED was where Tom Ammons of Artek worked with Matt Marcus, Ammons also may have employed Kasperowski, a friend of the Salk Labor team at Artek, who built the India Parliament Building, a man who gassed me after violent abduction in a place called Kings Estate.  Part of the idea was that it was fitting to do this together, because the Alpana entrapment Fitzmartin, get it? Proctor held forth his creepy disdain for the blacks who lived in insanely shattering terror of the Mississippi klan because he felt that they should have died to protect Emmett Till, but no one will ever explain why he sided with such KKK men when they tortured me and as an NAACP justification for cooperation in the AIDS attack.

                     Although Black Lives Matter did not kill Saoirse Kennedy, something like that did.   The Black Community is practicing an abundance of caution by lethal terror attacks on freedom of speech and thought concerning their pseudo-explanation for events in Pittsburgh.   The tottering pendulum clearly designates blame at those who failed to warn. That had nothing to do with me. I tried everything to get help. In the AIDS attack, cooperation of the Police Department seems to have been easy to obtain because of their conventional disdain for exotic minorities, but how do you explain the surrender of the newspaper establishment?  Or the glee with which those who were victims promote those who attacked us in Seattle?

            Seattle and Warhol have it all figured.  The way that Axis Hollywood set me up to be a Red conduit is the most vicious crime I have ever heard of, yet the British got laughs using Amnesty International for rape, torture and mutilation crimes, they openly spoke of as piecemeal (peace meal).   Their agenda was to torture someone on a curve towards the suffering and humiliation of HIV and they did it with the monocled studiedness of Unit 731, deriding the writing I have done as their recreational compensation. To call me a double-crosser for not going along with it they cut off Saoirse’s life to finger me as proof of lacking chivalry.  They also targeted and murdered a namesake of my niece Molly in Iowa. To understand how they laugh you have to realize how well they play serious when misleading their victims.

         By using a Lennon script, Seattle weighed in for a war game on Mt. Desert Island that proved the planning of the Attack, snickering that they are friendly to the ruse that I was jealous over Leslie Katz and needed diversion.  From there it was all promotion of a death wish about HIV infection and they claimed they were being zany. In other words, while there was this race holy war theorem thought up by Warhol over Midori Goto, there was also Jimmy Crary, a Pittsburgh Public School student crying over rejection by peers, primarily Leslie Katz, secretly being compared to John Lennon all of it a script about Two Virgins Pussyball clocked to the AIDS attack by Axis Hollywood.  Although the assassins have worked over every detail of my personal life as a traumatized adolescent being used, they have never been able to shake off the impression that I was just like the woman in “Looking for Mr. Goodbar.” Not that logic works to untangle the obsession by pointing out their fallacies, but according to them I was just one of the lemmings following and imitating Lennon therefore being a consumer of his stuff proved me contemptible and what the English call “a tit” so that proves we should all hate Kennedy kids and wish they were dead.