We live in a society of tests.   The Follow-Up program to Mt. Desert Island, which I proved a premeditated entrapment and testing war game clocked to the AIDS attack was a follow-up designed to establish for observers my unfitness to be a father and husband.  This was construed in deceptive method towards me as a diversionary explanation for what came before.   This necessitated characterizing me as the belligerent party.  When I came to Seattle from Pittsburgh I discovered not that the problem followed me here, but that it lay in wait.  

     Mirror, Inslee on the wall; everyday the Governor wakes up at his wardrobe, opens the smiling mask cabinets and asks, “Which false face today?”   Unconcerned and unaffected people (by their own admission) holier than thou is not a good combination to have on high.  Due the reality that the Karl Family in Pittsburgh were so central to delivery of the message behind the attack, and their language eccentricities so idiomatic that Lew Karl’s weird insult, “You DUB!” has to be entered into record as probably signifying UW’s prior authority and involvement.  It has to cue us to the prospect at least that speech conditioning research, proven in this case, was being done in Seattle as part of their contribution to the time bomb.  Karl also had a mysterious thing he said was worse than giving the finger, it was crossing the fingers and giving them both as one, which he dubbed, “King Sex” or “King’s X” depending on how his lisp fell upon the pre-deafened ear.   Karl liked words and would do things like mispronounce them to impregnate their meaning.

     In recent pseudo-debate, the vipers crawl up in their method to convey by proof of brutal pedophile hostage-taking that it is their defense?   One could almost laugh bitterly at such a device.  This curiosity, in their dreams, they hope is a forgotten picture of little Jimmy that I have never seen, but which paid the rent for Don Ostro when Patrick Buchanan came leering and licky chops.   Jay Inslee grins a lot because he knows that corruption is the secret ingredient to American apple pie.  He waves his willies to prove he isn’t a flasher, and society laughs.  America with pie in its face stands still while the tricksters clean up in Vegas and move into the White House.  The experimenters enjoy withholding what they’ve done (at first) from the people they reward into position just to hear them say what they have been taught to.  It has the bizarre effect of making them too embarrassed to retract when they get the picture.   Finding out AIDS was designed as a practical joke shouldn’t make it that easy to evade disgrace.

     For too long, admiration for the Beatles has been unconditional.  The occult rules British Prog Rock and nothing is more fiendishly occult than the grip of personality cults over the collective subconscious.  A society of tests who do not apprehend the capability of what Peter Gabriel was referring to in his “Secret World” work with NASA regarding the system of neo-matrix Wright Brothers from Pentagon-Disney who have the power of voices are not going to admit that even with all the evidence proving it that Lennon could have faked his own death, and a lot is riding on allowing the Beatles to do anything they want at all in the name of his death like spoiled children.  The storyline is a lie that allows even those they killed to shrug.  If Jesus shrugged, they figure, why shouldn’t we?

     There are those whose reasons for defending the past will be found unattractive by many who make a stake on the future.  JFK is a good example, since it is part of what we are asked to put behind us in godfathering together the lie that Reagan didn’t know.  The whitewash works and there’s not much defense of the past, but there are some fairly good reasons to defend JFK, such as the fact that he very heroically saved another man’s life at sea in World War Two, making Bush’s escape as a swimmer from an aerial disaster slightly less exciting by compare.  

    Women are such charmers sometimes.  Their stake in the matter reminds me of Robert Sampson, a wheezy and bigoted old Southern simpleton with five Purple Hearts.  “I don’t like the Vietnam War,” he would say, “but I use them when it will help me get my way with the government.”  John Kerry had the same tack.  He started Vets Against the War, but he’s the only one of them I know who kept his medals as proof of his virtue.  In other words, the chirpy, flirty two-tongues of women are all over this case masking what happened derisively, and a man like Jay Inslee will be the first to call on them and the last to call them on it.  Castrating a poet to punish reporting in the name of prosecuting a two-timer isn’t ruthless because, why, hey there’s Nurse Ruth, myuh.  Interestingly, it’s all in the service of poetry theft.

     So there before you is a plight, stamped with Insurance, strangled with a Driver’s License, battered with a Birth Certificate, cheated by straight A’s, laughed at by the meanest jeers, while collapsing in the most destroyed tears imaginable; all as a statement of the government’s hope that someone will choke and say in pity, “Kill it for God’s sakes, as a mercy to all of us.”  We pass here like rain, while a rumor is spread that I deserved it.  They hired people to coax me out, like Xiu-Xiu the sent down girl, mistaking in her hostage an apple for love when it was to rape of her innocence, they hired people to coax me out of a traumatized shell, half-comatonic, so they could spit in my face and say see, we proved it a flirt, unsafe and unfit.  Now to punish me for a chameleon act of Stockholm Syndrome as a damaged child, they want to spit on the tears of my being dressied up like a New York Doll so that queer child mutilationists would stop battering me, my shy smile a bloodcurdling vestige of bulbar syndrome.  What wouldn’t a putrid like Ringo Starr, spreading his arms under his tunic, as a pulp of manhood, smearing the world with his spittle about empathy, say to cover his gargantuanism?  And you call it objective?

     I can’t stop what they are justifying, but I am doing what I can for the stupid pigfucking people who call themselves peers.

     The Karls had a neighbor and confederate of theirs who called me gizmo, and there is in this case work regarding the women of Inslee the mechanical neuro-engineering of eternal damnation in a pulverizing impacted head trauma.  The women were willing to use suffocation to  make their stupid stand.