I want to close this seminar with a word about JRR Tolkien.  I think Tolkien was unique, born from a very peculiar generation that lived before I think all the intrigue that turned friend on friend in the name of country.   He works in make believe, but not the sort of make believe we are asked to accept for example from "friends" performing their roles in "Operation: Smile as you Kill."   Tolkien understood something important, that evil wasn't something that divided the good from the bad, the holy from the unholy, but something very discreet that worked on people, real spirits, real souls, and fought tenaciously with power, primarily by persuasion.  He also understood that poetry is found in the exceptional places. I have quoted him over and over many times, not least when Pippin says, there is no hope, and Gandalf replies, then we must do without hope. Only a spirit that really lived, fought his own inner wounds, could have come to see, even when writing, that clearly, what man needed from his heart, his power of expression, and our literature.  To miss such things would leave one much poorer.

      Most people I know are sad, (I suspect you are), and amending to it are so full of Hitler rock music that I despair of ever really being able to "cross the border" to your neighboring hut of bereft contemplations.   That generation met its end with the death of JFK. We never recovered. No one knows why. They used to ask occasionally, the commentators in the West, "could it happen here?" meaning America and then when it did they barely noticed.   AIDS came over to the sheltered as an affliction of the wayward, so like karma.

      At school, I have been alerted to or grown wise about the egological practices in the domination framework concerning access to the unfathomable expanses of 20 or 30 students for an hour.  I'm more curious than I used to be about institutional petty authority because now I have lived through the great silence. Some of the squabbling between adjunct professors for airtime and the charry assignment of a few minutes to street scholars, not meaning necessarily me, or that the encouragement is insincere, mind you, there's clearly a lot to do, but school has taught me a little about a situation that surprised me in Seattle, even after I learned to detect the sly Scandinavian Nazism in some of the chic sections where the local nabobs coagulate, and that is the phenomenon of Open Mic bullies.  Those circulars by the way that we, the poets print at our own expense at Kinkos, called chapbooks, made just in case someone is interested enough in the muse to show up, I have heard recently called in an anarchist text by the expression, "clandestine publications." A peculiar phrase, but I like it.

        There's a slight scare about me, as I mentioned.  I suppose the community are fearful of self harm in the way I sometimes pull out my psychedelic wardrobe, flashy, multi-colored jeans and super quilt sweater that just floated down from the sky one day, it's a vet campus, young ones, full of energy and verve, I like it here, but they see that, way trippy dude, dressing Yemenese or something, and maybe there's a whisper, nothing I've noticed, but Pittsburgh and Seattle have been so full of shit about me.  Trying to accept these schools now for me, filling in gaps after a long life of deafness and lock out, I have configured it in my head for a parallel to intellectual freedom or I should say the heavy compromises made by faculty during the occupation of Czech Republic by the old Soviet honor guard. Many of those Czech faculty were beaten down. Ivan Svitak survived somehow and some of the teachers at my school are very like he was. I love my new school.   But I'm dogged by the fear that I'm being generous about it, I mean, I didn't really see much that could be construed as any real attempt to fight the blackout. To the contrary, back in Pittsburgh a lot of them really seemed to be involved. It was peculiar, too. As a result, the peasants can claim to have been in the dark the way you do, even when your sympathies were in the place the Palace of London clearly targeted with prejudice to maximum brainwash.  Zappa was always in on it with Reagan. That's basically how they pulled it off.

       I think people still see it through rose colored lenses about the Gestapo, praising Penis Gabriel even after being told what he really was, and where the gas chamber was in the hall of 32 doors he crowed about, laughing the joke's on you in playing Lennon songs like the Jewish Special Detail granted their lives to greet the incoming "merchandise" as Goebbels called people he didn't want, and escorting them by strumming to the gas chamber.  Even when I proved this factor in the planning, no one would follow up on it. It's proven that they didn't care. They didn't even, to quote Tolkien, "wish they dared." G. Gordon Liddy by the way laughed at me the week after Lennon staged his disappearing act and said the problem with people like me is that I live in a fantasy world, after I quoted Tolkien about his silver tongue. That's the rub I suspect. I like and read anarchism, presented it at school not as a mission but as a distinguished intellectual heritage, and people think well, charmed I'm sure, but he lives in this delusion and he'll go apeshit if people laugh at him and kick him saying Lennon was all his fault, and justify blaming me, but the thing about me is that even though we don't live in a democratic hegemony anymore, being an authoritarian hegemony masquerading through truly evil Gestapo like Pink Floyd as a spiritual hegemony, I do believe in justice, and patiently seek the day that the evidence is admissible, because despite the hugeness of Pentagon Disney, the psychological brutality of Trump's enormous fake news machine behind the horrible attack on our children by King Crimson and the Palace of London in the name of Lennon's Revenge, the evidence does in fact back me up.

     All the while the police whores in Pittsburgh were planting barbs for Penis Gabriel, lying about (and here's a laugh, pigs are so freaked out by the truth that a cyberstalker interrupted this letter to type "bs") their idea of a joke was depraved taunting of a surgically implanted torture NERVE AGENT, just like they used on an agent recently to summon sympathy for themselves, saying it was the Russians, but never even investigating a horror nerve agent on a child born to the Chair of Philosophy of their biggest employer, sending out the garbage whores to get this evil piece of shit done for them in a Gestapo script benevolently beneficiarying a few stupid black con artists, all the while this was going on Penis was huffing and puffing about me having been given enough clues.  Check them: the pronunciation of poison in King Crimson's original schizoid man "peison" did indeed make me think of Ed Eisen who we now know was following me to kill me for Gail Burstyn if I came to too soon for you. Then DD of the script came to mind when I saw Diamond Dogs by Bowie (it’s too much to hope that deceit is forgotten). So all of the clues came from the accuser, that's the Houdini trick at work. I finally put together that they gassed me in Kings Estate and my ear doctor had a tattoo from Auschwitz, then the Crown's Royal hypnosis began to break and evidently I learned about King Edward, who some say was in Dealey Plaza that day.

      What really scared me was a film banned in China called:  Xiu Xiu the Sent Down Girl.  It was the story of the horrible AIDS defeat even though that is never mentioned and plays no role in the film.   She actually believed this man liked her when he gave her an apple one day. What happens to her, they use her and kill her, was the hustle of the empathy yarn the monsters played, looting the victims at the graveyard and calling themselves muscle of queer.