The elite weapon of Pitt Psychology in the AIDS attack is prescribed evasion, the root of which is the truth about the fantasy prescribed by Double Fantasy but of course involving much more.  My respect for Nik, who is a caseworker at the clubhouse, all but vanished when I told him about a US District Court case about AIDS predating Covid-19 and upon understanding this he said he wanted to take it up with me concerning the facts and then didn’t.  How is that possible remains one of the most haunting questions.   Dr. Li of Tacoma Community College used to hum that my mind veered all over the place, presumably I was given an A minus despite the point value of my performance.  What he didn’t say was that a consortium of hearing endowed Phds were attacking me blindside and from other multiple directions, often with very puzzling belief systems.  They offer inner sanctum if you follow the prescribed evasion.

         An example of prescribed evasion is in the use of copy by Martin Andelman’s partner in what Neva Corporation pulled with and for Yoko Ono and John Shulman, whose diffident Red Sox show up at Seattle Clubhouse sporting for the Pittsburgh Kaplan klan and Robert Downey, the sort of corrupt lawyer drinking buddy with the Judges long established at watching the backs of nuclear dumpers and Pittsburgh Police.  Thos. Gordon and Andelman would loaf outside Cyril Wecht’s mansion at E/W Circuit Road where Michael Ewart would jog.  Gordon’s father Donald was into detective work and would follow the names in Guest Books at art exhibits in the Third Reich.  Gordon hummed many intonements such as “if you beat a dog it will love you more,” I never saw him beat the scampering thing that would hide in the closet and come out frantically awag, but I know how it is.  The prescribed evasion is to theorize that someone stole the names Donald, Ronald and Kasper and put them to misuse too interesting to throw away for when Ono took over.

          This is King County but might as well be Macon County of old under the auspices of Dow Constantine.  Constantine is a high profile, accomplished, competent suspect who belongs on the wall at the F.B.I.  He stood right there while Seattle rapist ripper hatters in the drag of medicine claimed that the certifiably fact that the Kaplan Klan had inflicted sufficient injury on my brain to cause hallucinations therefore made magic potion of their lie that deafness and a nerve damaged face proved genetic schizophrenia and pulled out the Three Stooges surgical knives to thusly do poach.

          Living high on the hog in abject dishonor is nothing new for Dow so he kicks back while the Clubhouse gang continue their old BBQ rage, changing faith healing to fair dealing on my computer to underscore such fair deals as the knifing of Shannon Harps at the penny line.  Aaron Dixon is not exactly God’s gift to rational government, either.   The horror of the outcome that I live with is from having trusted King Crimson who, in their alliance with DT, saw that as certifiable evidence of dementia, which is true on many levels.  Those murderers intercepted my attempts to warn and pinched their script for civil processing.  Tacoma War College vanquished itself to prevent my being granted a Bachelors,, so I can’t rival code-switchers like Nik. At best it’s a little bizarre to implant a company device in a skull, demand it speak whatever comes first to mind, extrusion, or die and then bark about it needing editorial correction to protect the lopers to blame.

        In addition to presenting Chang/Dibarno as partnership, I always had a bad feeling about Michael Caplan’s involvement with the Democratic Party.  It seemed like a drone.