A strange and interesting alibi for this essay exists in The First Amendment, and a film like A Beautiful Mind stating that even if diseased and delusional, a person has a right to self-representation provided they do not hurt anyone, and although one could object that other deranged people might be incited by such writings as are regarded as tormented or terrorist, our society proclaims faith in the judgment of readers, allowing the First Amendment liberties, much as the Second Amendment allows the right to bear arms, even though they may be misused.  That is not the fault of the writer or the weapon.  Some might object that when the High Courts pronounce a Fighting Words Verdict they are allowing reprisals against writers.  In other words, it is largely I who am at risk, not my reader, although in these cyber-days, a reading might be noted.

      The risk becomes greater when I challenge the wall of ridiculousness represented by the government reality control syndicate in any way that can be regarded as rational and persuasive.  Unafraid of their own ridiculousness, New York Reagan Media have proclaimed that the reason I was not rescued from eternal torment is that I failed to save John Lennon, and this became the edict that cannot be spoken from the men you never knew were there.   

      This edict was decided by Robert Fripp of King Crimson and Cynthia Lennon, author of the book A Twist of Lennon and because they presented this as the work of deep minds, which arguably they have, it is meant to be sound and solid in foundation and at its roots.  It reflects, they say, a righteous sincerity in protecting the virginity and innocence of authority from wrongful obsession.   

      The evidence however is strange, it shows that the reason that I was not saved is because Lennon was the true author, and I was targeted in this plan long before I became conscious of any personal historic importance.   This assertion will lose readers, but I will finish anyways.   

     The Truman Show was a film that was a lampoon of American Society by the agents of the AIDS attack who have controlled Hollywood and The White House since the Kennedy Assassination, most of them South of the Mason-Dixon.   This film was created to flamboyantly deny both civil rights of an object lesson and to deny the Hawthorne effect known in sociology as the tendency of a subject to change their behavior when aware that they are being observed.   This tendency was the controlling factor in their real world manipulation.  The assassins called their DiPietro entrapment “acting out” in denial of the Hawthorne effect, canceling the protest gesture, that was obvious, to proclaim in their favor the justice of a Police Riot, in which a deaf child was raped for trying to protect me (she survived).

       The Truman Show in other words was a horrific burlesque bragging by propaganda of their terrible, terrible war crime.  The British sense of humor is our enemy.   

      The Kennedy Assassination is now known to have been part of the secret film put together by Director Adolf Hitler of South America and his retinue, including those old Silver Shirts of Wichita, Kansas.  Kennedy was struck down for a witch in Henry Wade’s war on abortion.  The Truman Show is a cross-burning on our lawn by the evasive Liars Club of implied speech negating our reality with Ultrahigh determination.  Their we, excluding your I, feigns inclusion until the time is ripe.  The idea of valuable American identity was struck down.  

       Today in Uwajimaya, I saw kickbox bouts on television from Japan, two women face-offs.   When the one was smote, she bowed out while the other cruelly cheered in a way that was predatory of heartbreak, and while there were judges and peers to make sure that it was within law and sportswomanship, it is also true that the aspect of predation towards heartbreak cut the throat of the United States in the Kennedy assassination and that we would do well to understand that what is happening with Lennon’s faction is a bloodcurdling gloat.

      To see this you look at me.  I was placed under the Kennedy curse.  In 1966, proven by Kodak, I was photographed before a garage that was spraypainted, “I love Sira Siran,” two years before Sirhan Sirhan was maneuvered into blame for the murder of RFK.   When Paul McCartney gave me scabies on Mt. Desert Island where I tried to find out what sort of decoy operation was in motion for AIDS testing by the assassins he had Don Denis leave the message, “I pour it on you steaming, I hope it’s enough.”  In other words, the only way a Kennedy can escape murder at their hands is by embracing the laughingstock status of being a piss-Christ, and they admit this, Thos. Gordon, their agent, spoke openly of Simplicimus, the man who chose dishonor before death.  Thus, the idea, “die trying,” they say to frame Reagan, but the evidence shows to tell the truth, is the object study of revenge for the girl of The Thousand Cranes who died trying to make origami during radiation poisoning, a touching story, to be sure, and part of the background in the Kennedy Curse.

        Penis Gabriel and Franklin Graham worked together on this Holywood Sociography.   They used Andrea Swimmer, a porn starlet of sorts, through Feminist Philosophy to degrade little Jimmy Creary as somehow disrespecting the symbol of abused women from the Carousel Club Burlesque.  This fed into a pork barrel bounty that the NAACP announced from New York Reagan Media.   One of the reasons this shows that Yoko Ono and Warhol wrote this crime in advance is that it puts paramount value on the ascribed situation and none on achievement.  When Seattle Queers, led by slasher conspirator Ballard Pimp, said, “we were defeated before we began,” he ascribes failure to warn exclusively to Lennon’s exit and offers no explanation for why the British in 1984 pouted, “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” as reckless behavior erupted in response to Christian arrogance about the plague, with no effort at all to properly advise us so we could protect ourselves.

      The Federal Emergency Management Agency, which originated at PITT where I had already detected the suspicious way that the corner of Hillman Library housing the Warren Report overlooked what was then the parking grove landscape, was very like the Warren Commission in providing misleading storyline about the character assassination underwriting Mt. Desert Island and the war game there.   Seattle psychiatrists spat their voodoo malpractice and hostility towards me, despite my public record of attempts to warn and get help, sniping at me about what they called, “that thing in your face,” meaning the terrible nerve agent put there by those who really love Sira Sarin.

       Where John Lennon was in 1979 was told also by his partner Fripp, of the Jerry Falwell, “Look after your family,” type who brawl at Soccer matches.   These aren’t people who care what happens to those they mislead.   In other words, they aren’t a Union Shield.  They were hard-selling Family Law to make sure the impact of the AIDS attack on the state followed the guidelines of motherly control expected of the middle class.   

      I never trusted that bloody racing glove on Sgt. Pepper’s.  It reminds me today of the photo of Sinatra shaking Disney’s hand from an amusement park car with a little boy, and Bing Crosby’s role on the Board of Directors of the Pittsburgh Pirates, not only because Disney and Sinatra were Reagan’s familiars in the Red Scare and death of Kennedy, it’s poison fruit, but also because I met Bob Prince at Forbes Field while Ian Wattenmaker, who helped force feed me the nerve agent that left me life-destroyed and at the mercy of this assassination culture and who also taught me about the Venus Fly Trap, while gloating over the Hotlips shower scene, and PTSD ran off, not wanting to meet Bob Prince, and yet despite Roberto being killed by this gang, I am the hated one in Pittsburgh, just because of slanders, just as the fact that I love the Japanese has been shouted down by Midori Goto’s witch hunt and pissChristing of the quah-thing.

        Although the British have taken to denying Opium War or that Glove in Yellow Submarine was after all the ulter-identity of Lennon’s omojination, Lennon clearly saw his own hyped personality as a double and illusion.  Although he made fun of Krishna Consciousness when he asked them if they wanted to make Number One and they answered, “higher than that,” it clearly bugged him and he knew that he could make it beyond the top by abandoning what others saw as the meaning of success.  The master Houdini of make believe and hallucination had a disappearing act in store.  If this were not true, why degrade, rather than rescue, a deaf poet?   Because I’m American?  How is that asking for it?

       When I first heard Lennon as a child, after Kennedy died, I thought that I would never have anything to offer, since I can’t sing like that, and it scared me.  Someone pulled me aside and whispered to me about overpopulation.  The only such whisper I can ever remember again revolted me when after watching the police riot at the Chicago National Convention someone told me that a child was caught in it just going to the store for their mom.