Hillary Clinton, the City of Pittsburgh and Paul McCartney no longer have the social history they once did.   All of them were found out openly for making a laughingstock out of someone they tortured, a deaf man given a nerve agent, and called a liar for escape behaviors from an extermination program.   It is the atrocity that no one will look into. The masses are too big a threat to the great powers of New York City and so they cooperated in the Hitlerian AIDS attack, operating out of places like Carnegie Mellon University, involving a pacification program claiming that the wizards responsible were avenging John Lennon.   Since it is impossible to reconcile the facts in the case with their fraud, they refuse open address. They hired deviants to execute their hostage rendering as an ongoing series of chapters conscripting police by selling the storyline. Media serves as their vigilantee courthouse, thrill killing innocent bystanders as a sociological act of the celebrity superstate.   It is Peter Gabriel’s school massacre approach to vindicating the Reagan regime. It was fairly easy. They wrote a film script in advance, warned me that to tell would be self-destruction, and since everyone in Hollywood accepts a historic fiction mongered from the Warhol estate it was a feeding frenzy for a million dollar contract to misrepresent what has been happening among the has beens. Since America wastes no opportunity to convince that loyalty to the masses is a dead end, Seattle Queers were easily brought into the fold. “One of you shalt prevail as a symbol to the rest,“ the media Terry Gilliamed.

         The murderers have forged the injury into a brutal lens.  They know that they have inflicted terrible suffering and have balked at treating the injuries they caused because aversion for disability has been useful as a human agency from which to author high crimes.   They torment me, watch my public poetry for cues and use them for arsons and deadly attacks, repeatedly, brazenly, coughing at my protests with scolding buccaneer, as though to say we did this for n’you. I tried going to police. They arrested, tortured and sterilized me. The United States Government is the only government left on earth that openly targets the children of dissent as a legal mechanism of political assassination. Boko Harem has nothing over Yoko Harem.  By forging the injury into a brutal authoritarian lens, they can use public address for anonymous messages in the manner of the sort of cowardly slink who tormented the poor blacks in the South during the age of segregation, a method the NAACP learned to use to their own advantage, spitefully gyrating at me, “You aren’t special!”    The anonymous messages then bond with the nerve agent as they upload their presets into trauma and maul the readings of testimony about the deranged crime committed by felons in offices playing for the stage.

         The Vietnam War was a smokescreen in which they hid the plan for the AIDS attack, a slaughter to discredit our society into shrill divisions.    They shadowed the office of Social Security to render it a feeding trowel for the afflicted once they were done, stamping my name with the branding iron of 1984, the first digits of my Social Security number, a recourse for the serfs who have had their share of sex and life under the doctrines of the big pimps and their surly Madames who proved that trafficking is a crime of woman on woman by raping deaf Jeannie to punish a lack of manhood in that small matter of virginity clocked to Lennon’s Houdini, with ethnic compensation over the holy pecking order, small surprise that she was good at it. So has been Catholic Worker, with stage names like Philomena O’dea, knowledge of men who overdose and silence about the brutal molesters who overdose children or face the fangs of Ringo the gargoyle whipping New Order.

        Informed by the hostile terror of overpopulation in England typified by Steve Hawking, a man furious at health and autonomy, they didn’t even bother to try teaching American Sign Language to the golem before announcing that chemical castration was the only way to get their golem of a hellish vivisection to focus, focus through the brutal lens of their evil ingenuity on schoolwork he was caught studying on the sly and interfering by editorial letters.   Then, as a last grace, they want to strip from a victim of torture of the rights they allow all other loyal citizens of the union. It’s important to answer these slinks. It is unsafe to credit a pseudo-morality that encourages people to their demise, and in finding there were pornography corporations setting this up as a pyre, rubber stamped by Lennon’s cuz, we have no choice but to see that Lennon was at it, too. That is the significance of the Zappas and Errol Flynn living among Pentagon Disney in the lane of Houdini’s house in Laurel Canyon. Lennon pulled a Bilbo Baggins surprise party ending for Clean Up Time. From there it was all his Will.

       If the goal of the research detectives had actually been psychological history they might have been more ominous in their warnings to the public concerning details such as that when in my formative years I first saw Butch Kasperowski I found his lizard like eyes fascinating, and there were the rabid with Pener Sinfield putting out an album called, “Drivers Eyes,” as though they didn’t understand how to scare a child into wow, while threatening me with Grand Auto Theft charges for reporting being held hostage later in the backseat of a stolen car in trauma from severe beatings, unable to escape or stop them. The murderers have even challenged that this is the truth and yet not been howled and laughed off stage, amazingly prancing to be holy honesty embodied.  In hotwiring techniques and stage props they bragged of a stolen Lincoln while using a neurological chemical to induce robotic obedience of the kidnapped Kennedy loyalist mutilated into their golem, sure to be a Bugliosi paperback.

       You can see what sort of cartel it was from the gossip spreads of men like Tom Wolfe, who after writing on a sign, “No Left Turn unstoned,” talked up aa gang banger saying, “it is her movie, it really is,” pawning off Jimmy’s tears to Carousel Club dancers who soiled him with their tongues.  They wired up child sex so they could confiscate sex stories about a child, Michael Reagan’s favorite thing, they held hostage through the hired stories of starlets they paid and scripted. This entanglement remains determined to fetch a sum.   Further, because people would do anything to get attention from the Beatles, they had the walrus of super sex music-topia, Midori Goto, with her supersonic pussywhip, splitting their sides making the neuroplasm operate as she wowwed the child molesters that Mick Jagger wetpetted for being bad boys; tell me of my deaf advocate on the streets of Seattle during 911, “a cop did the rapin’.” Musta been ‘bout Terr’rapin’ Station at Jaime Manson’s mansion back East.