Secret societies, like museum curator conspiracies, make for bizarre ships of state.  Amanda Harcourt, a licensed killer for them, holding estate powers of attorney and vocabulary gleaned from years of experience with them, she engages in a form of connectivity terrorism, and it isn’t just her hypnography hotwiring my mindset into escalation phobia from Shaolin monks with stolen zuklear weapons working Queen Elizabeth’s will, she gets off bringing on people from the past who tortured me as a child, saying that they didn’t, and for all that studiously avoids, in her klepto-redundant double talk for Japanese bragging rights in the matter, anyone with whom I actually had any sort of love or friendship.  Women will do things for war.  This crowd had everyone confused except the perpetrators.  Amanda Harcourt, operating the levers of revolving bookcases leading to secret Trumpytune rooms, is a piece of shit.

         Lying comes first with such women, but even charitable women will sleep with men as an act of support in war, as Martha Gellhorn did, sighing it meant so much to them and so little to her.  Harcourt’s tools, however aren’t the sort of women who sleep with men because it means so much to their men.  They do it to spy and backstab.  When Nancy Moore comes into the picture it’s important to see her Bible Studies crowd, the mother of Leslie Katz’s best friend in the Jewish Community, because the Machiavellian signifiers throughout the case define the inside network and who is to be excluded.  They work armed struggle rhetoric with code names openly in Seattle’s margins, where the same gang that killed Donnie Chin, to many crocodile tears, also killed the Kennedys.  With Harcourt, the confusion on a point like that is blood elixir.

        Everyone on earth now knows how cruel and stupid Penis Gabriel is, but one wonders how he get applause the way he does by fooling himself.  No accurate reviewer would fail to miss that it was the English I went to first.  I had kodaks of Zappa at the 8 in morning at the Hilton with Gail or whoever lit his pipe on tours.  I hitchhiked from Pittsburgh to St. Louis just to hear the rabid Fripp play a squeaky Fromme little gimcrack freebie.  I liked Peter Gabriel growing up, I believed them.  Scary.  He probably syphilized about Diana when killing Saoirse.  That’s the pin the tale on the donkey stuff McCartney lives by in his world of mirror, mirror.

        Ming Lee, a Chinese Baptist Biblical scholar looked at me in shock when I showed him the letters of Gail Burstyn.  He stammered, I’ve never seen anything like that before, and looked away, refusing to look again.  It was a good sign for me, because he is powerful and honest and realized I must be right and the world was crazy.  The denial of peers always had about it the credulity of sharks.  Oliver Stone lives in his own movies and loves the art of false assurances and instant betrayal.  He is a terribly dangerous personality type, in contact with Trump, Putin and their n’er do wells, pickpocket riff raff, the sort of yinzer who would hit someone for five, jive bucks, man, in a trillion dollar hotwiring mission for The Crown.  Long have those sordid Nazgul circled in the sky with their Rolling Stones countdowns. By this media tower prototype of linkage the Royalists have mongered the power to squeeze the very poor by a collection agency of thuggies operating for the extremely rich while calling themselves a Leftist intellectual extreme.

         The list of people who made themselves suspects in the hit on the Kennedys, Shibu Thomas, Brett “they were put to death” Mole, a trucker in Delphi Forums, Upaya, Leto and LMNOP all arise in the lead up to Trump’s Insurrection.  That piece of shit Harcourt is always trying to scare me into hiding the truth that way by circling my loved ones.  The truth about her constituency derives from reality about Leslie Katz.  Katz was a pornographic mind rapist serving this alliance of sadists to convince the Mellon public to say the script was a found art hustle.  When traitors prosper no one dares call them traitors, and giving those who released AIDS and covid the weaponized version of the crime and offering them a sweet revenge golden parachute for free smacks and bonus attacks, it’s easy to see why no one turned on Larry Flynt, Dia Galas, the mouth poisoners in Seattle or Chief Heapist Trumpytune, who shut down our Immigration sensibilities with another catastrophe.

        Still, it will work out for the killers. Ben Jealous is in a sweetheart deal who will never pull down Yoko Ono’s Confederate Statue of the Louis Maiden.  Why camplan now?  By getting The Stranger Newspaper to buy them time griping about copyright, rock pimp status and Jimmy Creary’s sexual disposition, worthy of castration and banishment from their school, they totally allowed domination by Nancy Moore, even as Judge Pechman ducked under her desk from the bonus attack, who had the letters of Gail Burstyn in the dining room drawer of old lace.  The Penis rabid pieces of neverstep in King Crimson held it all up for the covid story, and the Biblicists killed the Kennedys for the death in the family Pharoah come to settle accounts between natives.

       G-R-E-T-A  G-A-T-E-S  RS.  Great balls of fire!