I don’t know how people can be dismissive of something they are aware of as though it isn’t there, I guess it makes them feel like part of a language community without having to sort it out. Part of the problem seems to be that our allies at Nuremberg weren’t who we thought they were. Tulsi Gabbard was chosen for her role by Trump for the index of her name, confederating with what they want to be believed is a great moralizing fire around the mysticism of the charge, he didn’t notice that the lights had changed, ambivalence and vacillation of the woman leading to hand to hand combat between the sexes. They use Gabriel and Bard College to indicate the woman from He’s Dead Jim who gave discrete signals of changing her mind making impossible to prove that I backed off accordingly and thus justifying, somehow, the Zell injection threat, the AIDS attack, the rapes of Jeannie and Saoirse, by the Cabal of the Trump Conspiracy, but Mr. President-Past, written to you on water, they want me to sign their storyline in your spirit. Far from a moralizing fire, the real anthem of this Donald Corporation hurling fireballs from Mt. Olympus is nasty as I want to be.
The murder in Dallas was actually set up to sell as pornography under free speech codes to see if we really meant the First Amendment. The Vienna Circle, Thos. Mann, Martin Heidegger, these were the types who had mixed feelings about German defeat. The operation is brilliant I suppose for being a humiliation hidden in plain sight. Still, one is inclined, in discussing it, to remain decently dressed.
II’ve paid attention to the way they’ve assembled their argument by a tack of indirection. Lewis Lapham at Harpers had the proclivity to say so you wanted to be a writer, then you won’t mind if we rob of your life and aspirations, hinting so to be just desserts for the elect novice under their wing, driven by necessity to drinking water from a pool upon the ground. Him and Clint Eastwood. So you want to be a Christian, then you won’t mind if we strip you of this world and put you to sleep with morbid benediction. Hollywood had the black mob heckling Dr. King with Dah Lawd! While Hitler’s revenge forces noted his non-violence and abstinence of defensive weaponry, snickering good boy.
The school of public life has been poisoned by these offbeat mainstreams. Governed by a seedy script this crime has been slowly incubating around us, taunting us in public letters. Greta Thunberg has announced a cause of failure in not saving the planet, apparently under the illusions that American leadership ever had that in mind. The cause at work here, even the one she serves, is that of Vikings yet to come. Mel Gibson is in charge of the hidden hand of the doomsday clock.
When Penis wrote to me through his back knife Amanda Harcourt he lisped that she was feeling rather haughty. Being amateur I didn’t understand he was deprecating that I would rather have a hottie. The important point here is the style of language, the control of mind by indirection and content land mines. Public discussion is discouraged by misunderstandings cued to strategic symphonies of detonation. In understanding this situation I ask you to put aside the antique ideas from the age of the Great Dictators, like Might Makes Right because the language community has evolved. What we have in Trump and his mission are persons who mimic the language of the prey but for whom wrong = right if they are where they say they belong, meaning in domination. These countervailiing forces know how to push their way in and push us out. Which brings me to the sad representation of the Native American community as part of this correction by correctness Aktion.
Kennedy you were one who believed in the Great Spirit and that the Wampum Belt was in earnest, and that the Five Nations Treaty set the stage for a future in the people of Athens. Your death was the beginning of the white man’s trail of tears. This was more satisfying and you were the goat of the gloat. We find routed in the language idiom the catch all Lese Majeste which swedges Katz’ parable of the sanitation monologue to the lucky rabbit findings of Jaime Carbonell that announced HAIR as a soundtrack for Neva Corporation in the Onslaught. Companies like Tiffany and V + R Planning all have their moments to say this online. It’s Nancy’s Cafe and the taunts of Joan Crawford who convinced you to abandon your shield in Dallas are everywhere noted like the spike in Berserk that Ian so loved and Mother Hitler Nun should never have known about.
The deal is clear, Trump went 50-50. This did not mean cutting out Putin, it meant the torch being passed by the Fuhrer. We see this symbolized in the name Donald Gruber as well as the 50 cents, NP, Bush overlook in Chinatown Seattle. For the observation they have assembled a guerilla jury.
They schooled me in how to be the chosen worm. All written up, what have we here, ah but did not Donald Gordon honk about German Expression exhibits taking note of who even signed the books? Ah.
It does no good to say they are innocent. We tried that with Reagan.
John Lennon liked in and out. He said it was Zen, you breathe in and out. In Revolution publicly you can count him out but during rehearsals he was more sincere. The reversal of fortune, and all his mockery made of your murder and America, the licky boots, turn on your double dare.
It is hard to know who they are speaking of and yet not hard, as when Napoleon Solo says in the first episode of 1964, armed feminists at the gate of the secret hideaway, about a Nazi long thought dead, what was he a vampire? Shall we ask Henry Wade?
The way that the attackers mimic our language while exhibiting their own mind, including the mind of a vengeful Japan, where patience in revenge is as much a part of their heritage as building up with flattery to the heaven those you would knock down, is easy to see in the way we try to preserve Indian Heritage by making it an issue of native origins, but the best blood notion is very Aryan, too, and Indians only come up in convo with Germany when the vegetarians are confronted with concentration camp legacies.
The athletes and their lawyers playing before the ghost horde of the bonus attack who filled every empty seat and standing room, spilling out into the streets like an unstoppable horde, have a strange ethic. None of the children there, and there are few, may be served ghost beer. They’re underage, but when a seven foot tall, Duzzeldorf familiar, nicked for a funeral parlor, threatening death over Leni Wu? Drives the child into the clutches of an 18 year old pedo whose 20 year old partner blackmailed him onto inhalants at the age of 13, anything goes. This is after all a white voodoo doll for African museum careerists to play warrior upon.
There was always something about that Ostro House of Donald that had a bit of Dr. Proctor. Ostro Donald would snear at the Eat’n Park sugars reading get in on the fun of eating out, like Proctor made pedagogery of the song toot sweet.
What have we here, at Nancy’s Cafe?
