In the Wrong Hands: A Petition for Wellness in Government by James MacRyland Crary; Last days of 2019
To represent my view of The United States of America in 2020 I use the metaphor of a near completed puzzle with one missing piece and two remaining unfit pieces neither of which fit, although some would argue that they both have to be used together and none deny both are part of the picture, nothing you do works. Meanwhile there are different arguments about the missing piece.
The two pieces that don’t seem to fit are the Safety Net and the self-made man; FDR and JFK, you might say are one, and the Horatio Alger myths of Ayn Rand are the other. The meanwhiles consist of those espousing the race line, fear of God, disrespect for Old Glory, and so on. I’ll stop there since a metaphor is only a point of departure and my goal, if I can clarify this mess, is to encourage the value of moral ruminations.
Many years ago, Pittsburgh set up to lure me to Seattle as an internal refugee and I was poisoned here, my body is failing, I am in Death Row Section 8, in the wrong hands for whistleblowing on abomination with the message put to me, even if you win you will not live to enjoy the taste of victory. Due to the fact that I am a Kennedy kid by birth generation, Naval family history and living memory, but not a celebrity as he was, when I point out that the message is the same one that he was assassinated to convey, Pittsburgh wins. It’s a variation on Godwin’s Law only where if you protest being subject to insane, disfiguring, shattering mistreatment as a sadistic form of lethal overwatch, Pittsburgh wins because you think you’re special: no real man of the people.
I am not the only one in the wrong hands. The years that passed under corporate power led by Bush, convinced Obama to work with Geffen subjecting petty details of my habits to invasive scrutiny with the cowardly howl that any fractional variation was a miscue allowing pretext backwards and forwards to torture for reporting torture, to dismember for reporting disfigurement, to rape for reporting rape incitement, to mutilate for conscientious objection, and having my private dignities ruled meaningless before a power that has no resemblance whatsoever to law. Sick now, rescue never came, I have largely discontinued distress signals for help and am working in a state more of long farewell. The murderer means it and I will never surrender. Although no one has ever paid me a dime for my time I try not to think about it, since the idea of humanity is so close to shattered. I have to maintain the semblance of reporting.
The willingness to serve in war is so heavily promoted as the crux of moral reputation it serves as a guide to the hidden hand of American domestic terror against dissent. It is meaningless to say it doesn’t have to be that way when it is. Conscientious Objection itself is a categorical idea that tries to subordinate The First Amendment, and participation of thoughtful discussion in politics, to the brawling sensibility of The Second Amendment. Although this tension has been around, seeing it digress into a function of martial law is really too bad. Scorn for civilian authority is the downfall of our people’s faith in a political heritage. The idea that the Army could break the Commander-in-Chief like a twig was demonstrated conscientiously on their own terms by events in Dallas in 1963. The Army has little to show for the claim that the tragedy was their own, too. Instead, we see the perpetuation of the deranged act as the summation of a more realistic moral principle. All of this bad faith is bad news for our society.
By shaping a complex argument from the Army, much of it in the hand of Lew Karl and his brother Greg, and using it to engulf a prior-disabled, traumatized deaf child into a maelstrom organized by Warhol in Pittsburgh and from Seattle, to coerce a doomed and unending argument for its life, the Warhol mob scored a populist victory in these two cities. They don’t believe in love or friendship but they vow they will kill if it isn’t given to them.
The Rotterdam Women’s Conference talked a good deal about love being used to lure into trafficking slavery. Parts of Goebbels’ The Eternal Jew exhibition are kept off the web but I grew up in, and was hideously tortured in, a Jewish Holocaust Survivor community. I saw the skeletons holding candelabras at their groin and understand what the Tacoma Secret Service are doing by monitoring home pornography as a function of justifying the AIDS attack (AA) and lurid orchestrations by Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump of the situation surrounding how I was scripted and held in exhibition for the champion of goodness, Obama with Nazi minutemen on Mt. Desert Island, the triumph of child pornographers in a sex and death cult. They are creating a trump to fire at anyone who offers help or suitable counsel. Sex slander did the trick. The Green Party and NAACP have sexually harassed me to no end demanding I die at the hand of their poison bludgeon.
What I have done is to prove it. One of them, this Greg Karl person, describes a multiplex that is confusing to anyone who cannot discern the themes at root. They claim regularly that those behind the attack (AA) really do care about the unborn. They use coercion and demands on those who do not want to face the music. In other words, the worst tyranny imaginable, indiscriminate mass murder, saw the act of abortion as the perfect ploy for moral arguments against those politically estranged from fascist holy war.
My ink pen is now dry. My notes contain so many of their secrets, I wonder how I will find time to address their stranglehold from so many avenues I’ve lost count. My body is drying up as well. They are squeezing me to convey to you that you must join them, that you must never figure them out, must never allow that your philosophy was used ruthlessly against you to deceive by entertainers, playing Casablanca again, Sam, with Ingrid, the psycho starlet of Hitler’s Germany glancing back over her shoulder at the Satan in the film Devil’s Advocate who just tricked the lawyer, yet again.
The assassins have called me queerbait, tag along, sidekick, sissy, a big chicken and a worm for all of my life, comparing me to Simplicimus, the man who refused to choose death before dishonor no matter how humiliated he was. They targeted my tears of rejection scientifically as a proof of their neuro-behavioral research into nerve poison that disfigured me for life and rendered their weapon, my trauma, invisible to the naked eye. My private lovemaking to imaginary idols, post-castration dialysis, is always attended by the lisp of their child-pornography black market guild’s whoo-whoo at the computer console of their surveillance.
Maybe you have a hard time with your inaction about this tragedy. It’s a populist capitulation. You don’t want to validate the American civil condition, and told me I will die trying. My letter to Leslie Katz was always known for conscientious objection to what she was pulling. That was what made it such a joke for the grim reaper of Hollywood. Bias is now the political condition of our society. Nevertheless, I ask you to refer this to someone who is not a stakeholder.
Lucas Studios knows the family law bondage text of the script they helped plant on me as a child (Operation: Fox Terrier). They helped pay for the statue of Martin Luther King in D.C. because their message, the one they want to sell above all, is to accept death and the hereafter in the abomination or else. They used his spirit, even to the point of Clinton evoking Star Wars doofbaggery in her campaign, to sell the image of a child eagerly waving a sword. The death fetish comes from Axis Cinema. The war game is hollow. It comes from the Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan making an Ark with Obama as Noah at the center computer palace of The Matrix where Brett Leonard threatens to blow up the world over Leslie, Hitler’s Jewish attorney. The Indexicality is a concentration camp rhapsody about Just War Theory. In this game, Sprague, whether they like it or not, was used by the House of Representatives in a follow-up investigation of JFK’s death because of its utility in the Index as an Indexicality for exterminators. JFK was, in this mockery, a beetle, not a Beatle. They rigged the deck to emerge from Lucas studios flying on the LSD trip of computer animation rescue. The mind will never be free from how it twists. If you perceive that they are evil it means you are, nyuh ah auh.
I appreciate that the goal was to shatter my mind and that they have still failed, but the criminal insanity of the U.S. Congress in this nightmare, listening in all matters moral to the shamans of a stupid acid rock band, is far too much to accept. As Americans, we should have watched them more carefully and been more cautious about allowing Jewish Holocaust Survivors to think for us, some of whom we now know were pressed into service called The Special Detail. Death, for them, was the only moral outcome.