The Gabriel Branch of the AIDS attackers once hummed about their plot, “Judge not lest you be judged.”   It’s clear from the hooligan razmataz of the rigmorale how much fun they had but I wouldn’t underestimate their viciousness; Obama was our first European President, from there, and the deal he cut, as Devil’s Advocate, to Trump touting a Hitlerian allusion by naming Paris the capital of Germany, was nothing much.  As a sabotage program targeting those in recovery while lying to their faces with reassurances, Sound Mental Health, Obama and Trump little helpers, put out the advertisement, “Our gamer son wasted your Honors student.” Despite this bumpersticker billboard they go, nuh uhn that’s not what really happened, in sing song taunting.

       The closest thing there is to a truth about how Gail Burstyn pulled off what she did by me as a child is that I never thought to consider the possibility she was a segregationist, a new age supremacist, like her partner Obama.   She always chatted amiably about love. She was Jewish, never question them, I was told. Nor did I know that my father insulted University of Georgia by refusing their Presidency when they wouldn’t desegregate, so the allusion to Midnight Train to Georgia in the Burstyn text wouldn’t stir my doubts about her.  When I came home, like mother dear, she was always there, a letter waiting in the Federal box, our mail, brought by a doughboy, for Elizabeth the Blue from WQED.

         It took extraordinary betrayal for me to see Gail Burstyn clearly, the NAACP and Kuntu Theater mocking me with whiny sounds, I was mistreated, when the injuries of mutilation were loud and clear.    Snipers were obviously playing target practice with my trust. Which brings me to something important about this stuff, what segregationist involvement says about the hit on JFK. They had an old saying, those Southern gentlemen, Stateways Can’t Change Folkways.  This was exhibited in the Texas Schoolbook on 11-22-63, the opening axe of X-termination. It seems reasonable to divest from their Patriotism.

         None of this is to say that I know for a fact that my father was innocent.  He seemed to be. They did kill him. Only to say that I was and if I realized his enemies, at least in name, were calling me out I would have been hot after Gail Burstyn to prevent her society’s ascendancy which brings me to a great deal of my point:  His name is Donald J. Trump. His friends, King Crimson, also had me fooled: there’s an image of Gail Burstyn’s archetype on one of the albums of their leader, or to put his way, an album by the husband of Queen Crimson. Unsurprisingly the album is called God Save the Queen with a creepism, “S’under here, Navy man,” Naval, being what Ry was, with a postscript called, Under Heavy Manners.

         Meaning, don’t be confused.

         There was always carnality to Gail Burstyn, in her prose saying, the goodie-goodies are twice as bad, you know, in the Biblical sense of holding you tight, tight, yeah, when you aren’t the notorious passenger in a femme Nikita job.   King Edward and his brilliants were violent smart alecs. The doublecross symbol of the underground explains the shadows in Casablanca as well as the star of Nazi Cinema, Ingrid Bergman who weaseled in to even play my deceased friend Martha Gellhorn in a film.   There is a literal film called Devil’s Advocate or something about a lawyer who thinks he’s escaped Satan only to represent Satan again in a new guise, typical of a Network in Hollywood called Trump, who came up with Hollowood in Pittsburgh and the shooting gallery at Kennedy Street in Coraopolis.   I was framed, by the way, for armed robbery by a misinformant at the store where my father used to buy us Klondikes. The cops said the mugshot of Ronnie Z was me. The victim denied even choosing it, and asked, who is he, when she saw me. Allegheny County was never more furious than when I obeyed them and had the record expunged.

       It’s a dog’s life among the sticklers.

       The rabid, we know, attacked me horrifically without due process over something they knew I had not done and knew nothing about, inventing as they saw fit to recreation.   The midnight train to Georgia is an invitation to twist your accent, just a little, to fit into the kinship system that holds its Occupy from the Southern V.A. The tricks of the arrangement were expressed openly, make the peasants, especially the HIV positive, contemptuous of the consumptive presumptive; take divestment demands, lure them into pussyball eugenic entrapment and say they symbolize the need for reparations, singing with banjos forlorn, where’s a brother gonna get help, when the dirty liberals tell him pull your bootstraps by yourself.   

        Other than ignoring the voices constantly threatening me?  What’s a brother gotta do?    

        The targeting Commission uses abortion as their pretext for Hospital Violence, but the truth is that the enemy created fluxus as a hostile attack on the Hippocratic Oath.   Obviously we should divest from our enemy within, too. I see their arguments encrypted in name sites like Seymour Conservatory...do you see more? They offer a fascist food fight as an afterthought and call their puppetmaster cabal by democracy.   Like Hitler with his dogwhip and riding gear, Midori Goto struts forth with men code named for rottweilers. This is how Parfit’s droogs wachovia the profits of the Ark.

        One of the Holocaust children, friend of KE, trophy Asian girl, played up with a mocking chuckle the name of the super-structure identity creepiness the British sold out beating down the non-victims with acceptance mogulism.   Oh, Bowie, she chortled, I wuddna wunt anything to happa to heeeeem, hahahaha.

         Little, little Americans and your premies.

         The mutation is high and mighty, they pince Roberto Clemente’s name and announce he is all for Rosa; defense agent of the attackers, they use Zell in Sam Gamgee and Fox agent Alucard as Frodo, with the tsk-tsk of a new line from Citizen Jimmee.  Jimmy C. of Pishburg, gonna pout bout dat midnight train to anthrax thrakattack. Banjos, for the Bugler, you’re NOT the only one; it’s NEVER been easy.

          Divest, it was always a good idea, even when the Axis comes as a rainbow.