At the onset of botanical life, life’s awareness was probably like only the softest sound but with it came affirmation of that awareness, and it was no doubt not only soft, but very pretty.
Fraternity promotion of Penis Gabriel’s noxious alibi for Mt. Desert Island ignores any register in which my being deaf, much less the circumstances, would ever be acknowledged. It seems like a waste of time even quoting Karl’s eerie Catholic chiding and recipe calling for brutality, kidnapping and successive degradations of the X-motive, all his words. Why? Because Pittsburgh and Seattle don’t even expect to be asked to keep their lies straight or slogans consistent.
Nevertheless, the question Howard Dobrushin asked, why did you follow on this bait and tracking game if you knew it was this serious and real? I said to follow the leer in the hopes of tripping them up, in search for proof, because I had begun to be very suspicious. Sgt. Secilia understood how I could have gotten in deep by telling myself, this can’t be real, but it gave the fraternities what they needed to pornographify the object lesson, racially in fact, to make the scary and strange situation even more violent.
However impossible the history may seem to be in terms of the power to escape poachers, even in terms of new classmate sympathy as an old man, we can look at how the opposition in Hollywood production set up Children of a Lesser God, particularly the film, and see a tendency that also occurs elsewhere, of their being unable to hide certain things they try to take care of through contingency management when the need arises. The scene that illustrates my point is when Jay-ames is quizzing the deaf protagonist (called a lesser god child due to the divine intellect of Saudi Arabia, I guess, where it is believed that Allah’s primacy exists in sound foremost of the senses (Nasr)); anyway, Jay-ames is listening to her hysterics about how she has been subhumanized and she gets to sex, well, that’s different with the boys, she says, they know how to get over her deafness on that one.
Why would Administration think a deaf boy being isolated, bullied, taunted, traumatized, subhumanized, and mutilated by Mansons would not give up in the same way? Well, he did and Seattle Queers are dancing. This fact leaves their poaching all diced.
One of the sinister tricks of this racket between Snyder and Warhol is to switch the usual sex roles and allow violent women to sexually molest and traffick a traumatized male child with surreal, unfathomable brutality and then bring in big guns like Penis Gabriel to spread the slanders through the media machine that Lennon built.
Anybody who tries to get out of a minority status of any kind is called mentally ill at some point. This view was even extended by Bush over Martin Luther King. King’s book titled, “Why We Can’t Wait,” is OBVIOUSLY being answered by the lewd thinking of the Nom de Guerre that Penis Gabriel’s movement propped up on cue: Salmun RUSH/DIE. This is a secret of Beatles alchemy but also all in the script.
We’ve long heard stories of Purple Heart veterans subjected to Agent Orange. We know the military “takes care” of its own sometimes, dispassionately, when they feel they have to weed. We’ve heard about MK-Ultra, paraquat, and persons who only learned late in life of evil experiments they were used for, men sentenced to 25 years and then freed on DNA examination. The courts shrug. They aren’t going to do anyone any favors. Then someone gets killed for winning the lottery.
So poaching, while not encouraged, isn’t exactly frowned upon under the understandings of University Administration, especially when a winner of the Nobel Prize built the box. Isn’t that remarkable, winners of the Nobel Prize wrote a script about killing Dr. King and John Kennedy, and said, just give the proceeds to the killers, like pied pipers to the emerald beyond, the harp of Burma playing Horst Wessel Song.
Is this true? Yes, the evidence can be recited.
We see from the unhygienic look of the 59th birthday picture that the rabid did in fact poison the quah-thing in its mouth, and even though the Police have tried to allude it may be Chinatown-cooking related, it was when camping with the Clubhouse Program of Country Doctor Clinic after years of advising that the FBI were murdering people and subjecting me to successive degradations to give cowhooves to killers masquerading as victim advocates. So that poison is clearly how I have established it. Not saying you, Hoffa, but one class was given to brag about it.
Queer Vegas laughs at me and says good luck sarcastically like Didiano wrapping up after love with a knotted rubber and calling his baby Houdini. The never-ending ingenuity of the British rabid’s organized crime is dazzling for being multi-parametered. Despite this, the inability of the bloodthirsty to do anything but blame cannot always hide their inability to reconcile by distraction the questions that show the savagery of the English crime. At root of course is how they cover failure to warn as though it wasn’t. But as vicious and horrid as their decision not to protect, but to just spread it around and call it a fair exchange between DNA groups isn’t the limit of their problem. The intellectual giants in Seattle chose to bypass timely warning for a killer rhapsody from the Empire of unprincipled magnates like Ono, Trump and Lucas. You can sort of see how to work this from that, but the disadvantage of being up against the ghost of Lennon in his sport of avenging Hiroshima from the Pentagon Disney spirit world where his Friendly Ghost has been the Hidden Imam throughout the AIDS attack, does still get a respite from the same inability to explain attending Children of a Lesser God, proud as the authors are of their mega-detail and adjunct to Nobuko’s script. This was not lost on Yoko Ono.
It was not lost on Yoko Ono how deeply I admired the Gay victim establishment from my position in the Medical Library. Their magnanimity moved me to tears. It was not lost on Yoko Ono that I hitchhiked to St. Louis from Pittsburgh just to hear that overly precious monster Penis Fripp play his guitar. It was not lost on their Isis warriors that I was trying to help get information and assistance to Africa. Yoko Ono made her move. She went public, into the limelight and denounced herself, scoffing at the magnanimous widow routine that once served her. A conventional but hardened brainwasher she knew this would titillate imitators among Seattle’s intellectual giants. They followed suit for Gail Burstyn.
From there, so what, if they poisoned an innocent person in the mouth. AIDS after all was rough love birth control. But aside from the ripper hatter mayhem of Seattle’s intellectual giants, some very important issues come to light from all of this, for example, what we are to make of Civil Disobedience, especially now that renewed interest is at work in the rages of Greta Thunberg and Extinction Rebellion, calling for breaking of laws.
The dainty minds of American schoolchildren do in fact concern me and always have. I suffered and cried for my black peers, however dishonest the NAACP is about that, in contrast there was never any evidence that my black peers were ever taught anything but malicious and ghoulish jeering about what happened to me, and those who didn’t respond that way were breaking the mold. In fact, Spike ole Lee regarded the extremely brutal and nightmarish pummeling I suffered at the hands of the KKK for defending black children, as A SMASH HIT. While some enlightened sport announced FEAR CAUSES RACISM in Chinatown, it is hard pressed to reconcile that with the Pittsburgh NAACP bray that whites won’t change until their terrified, but consistently is a goblin, nothing matter less. The rabid like to play act at sleuthing out social bonds, while ignoring my hiding in a towel closet or being happy around the Chinese elderly. It doesn’t fit their excuse for ripper attacks, so it isn’t evaluated by their eccentric sociologists.
Once Greta Thunberg publicly shook Obama’s hand everybody knew she is a new attorney division for the Attackers, somewhere South of the barely legal genre of North-Epstein titles, breaking laws, just as she would have them do. The masquerade of Civil Rights actions that Ono and Lennon put into operation after killing our real leaders was promoted as Civil Disobedience when in reality it was setting up the failsafe exit scene and backlash for variations on the lemmings program of Penis Gabriel’s Murder, Incorporated. McCartney made clear that Mark David Chapman is on HIS soccer team. Soiling my mouth is just the sort of thing the murderers are known for. The more she gets away with it the more criminal Yoko Ono becomes.
The idea of using someone this way in the AIDS attack surfaces in MASH with Hotlips and their Truman Sex Show bears this technique’s signature. Ian, Patricia and Edith Wattenmaker show that the Fripps and Wattenmakers were homemakers together in the plan. Meanwhile, Mancine, of Manson cinema, also known to the Ian Ian group, told me to listen to the Genesis band of carrion birds after King Crimson was blared into my head. Ironically, after a few nights at the Wattenmakers, a thought started haunting my psyche, the refrain, “Just give us one sacrifice, just give us one small child,” as though the Pink Panther had whispered in my ear.
VW Beetles created by Hitler became the Beatles while the Steelers became Stealers of the script on behalf of General Electric and Ford Motors in the Onslaught. This was all planned. The rabid who have my head constantly rattling from plaque poison now, and who ravaged my home, aren’t about, in a million years to stop targeting the children in my family. Sherman, ‘if you’ve seen one genocide you’ve seen’m all’ Alexie and Will Zell have a solemn vow to give any Crary child to Yoko Ono in wait like Morgan le Fey. The abortion sorority of CMU’s Focus faculty and UW prance about calling themselves Plastic Women of the Universe while being vicious Nazis in defense of the AIDS attack, trying to connive a little anxiety about purity over some honest porno. Facial recognition examiners, meanwhile, studied Costner’s scenes in JFK, and guess what, he’s laughing up his sleeve, how droll the mania of liberation, his winces cream, from the dictator from whom we were really freed. Lo, it was for Bush of Kennebunkport, Kennedy, debunk, deport, the sole survivor of a mysterious plane crash at sea.
How bout dat line in the sand?
