The first scene I must describe occured in Pierce County at a supermarket before any occurrences of Wuhan Flu in this region. A middle aged white man came in and grabbed a number of wipes from the free bin angrily. A few minutes later an even more testy middle aged black man came in and pulled out half a dozen, every man for himself style. The second scene was outside Union Gospel Mission in King County, Seattle. By then, I was watching through the window of the bus home.
COVID-19YO *donohue Wuhan Flu has re-kettled a long boiling dispute between my testimony and Administration regarding the true causes of Mt. Desert Island where, according to Ark Covenant Radar Jimmy Creary’s jealousy over Leslie Katz was said to be the spiritual cause of the AIDS disaster. We all look forward to hearing Sean Lennon testify that he hadda done do it again, hadda. Higher principles and all that rot, damn fascists, anyway. The central complaint of the rabid is that I concocted a fable to cover for my vice, when, in reality, the Church of England took command of American Cinema society to promote giving pornography and contagion to those who demanded it as the Art of the Devil and this emerged symbolically in acid rock. Peter Gabriel and King Crimson were the primary crypto-tutors of the era. The attackers have sworn to kill me over the principle of a penny to ward off a gargantuan lawsuit and reclamation of American Heritage from an incendiary Above. Calling their misuse of the sexual liberation movement an Epic is wildly misnomerous. It’s criminally insane.
The NRA does not allow the 1st Amendment on the subject of bio-terror. It’s too unsettling, and thus the perfect weapon. Psychiatrists police against public awareness. If domination by the smug and deceitful is our legacy for heralding democracy we have let ourselves down. I don’t see how anyone can sustain a different explanation for how Art Museums have semi-publicly used a terrible contagion to nurse a feud over a rock star missing in action.
My purpose in citing the two witnessed scenes from the panic above is to focus on the psychological program recited by chronics behind Mt. Desert Island, notoriously, “if you wash we’ll be offended.” This has to be seen in the context of King County’s retooling of the debate about stigma and my school President’s surmise, “we are all in this together.” As I watched through the window of the bus, a tall black man stroked the arm of another homeless person, white, and then got super close to a third white shouting many inaudibles, after which the patient, presumed Christian man, wiped his face of the spittle. If that sounds like a paradoxical set of knotty ideas from the mysterian box of Cornell “biological linkage” West, the African guru probably alluded to in the script, and R.D. Laing it is because it is. It is the work of the attackers cornering the market on all forms of consciousness to promote goblins in Academia and from the Above.
Suicidal concern for one’s peers was dismissed as a sex happy ruse by the production team who themselves laugh about drug-inculcated dog behavior. Our liberals have casually accepted throwing in germs as a means of stirring the melting pot. When Pelosi acted as though Trump had two-timed her one wondered at once what else, besides his script, she could be omoja’d tearing up. The Hippocratic Oath, for one thing, as the mouth poison and bedbug drill made perfectly obvious, following the scabies in Mt. Desert Island, the rabies and heart poison crimes from Administration Above. Instant retort upload comes: Wound Compare.
The suspicious German Green Party injection documents from Donohue on my papi’s obituary notwithstanding, an adjunct of wound compare first came my way from Joyce Frauenholz, a bug-eyed type who promoted veganism cursing a world that couldn’t see that humans were just the same. Something to think about when Frankplan appears on the screen at the beginning of Breakfast at Tiffany’s starring AH.
The plan of Franzl’s media was to take a generation to hell by way of a souvenir. The NAACP masterplotted provisional terms of mercy in return for tribute from the whorehouse sit-in known cosmically as Two-Virgins Pussyball. The Donald Corporation (Neva) got this started with a girl with a nom de guerre mocking We Shall Overcome, named Michelle Lubin who ended up with Michael Bushkopf, a kryzoidalization of the word witchcraft. The Axis takeover America, so-called Ark, purposefully draws a hard line against pornography while announcing with glee that Adolf Hitler in Argentina killed Bobby Kennedy. Around my house, where the vivisectionist Peckham klan (who had a black friend nicked Ku-guy) spray painted, “I love Sira Siran,” in 1966 (that’s not a typo) and called themselves things like Pali.
The were in my zone of proximal development as a child making sure I turned out a dumb motherfucker. Even though I accepted commands from Above due to hostages like Shannon Harps and Iowa Molly to take the heart poison prescribed, one of my central contentions against the Green Party is that they are mystifying accomplice under the rubes of social insight. The theorem, “no one gets outta here alive,” is not solidarity or a pagan sacrament worthy of The Doors from their sybils in Genesis. It certainly isn’t concern for the rights of others in a major disaster. Being told that high risk is a Love mandate is outrageous wrong. Saying this, they snicker, proves against protective instinct in the entrance to the war game on the island, as though going undercover were a crime. Telling on them, a crime?
Meanwhile with all the vespers of wherewithal in their collection agency they announce the proof of justification in adulterous communist contagion. You still can’t see these Love poachers hate you.
Get well, and see that no one else gets sick.