The question arises whether Carrie was killed by Lennon’s allies in the Chop District at Carnegie Mellon Ultrahigh to promote John Heinz’ wife Theresa’s ongoing vendetta towards me, and I think cautiously they claimed credit to promote the retelling, using the weapon that was used, a remote. The rabid who worked through Warhol on the AIDS attack but with shifty and sly Japanese macabre wheedled it as a deal to give license to kill to perverts in their wailing crowd of deceit, so that siding with Mark Chapman, as they have done, became promotion of Lennon’s spirit. The usual heist double formula impaled the Heinz issue, when I had nothing to do with it, again on my name relentlessly, in criminal insanity and in cold blood.
Gweener exhilarated her puppet culture like Brett Mole with the idea of a found art mind game that Lennon concocted for the plan, sadistic moles like Brett Leonard, promising them money and leering that Creary was trying to steal a sacred spiritual penny from Seattle accomplices in the kill. Heinz may very well have been victimizing me, but his death was calculated to prevent my escape not as liberation this is the reality of the Pink Finks. The murderers are promoting a concept of Marital law as morality called Two Virgins Pussyball, which is what Colin Colin is really kneeling to on the football field.
Was Carrie killed as part of a Heinz Vendetta? At first I didn’t think so, but a Theresa showed up in Haiku land with Gaylord book cover ripper hatters, so it may have been a violent bid to challenge up and grab psychiatric jurisdiction for the Carrie team in Seattle who poisoned me in the mouth before Larry Clum nearly died young of a mysterious stroke after opening a facility now run by persons calling themselves “disciplined warriors,” garbling text online in convo with me to communicate MEAT as they bar their teeth about handguns and cyber stalk porno, the usual extermination games of those behind AIDS also running the clinics in a totalitarian moral masquerade.
While their laboratory snake Jaime Carbonell squeezed the Nevaplasm for voiceovers they had impinged, Penis Sinfield, aware that I didn’t know I had turned to the aggressor for help, profiled me with my papers about the whisper campaign. In Diva, the dramatists issue a procedural: the case is too hot we’ll throw them a bone, they’ll find this, and ladle out a subordinate for false sponsor. A strategic goal of Geopolitical Pink Floyd's strategic yojimbo is to cloak free smacks as poetic justice, so killing Carrie as MEAT, making it look like abortion protest, in the bloodbath inferno of the Branch Covidians was really the usual Green Axis Party Gaylord rant, strutting their beastiality and Seattle Queer dogwhip as confederates of the atrocity.
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