The attackers are accustomed to terrifying people into prettifying their crimes, but they got a brainstorm in cunning, he’s two-faced, Eirene and Ming Na laughed, between practice sessions under the money’d lisp, how bout we let us sit right here and listen as a Union notion for abolition and invasion of privacy for the holocaust plan of Microsoft.    Plenty cute, and for him special education in non-violent journalism, even better than say it to my face dogeyes, but they still feel cheated, they had it good making up lies for people I’d never even heard of or seen before to claim about when attacking me as a child blind side. Yoko Ono, a violent assassin GITS to “observe” her prey. Oh, the Union, theyze a caution.  They just better act fast.

        The Obamas are dangerously sick individuals and inevitably the more obvious it becomes the worse it gets because they are the murdering hired guns whose goal it is to pull the trigger as fast as Dirty Harry only for the criminal to kill the hostage first.   They want a cut throat, split second finish certifying for all time, Hitler’s judgment over Hiroshima. Their horrible justification for Will Zell by contagion games of medical debris are legendary wherever papers are shredded. Their macabre slogan: if you wash I’ll be offended has gone down in history with United We Stand as the slogan of those behind 911.   When you can unsay, yes you can, and disentangle their madness from that last paragraph you can slither into their lies as a sooth. Oh, but they’re Black, myuh. Like D.W. Griffith’s injuns.

         The precedent was established by the same ring of directors who made this game up.   Ken Russell’s film The Nuns had them in naked frenzy over a box of ashes that the French King laughed and showed empty.  They went right back to their frenzy. Showing that Diamonda Galas, savior of Seattle Queer sensibilities worked with Gail Burstyn and the AIDS attackers all along raises the mortal hatred of the deluded.  Dare not insult Larry Flynt! But what should he care? One can only imagine him seething with hatred over being put in a wheelchair and like Gail Burstyn hating only those who weren’t similarly victimized, far more than those who did it to him.

         Syphilis, of the Penis Gabriel variety, just bangs on.

        The Left has no need for James Crary, yet for all the tone of Dr. Duchin’s memory of Richard Nixon’s self-regard, I’m the only one who puts together observations like that Alison Krause and Aleister Crowley match in a way that sees the syncopation as a taunt and manages to convey why.    I have been denied every imaginable injury claim due to lack of loyalty to Kennedy’s killers.   

       JFK was stopped and that’s interesting.  Chomsky holds that the behemoth is casual in its destructive ravages and that his conscience is swell, by comparison to Kennedy, despite having provided many a note of leer to accomplice the AIDS abomination.  Genetically engineering EEN mosquitos or giving a deaf student bedbugs who questions insect extinction is typical of the British Monsanto V.A. in America with all their lolling about the doors of perception. Naturally, they like to wear long hair.  MK-Ultra was a fantastic success. Lysol is their loveliest paleo-encryption: Love you, Sean Ono Lennon. As bad as all that is nothing would be better for our society than to see Penis Gabriel go down once and for all to a lasting defeat.

        From the day they killed Kennedy, making the opening of Odessa File to announce their true heart, they have wanted the verdict of the media to rap that they done what was best for everybody.   The set up is easy to see now that we know Queen Elizabeth had already arranged things in the American Federal System with the help of Bill Gates and Billy Graham. The Beatles actually called the AIDS attack by the code name:  Ladybug. Although the phenomenon of an unfortunate person afflicted with an injustice from the world turning sorrow into hatred against the more fortunate is not unknown in a society that harbors criminals and the insane, but to provide scholars from Princeton making this into a social movement worthy of Jim Jones and calling it Black Psychology is not going to be rendered an accepted American discipline, however UW makes the poets crawl.   The fact that the perpetrators were in Jonestown with Mark Lane the day they killed Harvey Milk and called it a twink defense to which we are supposed to follow the guidelines of Graham’s Mary Precup and Gail Burstyn to Prick Up Our Ears as the song of the Lord bursts in with designer fibs from Obama about the deaf white suck, ties the noose shrewdly around attempts to warn, while the assassins begin a tantrum intended to drain, by military tarantella, the will of the vanquished to resist and they call it Gurdiev.  All that’s left in the end are the songs of the saviors, Inc. If everyone were hearing the tinnitus of voices they might fix their skirts and manage an, ahem, to their civilian delegates.

         But Microsoft has chalked up quite a proclamation of their role in the fall of America, abolishing the tribute of postage stamps, putting foreign empire figures on them, as well as any old face they want.  Nobody’s better than us, they scam. They shake down bus riders at public stops. They sent your new passwords directly to Fripp and Tony Levin, the super-police brutality fetishists. Penis Gabriel, their slimeball Royalist, was rioting about the plan for the plague in the 70’s while married to the daughter of Queen Elizabeth’s secretary.   Although I was taken up to meet Elizabeth Banwell on Mt. Desert Island where Caspar Weinberger lived nearby Polly Saltonstall by Society for Human Ecology whose agent Will Zell had intoned the plan out loud before it started, and although called on the phone in 1980 by a namesake of Dia Galas who went to the World Trade Center in advance to pose with a stiletto and imply the greater meaning of her anthrax fellow traveller, and although Ronnie and Kasper attacked me as a child and gave as Obama’s reason a girl named Mi Yung Joo, when my father died and his obituary was scribbled “injecting values” and donohue, the police insisted it was all a delusional forgery by someone who stole the names of celebs; nevermind Donaldo Gulligan and Donald Faulks, still working the forgery by a span of ten years, in the lead up to the signifier hit for Sharpton’s holy Allah team over a penny of Shannon Harps.  Ain’t thems sharp?

         Because….Lennon was making songs in the 70’s organizing American Prison Gangs like “We’re all inmates at Attica State.”   Thus British screwdriver impressarios from the crimson King came along with plans as insiders, deputizing the hardcore, syndicated with publishers and Axis Hollywood.   Kennedy was killed as a matter of principle. America would Rather be conquered by Amazon women. They silenced the Voice of America by shooting him in the throat and then took over our broadcasting system to the tune of the premier episode of The Outer Limits during Kennedy’s state funeral.  We wait in vain for the Warren Commission to return control of our television sets.

         The assassins bore and mis-educated from childhood an individual tagged as humanist who was coyly assured that the Black woman could tell right from wrong, and truth from lies, so confide, queerbait, don’t hold back, say the first thing that comes to your head, frozen solid with neuro-chemicals from Wattenmaker’s refrigerator.   While the Mehtas had my grandmother’s ear and the Varmas laughed, “blush-blush,” Obama provided his Neva Corporation special for April 17, 1986 at Pitt and the NAACP announced a special episode of Gummo, on which Creary was said to have authentically pleaded, ma, ma, gimme the nerve agent, please, I want some, too, as he self-inflicted blindspots and deafness for his sin of hating authority, myuh.  Beat me, beat me, make me write bad checks, Matt Marcus howled with acid laughter.

           It’s impressive how much it took to subdue such an important person.   It took Reagan, Count Trump, his minions in dictatorships around the failing planet, it took forgiveness by Ringo Starr for Noreiga and Pinochet, it took Prime Minister Penis Jagger and many, many Richards, from Arujo, to the tang of Starburst candy, it took Aaron Dixon’s most fiendish dacoits miglosyiing Carrie Gister, and Sony’s most erotic hotties, oh they finally accomplished the defeat they sought, they got doctors to chemically castrate, they raped a retarded girl, so they could to claim they inspired some of my poetry, but it still took a lot of gunning and grunting and brilliants study of Borges for Ringo Starr to consecrate his career with his highest calling:  poetry thief. He’s a man you don’t say can’t always git what you want to.