When I tried to escape child mutilation by genocide warriors in the pit of King Crimson they unleashed the wardens and masters of juvenile detention on my efforts to secure intervention and awareness.  This was one of the miracles of British power in the United States.   https://maccrary.academia.edu/  The rabid mongered the idea of my escape from mutilation and foul play as a thirst for revenge, snapping that merely telling my side was an attack on the value code of their violent, unprovoked, brutal supremacy.  When I took measures to protect the rights of the accused the assassins voided mine even more catastrophically, using torture in attempts to extrude, their word, impingements, their word, voice-overs, their profession, and then advise the assassins for deployment as blackmail confederacy.   The murderers were allowed to stalk me with possessive signifiers like jas-mine.   When they savagely slew four more Kennedys nothing changed.

        The attackers plodded through the AIDS attack making short work of exposure by denial, mongered advance warning of the bonus attack we called covid by poisoning me in the mouth.  Tangney, the responsible person, working at Sound Mental Health was praised in a letter from Aaron Warner, another index name, as having a mind of brilliance, while the attackers were allowed by Inslee’s government to generate auto-misspells at every opportunity, as though we donohue ono would mean when it shows up in konow.  The rabid bribed the void they call conscience with ease in Seattle as well as Pittsburgh.

       How did the murderers pull it off?  By Police Services.  Not that the queerbait was kidnapped and tortured but that in a state of concussion and brain damage it moved and tried to form peer relations with pot pushers in the Jewish intelligentsia.  The NAACP licky chops’d as hired sex pushers from Neva Corporation complained about the queerbait in sinister blackmail 20 years after forcibly compelling nude rendering as a hostage child.    They called in Christiandom for the play.  Jaime Carbonell, now there’s a name, indexed his linguistic implants for Wattenmaker in time for promotion by the beast Sinfield of a little girl pining for trees.  One had the impression of the humanities being squashed.