Jim Marrs, Reagan Nazi, Numero Ono

    I find both The Stranger Newspaper in Seattle and what they pulled extremely offensive.  The lead up to UltraQuake was a great rowing by Patricia Fripp and James Child of Hancor Institute debating how best to use Dr. King in pacification of Queers, so-called Operation:  Medicine Man, a high-tech war department approach to the Bush klan’s endless Civil War.  The reason that a “Yoko” appears in the Oswald Diaries edition of LIFE Magazine in 1964 and the role of Patrick Buchanan in the Oklahoma Federal bombing are related is that Bush is an enemy of my father Ryland’s philosophy of civil education, a target by Bush that developed when they were in the Navy together.  This was left for me to grow up learning very slowly just as the victim in the film titled:  The Tenth Victim, a 50’s era chiller, never knows who the hunter is and all hope depends on finding out.  For Bush, a sly dog little upgrade.

     The way that Bill Clinton drove a wedge between me and my marriage prospects, while justifying using me as a sickening jest in the AIDS Onslaught was to claim that I was a sexually aggressive person suffering from suppressed rage.  A cornerstone of this manipulation by parochial leer is that traumatic memories were buried in childhood sexual humiliation by brutal pedophiles.  Cyril Wecht and George Bush were running a wiretape stage management system in Pittsburgh.  The Police would listen to private phone conversations while hiring out call girls and various thug actions.  They would listen to the phone as audience to their own neo-Shakespearean military orchestrations.  Knowing how people felt about Watergate, Wecht told Lucarelli  to challenge me with a copy of the Watergate Hearing planted in my cellar when they made the infamous and ludicrous carrot tape, the result of which I have spent my 30’s and 40’s engulfed in a tragedy of isolation so completed by deafness that it was as though I never had a life.

       They hired precious little complainers and orchestrated.  It was juvenile but it sufficed.  Lucarelli would go mocking at me, “Ah, come on,” and Mancine would yell, “Hey! Okay!” to dramatize their fascination with the childhood give and take between Jimmy and Linda Herrington.  The King Family meanwhile adopted Mary Anne Steiner in lewd psychosexual wrangling.  Bard College had a counselor named Kevin Hyde as in Jekyll and Hyde, serving notice of their premeditations, and they claimed that Rapid Eye Movement research was necessary to determine to the divine cluck of sadism-maddened Dr. Harlan White whether or not a defiant trespass stroke of the consensual lucky andong took place when she vascillated during consensual sex to justify Supreme Army Command’s licking their chops while threatening me with HIV injection to get pho bac.

       The University of Pittsburgh led a claim of hidden hermeneutics in the letter to Leslie Katz, a sum total of concealed messages implying the flavor of a threat.   They did this while denying their slavelike guinea pig had been brutally, brutally mutilated and tortured as a child. 

       The origins of all this lie in the increasingly reasonable suspicion that Paul McCartney was a British Royalist who killed not only John Lennon but cleared the tracks of JFK on his rise to fame as part of a steam train.  McCartney comes from a Royalist mindset who have always felt that money and morality shouldn’t mix.  The British Royal Family supported Adolf Hitler.  “Business is business and friendship is friendship,” said Rick Finkelstein one night when I begged him in tears to help me get away from Don Ostro and he opted to take advantage of a chance to buy a synthesizer from me at reduced rate.  In fact, you could say that McCartney’s ugly song:  Money Can’t Buy Me Love was a derisive zeitgeist from a man who put his finger on the DNA building block that Britain uses to molest and colonize: their inate congenital facelies.

       The Manchester Guardian has long been a mainstay for Jewish Intellectuals and British Royalism in the ruling class.  It was without difficulty that McCartney followed my father Ryland after he made some smart remarks about the Beatles before they became popular when he saw them in a little club, and then contacted Cyril Wecht to put the Jewess Penny on daddy and break up my parents to illustrate the Humanist who abandons his son theretofore drafted in elementary bonadage skool by gale for execution of a vicious accounting.  “Humanist,” neurosurgeon Wattenmaker sneered, as he created the spectrochemical for premeditated, Auschwitz-style brain surgery.

       Three of the most important people in this terrorism are Lisa Schinhofen, Maria Barbuto and Don Kahler.   Jimmy Crary was subjectioned to revolting mistreatment, but word went out to Bruce Springsteen that some Catholic stain on the conscience of the Queerball had him yearning for a normal honeymoon with  a Tess of the D’Urbervilles.  The man who cudda saved John Lennon wanted recognition for torture.  Schinhofen is part of the fabric of Caplans and Cohens who rule Supreme America by having invented the UltraHigh Quaker.  They are Caspar Weinberger’s lobby, which is why he went into a dark tower to study Downs Syndrome before becoming Commander of War under the monster Reagan.  To make morbid farce of little Jimmy howling in neurotrauma and Jeannie Tamburro, the deaf girl the an English rabid raped for pro-Reagan catharsis.  Barbuto was a conduit between Anne Mitchell, J.P. Morgan’s granddaughter who sought me out for dating, secure in her anima/animus psychology, and Tony O’Dea, friend of Burstyn’s Dalip India pal of Asia’s Greater Obama Co-Prosperity America.  O’Dea is not only the name of a street in Seattle up by carrot Terry Street, he stayed in Pittsburgh to operate after having a conversation with Ryland shortly after my birth.

       Love Field, where Kennedy landed on his own Monroe versus Wade judgement day was the scene of the rise of Two Virgins Pussyball.  Hitler’s war in Vietnam was part of a dialogue against the idea of America as itself safe for democracy.  The Kennedy Enlightenment made way for a murdering thuggeeism as Midori Goto crawled out of the woodwork with Timothy McVeigh.  Don’t call her, I was told after they locked me in the kitchen at Don Kahler’s house with the chic pussyball Penguin and child molester Kasperahtang!  In the egologic of King Crimson the poet/artist Jimmy Creary meant nothing, not when Piter J. Sinfield looked over the persona constructed about his prey sniffing it with covetous malice of his forked English penistongue.  The English shot down Sen. Heinz to make sure no one would investigate civilly Peter Gabriel’s role in Mt. Desert Island.  There was going to be a rodeo over the superwave of then sexy Ms. Goto.

         This game of justifying wiretaps escalated to a brainbeam as Obama lorded over the flies with UltraQuake Israelis.   The fundamentally illegal nature of Reagan’s political power is loud and clear.  If my testimony had been in safe hands it would be in the public domain by now.  There is more to the funky caricature of an Irish who all his life only wanted a Shetland Pony than an episode of Darren Stevens’ Bewitched, of that you can be Reagan Era certain. 

        Because he was the more outspoken, Beatles hypocrisy is usually attributed to Lennon, but I suspect it runs blacker in the blood with Sir LSD McCartney.    Patrick Buchanan’s role in the Oklahoma Federal Building was nothing less than a message to the enemy within:  Don’t try it pal, this is pussyball and we’re going to slug it out on the streets of Pittsburgh, not in the courts or the history books.

 

        To enhance their jest, Cyril Wecht plunked a neurotoxin in the queerbait waif and watched the kettle start screaming when it overheated.  Send the contagious molecules of notorious boogerboy to the test and use Lennon as a multicultural Savonarola.  You can count on the wholehearted will of parochial America and its British-aping will to degradation.

      My ear doctor Sidney Busis who is on record as yanking a tube out of my ear was Director of Survivors of the Holocaust in Allegheny County.  I was gassed in a place called Kings Estate.  Dexter King set upon me claiming that letters written by a Jewish girl now a Rabbi named Rabbi Diamond, formerly Gail Burstyn were intellectual property of a racial elect from Geffen Corporation.  Oliver Stone, also Jewish, brutally raped my dearest friend claiming I had threatened Leslie Katz, a ridiculous lie about a girl lost and forgotten, to get away with the unspeakable hate crime commited on Mt. Desert Island.  The list of callous, evil, hostile, hate-mongering Jewish people who stoked derision around my name after I was tortured and still in terrible, terrible trauma as a child is long and horrible.  I did not give up on my defense of the Jewish Community until Jeannie was raped.  Every particular in the pedophile mongering roster I have been slaved to answering for the last twenty five years due to the violent, incendiary, libellous chauvanism of Midori Goto has been shown a murderous fraud from its inception.

      All of which has led to my conviction that Geffen Corporation was behind Gail Burstyn, Mark Chapman and Sean Strub.  Geffen released the AIDS virus and is threatening to blow up the world if his delusions are not accepted and his voice of delusion not adopted as American will.  He created Clinton and he created Obama.  The squall that Youssou N’dour sent up when Geffen Corporation commissioned identity crime by the album SO on my house and name was the embodiment of failure to warn.  

      Geffen did not however act alone.  Reagan knew.  I’m not going to defend the indefensible.  You cannot coerce perjury with an ill-informed pseudo-promise that you refuse to even produce in court.

       The coward Tom Harkin of Iowa shirked the appointed date in court.  His hopes lie in pussyball.

        Peter Gabriel who started this problem for me came to Pittsburgh with a war game that amounted to two sided support of hate criminal factions:  Fundamentalist Christians AND Larry Flynt.  Neither cared about HIV, the first because they hate Queers, the second because he’s a nihilist.  Gay Seattle mistook them for their own interest.  They recognize the interest in DEATH ~ PARTY~ WE MUST LIVE audacity.

        Jim Marrs, the criminally insane and morally disturbed author of the rape of my girlfriend to justify pussyball and Mt. Desert Island wrote a deranged book that tells the story of the escape of Adolf Hitler, but then begins jibbering meaninglessly about the communism of public schools.  I don’t think you can reasonably deny my point that Marrs is the new Josef Goebbels.  He plays the same game Sean Strub does who went to the Dakota with Mark Geffen Chapman.  First he mingles with the victims then he incites them.  Strub targets the HIV Negative, Marrs tries to incite terrorism and arson towards our public schools.  Both claim affinity to anti-Nazism while advocating openly for Nazi tyranny.  What do they have in common?  Oliver Stone, and publication promises for supporting Ronald Reagan.

     The destruction of the idea of an intellectual, and punishment of the intellectual, is a root factor in naziism.  One presumes that Jim Marrs is serious when he publishes a book called The Rise of the Fourth Reich and it appears on the New York Times bestseller rack.  It is reasonable to find it strange when the Iowan son of an important educator and Peace Corps leader is first mutilated by a holocaust survivor’s community team of children in a premeditated brain surgery experiment, then derided for being afraid, his girlfriend raped in punishment for talking about it, and then his heart poisoned in what is increasingly coming to look like an assassination in process, due to the trauma and damage done to my heart.

     You are not just mocking me over a beer about flying saucers when you think the horror of this monolithic tragedy is a jest.  This torment and experimentation has gone on forty five years.  Jim Marrs himself wrote to me a psychopathic letter saying something bizarre about me being Galileo and him being the Pope.  He has dragged issues like Reagan, Israel and abortion across the radar to cover up neuroscientific evidence of torture that is absolutely irrefutable.

     If Marrs the bizarre were serious about the rise of the fourth reich why is advocating for APOLOGY from the little boy saved by the bomb Little Boy to Imperial Japanese ambassador the hate-ridden power-monger Yoko Ono?  Why is he the advocate for The Rose of the Fourth Reich, a virgin named Rosa who he sicked upon me to cover up for the criminal insanity of Mt. Desert Island on behalf of a deranged, child-rapist from a neo-Nazi Gurdjieff cult, someone Fripp of Britain’s Aleister Crowley/Oswald Moseley scene, who commissions hate crimes adn child rape, over and over again in a bloodbath of deranged mania lasting decades to get his ghoulish Muslim haters in the music business jeering?
 
     You are talking about a deaf man who has worked unspeakably hard for forty years trying to make sense of criminal horrors who still is only one false move from homelessness with a heart damaged by police brutality now.

      Let’s look again at the pretext these murderers use:  Leslie Katz.  She was running a pendunum monologue in high school getting me to service her virginity nightly with my tongue and then after six months of this licking her virginity, she cuckolded me and mocked me and I sent her a letter scolding her.  For this the fact that I was tortured as a child was ignored.  I was devestatingly mind-shatteringly gang raped in Maine, my private life was blown up by gangsters from the Police Union aided by the Black Panthers, their new Reagan/Obama chums, I was slandered horribly, my loved one was raped and I have been slave labored for twenty years after child bondage to murderously raping Pittsburgh pedophiles.

      I am not just deaf.  I have been engulfed with the sorrow of loneliness for twenty years.  As I turn fifty I don’t even have a friend, not one.  I’m deaf, no one to talk to.  Engulfed with horror from cold-blooded lies told about me for decades, by proven and known liars who have done terrible misdeeds to others as well.  For nothing will they stop.  I was not, for example, the driver at Kelly School.

      Now, for some reason the PI took down my report about torture and child mutilation, some of the terrible things that were buried in amnesia, that I carried around walled up by Cyril Wecht’s Jewish nazi medical malpractice genius, walled up in a neuroplasmic seal.  Maybe it was written too obscurely, so I’ve revised it again.  Go ahead and try to justify this as having fun as you have long claimed:

       Harkin claims I was an evil child because after Penny Crary took me to HAIR at the Nixon Theater when I was seven I was aware enough of the counter culture that when a prematurely developed Italian girl came onto me, I was beautiful at that age and girls were very jealous, I let her seduce me. Her name was DD.  She was twelve.  Born on Dr. King’s death day. DD by the way is the Library of Congress classification for Nazi Germany. While DD was experienced and I was inexperienced, Outhouse Senator Thos.Harkin evoked shades of a statutory claim under police Commander Joyce’s crime code.  I was 13.

     Intriguingly and mysteriously perhaps because refusing to investigate a cold trail from the era of John Lennon, the Harkin Taliban while not above raping deaf Jeannie for closure, has no questions about the elder brother and sister of DD who requisitioned me in this manner with the help of DD.  Her sister NEVA is the name of Japan’s large pornography corporation, and ironically and coincidentally Outhouse Harkin shuts down entire such statutory questions when for example I was taken age 13 by Don Ostro then 18, who would throw darts at me when he felt like it, broke my sister’s ribs and gave me fourteen stitches to the mouth on a day when I was in my pajamas sick with the flu and so on and Harkin hums, so what, Police have you on record looking at Playboy, queerbait.  Nor does Harkin take statuatory issue with Mark Mark, DD’s sexually obsessed elder brother age 21, when he and Ostro escorted a very slight, fair-headed, easily frightened little Jimmy, terrified for his life, a precious little embryo metaphor to an unfinished condomnium construction site and ennbriated him with pot, alcohol and then a rag of paint thinner in a paper bag, all after his brains were beaten out by riff raff in their hidden film company.  Small wonder Cindy Rudy lifted my arm “as distastefully as if holding a urine specimen” to quote the jibbering woman’s columnist Lew Lapham when after unspeakable, slaughtering, serial beatings to the cranium by her boyfriend Kasper and his brutal, Jimmy-slaughtering, child molesting minions, all far, far preferred persons to Outhouse Harkin, when I was dosed, again in terrible trauma, under threats, as usual by much by older persons, with purple microdot LSD, taken to a darkened garage on Snively Alley, gassed horridly for hours while tripping, and subject sexual degradation while being spoken to in tongues by Michael Barthnik.  Luckily the child bukkake sport of the Warhol guild stil had someone who loved him, each and every day a letter from Gail Burstyn is waiting in the mailbox telling him how terrific he isand how she loves him.  Mother Nancy glowed with pride that her son received such affections from the Bryn Mawr crowd between shrieking screams at home about how stupid he was, bellowing into his poor deafened head as if it were a microphone.  Small wonder he takes to hiding in the towel closet and deeply empathizing with Anne Frank.  You have the criminal derision to call all of this “easy” and “fun”?  For a traumatized deaf child with absolutely nowhere, nowhere on earth to turn?

 

     Leslie Katz’s virginity was evoked by Harkin to justify! justify! calling me a rapist.  Now how does that work?  He cudda saved John Lennon, figure that one out, and hadda be taught a lesson.  He’s going to prison for a long time, Bill, if he doesn’t apologize. For reporting a neo-Nazi cult with prior knowledge of AIDS that Jim Marrs personally covered up declaring himself The Pope of the Issue, and me the Galileo.  Logical question about Mt. Desert Island:  Was Jim Marrs  co-author of the AIDS Onslaught?  Is he more than covering for Reagan? For the terroristic audacity of remembering and struggling to articulate this alexytemic holocaust trauma embalmed in childhood devestation awaited a terrible chastisement:  a rotten, immiserating, probably eventually lethal heart poison crime, after twenty years of terroristic abuses and the rape of my loved one.

 

        The neo-Nazi cult in question in fact is being encouraged to profiteer.

 

       This mistreatment, beginning when I was brutally, brutally attacked blindside on the way to Fulton Elementary in childhood, horrible, shotgun blast-like beatings was a Pennsylvania SKOOL, as real and well conceived by rote and purpose as if registered in a Notary Public.  Santorum crows that it is Objectively Superior to everything else going!  I was taken ennebriated and swallowing my tongue with fear to a homosexual’s lair in Butler, PA by Don Ostro who was good enough to halt the naked Marine style dude when he came at me asking for Monica Lewinsky support of the 13 year old variety, buck naked.  Does this bother Rick Santorum?  Of course not, I was the child of a humanist.  “Humanist!” Wattenmaker sneered.

        What has become of my twenty years of essaying elsewhere?  Is Amnesty International saving them up for my Post-Holocaustal mistreatment retirement fund when Peter Gabriel stops inciting Queers with AIDS to see me as loot?

 

        Nor do Outhouse and Gregoire stop there.  This isn’t corrupting the morals of a minor because of Jeemee Creary’s special obligation as a child soldier of Lennon.  The adults in question are Victim!  Honorary a The Black Men, even if white klansmen, because Creary was a white suck, deteriorating European teachered by The Burnt Hand Committee.

 

       What about the Ferri mobile?  The day they had me in custody, traumatized by beatings and weapons, brandishing a pistol at me one day and a lead pipe another I was taken in a stolen car, knocked out on tuinol and ran home when the car crashed at ten miles per hour in an alley.  I tried to find out who owned the car some years later for a witness.

 

       I’m mocked for reporting the presence of ARMY mechanics behind the endless homocidal spews of Lewis Lapham-endorsed weird, blackmail-ravaging, criminally deranged satanist slanders drafting me by child rape illegally demanding I lie for Reagan in endorsement, rabid, British Royalist mongering endorsement of the Fourth Reich, and these murderers have stalked me since childhood, full knowing, including Lou Leto, my roommate at College, Director of Afghan Army Operations in Afghanistan for Obama, a woman named Crystal and a woman named DIA all of whom called me a devil worshipper at the time they called me a freak and told me, “Freak, you hero has been plugged!” announcing the Lennon slay always asiding me, “You’re going to be famous someday”.  This Sex and Death Cult led to Mt. Desert Island, a premeditated AIDS testing operation run by those who released AIDS, proximate to a Jonestown Church, alibi’d by the Gurdjieff Kluk who claims that I am a lawful bondage slave of their special SKOOL, a neo-nazi, child rapist from King Crimson, whose deadly mentally ill and criminally insane zietgeist had no right to make the carrot tape in the first place that got me and deaf Jeannie wasted.  Talk about a Rosewood Riot, and Daw Ichiro Suzuki gloating.

      What was that about?  Jimmy Crary crying in a kidnapping incident overhearing things at Climax One that came out when in was in trauma from the death of someone he was asked to pallbearer for and Peter Shell started sexually harassing me after a long, terrible day of unpaid labor.

      This is what you murderers do to me because I have an opinion of my own.  That’s how this happened.  I went into Pitt News and wrote:  Stop the Arms Race.

      I don’t understand how any of this can be real, and then you accuse me of not even making sense, as you leer and lick your chops sideways for the girl of my former dreams, for the Rose of the Fourth Reich.