I’m not going to argue with you about my right to publish my views in a civics forum because the crime I bear testimony to is too serious. Many questions remain unanswered, but foremost is not how does a child rapist who has murdered innocent people hold eminent domain over the property of his victims? The very fact that eminent domain has become the main subject of the case for many persons in power is the more significant issue. The murderers are frantic to push through a fraud about Mt. Desert Island claiming it was a crisis response team in order to make strong and sure the alibi that allows those who started AIDS to continue propertizing through Hollywood, deluding and inciting the victims, protecting the guilty.
Obviously the fact that Hitler took revenge on the United States through an incarnation of military nationalism in our country itself is incredibly important to our history. A person aware of this is depradated upon by infrastate tactics from the superclass represented by Robert Fripp of King Crimson and his quisling attache Barack Obama, an installation from the Geffen Corporation who has the elementary corporate dishwasher skills required to to play Yes Man to Master Haole.
The funny thing about James Crary of Pitt News is that he went for broke. He decided that he had the right both to report torture and to taunt the United States Government as a craven mockery. The outcome was very serious because Crary, myself, did not actually believe at first that the torture commissioned in the back alleys of Pittsburgh was Reagan himself. I put both facts, his homocidalism, and the torture crimes into circulation. All hell broke loose because of the guilty demons in Reagan’s id. The coward Fripp has weaselled and tunnelled with the fanciest footwork of David Bowie we have ever witnessed trying to give alibi to the Reagan menace. So let’s get it right, Mitt, Reagan knew.
Youssou N’dour won’t be dancing for very long. This Muslim extremist is himself the spinning mirror of tokenism versus tokenism, the slickest puppet of the robber baron mentality ever concocteneered. His psychopathic extremism is the excuse and license of Her Majesty’s Secret Service in the entire AIDS ordeal. Likewise, Fripp the intellectual has been proven Fripp the slanderer who jeers in ignorant slogan. When all of this is over and buried, consigned to a bygone age, they will ask: why did he do it? The answer will be because he is an English in tights who needed a car thief who battered children to beef up his resume as a badboy rocker. That he tortured Ryland Wesley Crary’s son will not be unnoted.
Professional people do not seem to know how the closet desire to pummell somebody in secret takes root. Chinese Goto has tortured and defamed me for years and years in what can only be undertood as a lynch by assertion of new age racial hegemony. When the lawyers show up in guilty suits as attorneys if they ever are forced resentfully to address the issue they will begin their libels with a Goebellian grain of truth, “Your Honor he looks at pornography.’ Why is something like that the only thing you ever notice? Police detectives should be tracing the outrageous slanders underwritten by this berzerker snivelling. I’ve been hexed in high places. Contempt and humiliation have been ruled a registered absolute. Did it ever occur to anyone to try to stop them instead of sitting around encouraging them?
In this case is not one incident of torture, hate crime, distortion of information, murderous identity crime for radical utility, rape nor ideological opportunism, but rather an irregular set of Eras of Victimization:
1970-1973: Terrifying encirclement and beatings outside of school, often blindside, while attended by an insidious holocaust Jew administering malpractice.
1974: Overpowering brutality, assault, nerve agents, pedophile mutilation, armed abduction, terroristic death threats, profound, comalike trauma, permanent disability, the loss of mother’s house in tears beyond tears.
1975-1977: Environment of peer sabotague, constant Jewish jeers and innuendo, sexual abuse by adults and defamation.
1978: Attempts to genuinely improve scholastically jeered as construction of a persona.
1979: Pathetic fanlike attempts to get help culturally from person Fripp.
1980-1984: Deaf struggles in college
1985: Lured into a ritual abuse cult by the murderer.
1986-1988: Political object of unspeakable draconian intrigue.
1988: Object of sexual film-making by perverts who tortured me as a child using me for AIDS experimentation.
1989-1993: Attempts to believe that Peter Gabriel was rational and capable of understanding what he had really done.
1994: Discovery of estate thread that Gabriel authored to cover up and redirect concern about Mt. Desert Island.
1995-2001: Horrific brutality, weird, surreal hate crimes in environment of explosive pussyball assassination warfare.
2002-2006: Horror ordeals of intimate depradation, stalking, torment, sadism, deadly threats.
2007-2012: Deadly medical malpractice reprisals by Seattle Government resulting in heart and stomach conditions.
Contrary to the litanizing of Black Editorializing, always geared towards impressing Midori Goto with their shrewd, shrill, breastbeating, the deck is more heavily stacked against the deaf than against Blacks.
Given what Muslims call “the primacy of sound” life is also less enjoyable. The Black Man will jump up and holler, “I have a BLACK deaf man right here, now!’ True enough, there’s always another token, but does the Mean Mr. TokenMonger spend time with this deaf man? Don’t explain. With the compounding of the health care tragedy, I’m down in some ways to the last of my natural defenses. Falling asleep because of the heart condition is always a struggle. My cardiologist Sarah Speck took a sabbatical just in time for the stomach care problem, which, assigned to me through the dangerous, suicide prescription Prilosec was just too cruel for it to have been Dr. Tracy Tran, whose support was one of the small treasures rebuilding my sense of place and community, now shattered and in ruins. Why is it so satisfying to these lopers to hurt someone who is deaf and writing poetry?
Part of the answer is the plastic reality, pathetic, twirpy, Hitler Jugend style Machiavellianism of Pittsburgh, the City of Faceliars, that is so well received in the Palace of London and among juveniles like Senator Tom Harkin and miscreant uglies like Sinead O’Connor. You can call this toxic mentality, I suppose, the “Death Cab for Cutie” mystique.
Lisa Miles, who the U.S. Government and Mariss Janssons hired to lie in wait after Mt. Desert Island was not only a liar she knew nothing about me. She did however illustrate the Statecraft as Soulcraft take on political opportunism in vogue among Black-o-Klukkery in that her deviousness and invasiveness knew no scruples in depredating on an impacted neurotrauma, earned in the course of duty to the civil rights movement, that the brutal pig Jesse Jackson hired her to abuse so he could cover up my childhood martyrdom, pursuant Obama’s pussyball play on Midori Goto, and Jackson’s authentic treason in alibi’ing Mt. Desert Island, as all the evidence will forever show. The crime Lisa Miles lied about with great direction and hurricane fury, maddening to the death Raymond Geiger (who knew us both and all about Matt Marcus and Leslie Katz) was a terrible incident of kidnapping straight from a D-grade puke Cinerama. After a week of absence from home, traumatized, left in a car for a day over state lines by murderers who terribly battered me under the control, they forced me to call home and tell my screaming, weeping mother I was alright. It’s funny, years later, after they raped my girlfriend, it was still the same sort of scene at the Abused Deaf Advocacy Service. They asked me, do you have food, a place to sleep. Almost like it was all normal, to have been tortured, to be followed by the holocausters knifing a girl outside the clubhouse behind 911, subject to tiresome, malicious pranks by girls like Spring pretending to be my friend in order to show that I’m an undesirable boyfriend when the neuroplasm buffs give the signal and the psy-mal rapists jeopardize my recovery with hideous routines of invasive sabotague. Midori Goto refuses to leave someone who hates her alone. It’s not a secret that Lisa Miles and Chinese Goto both play violin.
What they are saying is a lie. See how it works? Even if you believe the claim that Reagan was Holy Innocent and they are just protecting his turf, they did so by criminal methods. Let’s examine briefly the foil that the Federal Bureau of Investigation bring to Mt. Desert Island. Mt. Desert Island is certifiably either a Class A War Crime or a Class A Hate Crime, no doubt about it. Peter Gabriel alledges that it is was “only” a Class A Hate Crime, and that therefore the fact that it was not a Class A War Crime exonerates them. Why would someone commissioning a Class A Hate Crime be exonerated? Because Obama in the manner of Slick Willy Clinton discussing Monica Lewinsky, in short says, “Crary is unacceptable to the Sudan because there is evidence he wants to ejaculate on Midori Goto’s face. Okay? That’s how they construe it.
They construct a dialectic of “prime”. They put a steak out when I said something about “Midori in her prime.” They didn’t ask what prime means to me. They didn’t ask my happiest girlfriends whether they thought sex was the basis of our relationship. They didn’t ask Jeannie why I was so doggedly loyal in tree of wooden clogs style grinding poverty for years. None of that matters because Obama, Midori and Lisa Miles are cold-blooded liars. Prime means the capacity to bond and strengthen two romantic spirits coupling for the arduous, difficult road of a lifetime’s difficulties. My grandmother said of tending her husband of 66 years after a stroke, “Had it not been for all those years together of love and devotion, I don’t think I would have had the strength.” But never fear, Obama still sits cackling and slapping five at the Jesse Jackson barbershop over bukkake.
There are things they’ve done that can’t be described because neuroplastic reaction formation is so ruthless. I mean, what’s it going to mean to you that I was sitting at a bench, after a year of homelessness, and mega-hypnotic Gurdjieff extortion overpowered me to pour out a capful of liquid detergent on the ground and I collapsed in a convulsion of sobbing and tears? The hollow eyes, the racing heart, the diarrhea testify to the loss of twenty more years to Jewish slander, and terroristic hate crime.
They will say, “Well we can’t give back Rosa’s love for you.” That is in fact false. The Beatles hired her, they could hire a redhaired beauty, too at the snap of their fingers, or a Japanese “plate” to quote Judith Kuncas of the National Security Council who came and worked with me at the College Library for a while after Rosa dumped me in a crime of attempted murder that made me the laughingstock of everyone but those who love Jeannie, ie. Devil-worshippers, right? What they can’t give back in my sense of privacy, dignity, social contract, capacity for love, or the 20 years I might have, despite being deaf, made something of my life and a family. They have no intention of trying, don’t even think about it. For one thing I look Jewish, that makes me a racist, for another they are too busy war gaming on the theme of organ mutilation to compense the effete feelings of Eno caprice. Hate entitles them. You can ask them yourself. It doesn’t matter if the hate is based in unprovoked aggression, it exists therefore it is justified.
One of the things that frightens me most about the case is how many signifiers of Hitler you find wrapped up in Reagan. Tina Caliguri, like Calgari, a film that was swopped with Charlie Chan the night I was supposed to see it in a Night of the Living Dead debut with Charlie Aston of rare books of the Vienna Circle (Adolf Grunbaum) at Pitt, is the most violent person who ever came onto me, in a stiff prison sentence for assault, yet Tina, like Argentina, was the name Gabriel chose to represent him, while promoting the psychopathic extremism of demanding Midori Goto serve him sexually for as long as he needed to catharize his Black Union alliance, raping deaf Jeannie, with the Ku Klux Klan on his side.
Saul Brecher, a Jewish mercenary who tortured me as a child, made love to an Asian girl in my mother’s bed once when she was out of town, a woman from Harvard where Polly Saltonstall and Tom Gordon fabricated the drama club date rape that Amanda Harcourt uses to this day to justify raping deaf Jeannie over a letter to Leslie Katz in Operation: Avenging Angel of Karma, sometimes known at Evangelia Karmas, Rosa’s best friend. Saul used to shake my hand, refusing to let it go, while, joking in an angrier and angrier tone, “Let go of my hand! Hey! Let go of my hand!”
I can imagine my sister Laura, in Clinton, S.C., who first made the observation that our name is like crazy only there’s a r instead of a z reading some of my writing and saying to little Molly, well, Molly, my brother has picked the biggest fight I’ve ever seen with the biggest people I’ve ever heard of.
Let’s begin.
British Royalty holds the University of Pittsburgh in very high esteem. Chancellor Nordenberg’s website speaks of the high encomnium received from Prince Edward. No one will ever tell you about The Great Backstab if I do not. When at Falk Medical Library, appealling to Amnesty International during the evil hour, the nightmare high noon of Ronald Reagan’s shadow government, I sent a story titled: Chasing an Echo to the British. They stomped and chortled, “splendid.” My intent was to illuminate the whisper campaign enveloping my development that masked torture and institutional collusion in a warlike mindset of misconduct, just as my father turned up to die. However, instead of using this to intercept the AIDS political action and ascertain its origin predating the crime, while I was trying to illuminate the whisper campaign around me, they used it to validate the crime and muddy the tracks when they already knew about the script planted on my home and may have even authored the whisper campaign. The only problem I seem to have solved is justifying their doing nothing and their decision or plan to help the guilty. I seem to have given them not insight, nor inspiration from a sincere poet who loved them but what they took for corroboration of Gabriel’s Choice in the atrocity which was failure to warn.
Meanwhile at Pitt News, neuropsychiatric hypnotists admitted in cold blood their game was to depict by plastic reality and rise to the challenge of depicting through prejudice and hate craft virginity as proof of rape. No struggle, no attempt, no desire to do so, no accusation from the alledged victim, just a study in semantic adoption through hate crime of a persona impacted on an ideological mark.
The military precedent towards public education is very grave. It is a hideous and evil project no matter what they say. Because an amateur artist like me often improvises with people who are just around town deep records of photographic field trips for example were scarce even before Harkin threw me in jail and used the Secret Service to impound and destroy my life’s work, pictures and poems from the Governor’s School being one loss. The idea in aesthetic improv is just to surrender to the bedevilment of a moment of passion and leave what it looks like to oblivion. The art, the pictures were often fun and remarkably un-self-conscious.
As a result Royalty and Pitt moved through Carnegie Mellon to crow that they needed to embark on the post-critical mission of linguistic anthropology (which privately they alluded to as “retrospective conversion”). Dia, the Dutch girl who called me to announce the murder of Lennon with the words that I would be famous someday, once called something she wrote and crossed off, “a scribble on the brain”. The Publishers’ Project was after these scribbles on the brain.
For example, they wanted me to scrawl as I was homeless and wet on the sidewalks of Davenport, Iowa, taunted by Midori Goto, Hillary Clinton and Hypatia Feminist Philosophy that Mi Yung Joo had a white Christian boyfriend who argued vehemently, while pretending to be drunk and threatening me with the devil, that Peter Gabriel penned the words, “The stickler takes his tickle back.” I told him politely it was the tickler takes his stickleback. He was adamant, so I capitulated. This is reminescent of the yinzer who howled that there was a song, “I want to take you on a one day cruise” which I told him was, “I want to take you on a rendezvous”. He was vehement, so I capitulated. When JFK spoke of being on a rendezvous with death, I don’t think he meant that Hitler’s forces in America had a datebook for each selectioned target.
Seattle is guilty of some of this tragedy. Behind the scenes they co-authored it with Pittsburgh. Sean Strub’s faction was rooted in the KC concept of British Militarism. It was a set up to use HIV to push through their war machine. The Ayn Randers who crow that the opening of the blackblood envelope to warn the public was an encroachment on intellectual property that had to be answered by 911 and anthrax are the same who set up the claim with Strub and threatened a STROBE, meaning grand flash of light, meaning final revenge for Hiroshima, the little boy bomb, in Operation Little Girl, named by the Neva Corporation and Reagan’s government.
I cannot believe how evil Midori Goto, Aaron Dixon, Ringo Starr, Tom Harkin, Barack Obama and the Green Party are and I never want to think of it again. For such lopers libel is no object, there is no lie too low for the coward Fripp. They’ve signalled me, the Strub-Randers of Hancor Institute, who the British and Nordenberg brought down on me, that I was given Irritable Bowel Syndrome for the going rate of such studies, my five hundred dollars from Social Security, with a bonus, I guess, since the gas aggravates my heart condition.
This is how Al Gore protects those who authored AIDS: by threatening to kill someone who reported them.
Back when I cared, the Gays asked, “So?” They started it.
thechinatowngazetteer 