I am writing this letter because when a person is deaf they cannot speak up for themselves, and worse, because we have a republic that does not read, and is easily entertained by insane cruelty, the letter will be ignored or laughed at. When there is no other hope but a course of action that has no hope, it is done in despair.

Anna Politkovskaya’s book, “Is Journalism Worth Dying For,” was a one night stand. She died shortly afterward by gunfire in an elevator. Russian culture has never been good about vocal dissent. This testimony is my one night stand. Off-duty police have put me on notice that I am on an Informal Death Row. Please let me tell you what happened.


The wrong people found out that I had been kidnapped and tortured as a child. They began interrogating me and making a fetish of raking the coals, using me for forced labor in answering their defense of the assassins. I was hit blindside, I was a child, just walking to school, overdosed on a nerve agent in a powerful LSD, taken to a garage and forced to use inhalants. I was gassed in condition of trauma, a victim of severe beatings, while dissociating from a powerful hallucinogen. When I came home there was letter. This was the pattern, kidnapping, beatings, and those terrible letters, written by a Jewess above suspicion.


The letter was a script, a project of Retrospective Conversion, taken back by the authors who then began their cover up by claiming to be investigating. It was written and sent to me with an hourglass going on the living enigma of John Lennon, and then the writers took it back, time’s up, and spread the word around by whisper campaign. However, it was also a military mission they sought and seek to keep secret. I was tortured, but even if you aren’t aware of that, the evidence that I was an abused, but possibly talented child, was obvious. Despite the fact that they have a loud stage presentation of social justice, the people in my stepfamily and their roundabouts, working with Peter Gabriel, at 20th Century Fox and in contact with Martin Sheen through Vince Eirene in Catholic Worker in Northside Pittsburgh, were conspicuously overeager to get rid of me. This indicates clearly that they knew a high roller’s speculation operation was going on my persona. Most of the street scene have known me a long time as a non-violent person, who they see as cowardly and as a person easily bullied. Eirene has access to very disturbing, mentally ill people, deeply suspicious, for good reason, of everyone. He played up the idea that I was positioned to profiteer and that they should watch me closely while keeping quiet. The idea by the high stakes rollers is, if they can’t get rid of me, to terrorize me so badly that my name becomes a Charity Fund for extortion in indemnity to Lennon’s name. The partnership built between Yoko Ono and those who tortured me is extremely depraved and may have been prior existing. Such mental illness about hard work is not unusual in a tired, battered city.


Peter Gabriel, as an advocate for the criminally disturbed assassins, has authored a much too simple explanation which allows him to get away with lying about aspects of the crime in which he is involved and tie down testimony answering his violence and simplifications. For example, he has said that I voluntarily used inhalants as a child, that the adults who gave them to me, despite their terrible beatings, did not force me to use them. He has ignored that partners in the letters of Gail Burstyn named Wattenmaker work in Neurobehavioral Research at PITT and gave me a nerve agent that rendered me neurobedient, a golem and slave to be trafficked through trauma by control on demand. Being foreign English capitalizing on the disorderliness of Lennon, he has behaved in sadistic and cruel fashion, virtually an opium war bandit, while posturing as though from Amnesty International.


I was used for Two Holocaust Experiments by these sadists. The first was being gassed in severe terror while an identity crime was being penned by Yoko Ono’s representative Gail Burstyn who was from the Jewish Holocaust Survivor Community, as was Wattenmaker and my ear doctor Sidney Busis. The second was sexual experimentation on Mt. Desert Island in which I was entrapped and then subject to sadism approaching AIDS. They poisoned my heart and stomach irreparably, chemically castrated me, used scabies and overexposure in terrible homelessness leading to pre-cancer on my face. They also brutally raped my deaf sign language teacher and best friend. They called it justified.


Yoko Ono violated my civil rights. I am a 54 year old man and struggle with deafness and neurotrauma. I overcame these disabilities and was able to graduate from the Community College, after over a year of Straight A’s, being named to the Dean’s List. I am still in school, where my Independent Study program is under consideration. Their medium is also very old. They claim that I was a jealous boyfriend. They produced a partner of Gail Burstyn named Leslie Katz who claimed I hassled her after she left me unrequited. Her claims were abnormal, a strange and terrible soap opera about her virginity, clocked to the Burstyn letters, which gave the Ku Klux Klan explanation for killing Lennon as protection of virgins. Her vendetta was designed to come between me and my life’s aspirations, shortly after high school. We had met at the Governor’s School for the Arts after my mother Nancy had been forced to sell our house and move away from terror hate crime. Yoko Ono knew from investigative science or from prior knowledge with Gail Burstyn that I had been given a nerve agent to cause personality change. Working with PITT, Peter Gabriel hired Evangelia Karmas, prior to the rape of deaf Jeannie, my best friend, and an attack prostitute named Rosa. Rosa and Alia, as Evangelia Karmas was known, came from Hidden Pun Company.


Had Peter Gabriel been who he claimed, and Rosa been on the level, I would have been happily married 23 years now. I was deeply in love with her.


Rosa became engaged and set upon me sexually in a control environment so that Ono could make black market films as part of a cover up for the AIDS testing operation on Mt. Desert Island, evidence shows was planned in 1974 when I was butchered and gassed as a little boy in custody of a police organized child trafficking syndicate. She also made a thrill kill film of deaf Jeannie’s rape. I deny wrongdoing in the case of Leslie Katz. Rosa was hired to attack the pre-impacted injury to leave me screaming in anguishing agony on the streets of homelessness in order to protect PITT and Wattenmaker. They tried to destroy all the evidence they could not seize. Leslie Katz’ strange claims were never in the least bit credible.


In using me for forced labor, in an attempt to make something I didn’t know about as a child more adult and to intensify their brutality in criminalizing being tortured, they have politicized among victims of AIDS the idea that I am exploiting Lennon for personal gain, and it doesn’t matter how irrational and evil this claim is, it has destroyed me and made me their slave. Strong personalities are involved in drug trafficking, and this terrible fascism is called liberalization. Blackmail is a central function of human trafficking. You can be quite wealthy if you go along with them, and die a slave if you resist. My father Ryland was one of the targets of this atrocity, and it is easy to see why Yoko Ono’s mob would choose him. Why PITT would betray their Chair of Philosophy of Education is less easy to explain. He was a Peace Corps leader from a Navy ship that was off the coast of Northern Japan when the little boy bomb was dropped on Hiroshima called the US San Jacinto. Bush having been on this ship has raised the high roller speculation involved. She took a great deal of pleasure in humiliating me in crawling tears of destitution for a High symbolic Apology. The Department of the Navy did not protest. It’s easy to judge what they were capable of doing to my father by the way they feel about me, and his suspicious death was graffiti’d by the assassins in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette who put him on public trial as a Red Witch the following year in the lead up to Mt. Desert Island.


I was earmarked and drafted as a storyteller in a compensation scheme by Lennon’s killers inside his estate. It was organized as a bloodbath of Victim Control under an argument of National Security. The British worked with PITT, who authored the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s charter. They have evoked Ayn Rand as a future media event, hoping to make a killing in swift presentation of panic issues. By accusing public warning and offering a psychiatric explanation for terror from kidnapping and mutilation crimes that construes the trauma as hidden evidence of date rape, which they say left a ghost of a bird in involuntary reflex memory, they hope to justify the construction of an argument saying that the absence of evidence of date rape fortifies their right to make the accusation in defense of the AIDS testing war game they authored.


I know from experience that the super-sensibility of the agent who backstabbed me with these horrific lies and slanders, Robert Fripp from King Crimson, is such that he will invent any gyration he can think of to single someone out for special mockery and humiliation. He is anything but objective. He had a woman in Seattle named Shannon Harps slasher murdered to death outside the recovery center where I had taken refuge to underscore his support in the Gay Community as a warning to me for defying their attempts to force me to forgive the assassins as tribute to their war game in return for the lives of the children in my family, who he has threatened to murder in reprisals for my testimony.


The Beatles are a horrid, dysfunctional fairy tale on the order of the television show Dallas where the closest family are faceliars and nothing ever works the way you want it to, despite its depiction as a high finance paradise, their Nazism and depravity can scarcely be believed. Calling American media the Fifth Estate is way off. The Fifth Estate is an anachronism. The Fifth Element is a Fifth Column. They wouldn’t dream of protecting a reporter from terrible reprisals, deadly attacks, death threats, and poison crime. The brutality alone has been paranormal. The woman they had raped is legally a child, but because it was done in the name of their future King, the British know no matter how underhanded they were by the time people figure it out, it will be accepted.






The Mentalization of the Victims

Being kept out of the press I only have one or two readers. Recently, I’ve discussed the poison crimes to my heart and stomach, the motive in wanting to ease me off the stage of human life, but not so quickly that my elderly mother would live to see it, a gently timed removal, and what the assassins hope to gain by my slow humiliation, the sort of embarrassment involved and the essays that won’t reach the light of a few readers. It is premature to write these essays, which is the point, they are to be smothered before their reach adulthood. All the same, I think it best, premature though this effort is, to attempt to limn the terrible chicanery at work behind the scenes in Adolf Clinton’s presentation through Beatles’ media of the AIDS Onslaught, a crime in which Trump was very much their partner.

Recently, I had an odd experience. As my readers have themselves noted, although I’ve been to court and gotten the case open without dismissal, being unable to proceed due to poverty, and although I have written online over the years 20-30,000 pages of documentation, proof, illustration and protest regarding the AIDS test war game I discovered as a Medical Library Clerk in 1984 tracing to Mt. Desert Island and Jackson Immunogenetic Laboratories, which were sent up in flames, a war game planning for which was shown to have predated the appearance of AIDS, no one pays any attention, except, of course, those who don’t want the matter known.

When I have described for people the kidnapping and mutilation I suffered as a child, being gassed in a place called Kings Estate and subject to pedophile brutalization at a very tender age, for which I was hideously mocked, being tortured and gassed by hitmen named Pitman, led by monsters named Ronnie Zsinski and Caspar-ow-ski, Ronnie and Caspar bearing the names of Reagan and Weinberger, receiving letters from the Jewish Holocaust Survivor Community about the murders of King and presumed murder of Lennon, signed by the odious homophone Gail Carolyn Burstyn and finding in their script a semiotic present in Reagan Era Japanese film, whose explanation names the star Nobuko, from “Children of Hiroshima,” as when I have recounted the Navy legacy of my father Ryland on Bush’s ship and human rights career, people have tuned me out.

The odd experience I recently had was of making the Dean’s List at the Community College, getting Straight A’s while laboring under a schizophrenic diagnosis, deaf from horrible acts of sadism, suffering an impacted neuroplasm, and shunted aside, the odd experience of graduating from college in despair and suffering from heart and stomach poison crimes, to be told that maybe someone would listen to my testimony. I have been used for Two Holocaust Simulation Experiments by PITT. The first involved a nerve agent that caused a terrifying impacted neuroplasm, and found me hiding in tears, with nails bitten bloody on the top shelf of our towel closet as a little boy, and the second one a horrific war game on Mt. Desert Island in which it was decreed that I should slave in Forced Labor while being inflicted with the “experience” of physical degradation approximating that of an AIDS victim.

To cover for the second Holocaust Simulation Experiment, they attacked me in a sexual mugging involving Rosine Monteleone of PITT targeting the impacted neuroplasm which neither I, my mother nor my school was there, to detonate it and get rid of me. The author of the poison itself, William Wattenmaker, shown by court papers to have worked with Gail Burstyn, was protected by PITT and continues to work in Neurobehavioral Research, strange tribute to my deceased father of their Philosophy of Education Department.

When I have recounted this testimony, and related matters, the punishment rape of my deaf best friend, herself legally a child, for struggling to try and protect me through the Deaf Services uptown, and the slasher murder of Shannon Harps by Seattle’s street people, organized by a network who have criminalized me to confiscate my life’s work as a material they consider their due in the struggle for recognition of suffering, victim status food fight they called it, a slasher murder that Amnesty International called justified as protest against their fear of profiteering through the duty to attempt public warning, which they counter-attacked with their own warning, people have tuned me out. They have tuned out the testimony that Geffen Corporation alibi’d Will Zell, a white supremacist with prior knowledge of AIDS in his testing scare on Mt. Desert Island, sneering that Dr. Tran’s stomach poison in Chinatown of Seattle was just to make me more as one with AIDS victims and that the Tran/Zell alliance was community spirited, empathy building. They have tuned out the evidence that the murderers who tortured me, Caspar-ow-ski worked for Salk Labor and that Caspar Weinberger lived on Mt. Desert Island where Zell was operating. They have tuned out that manuscripts were found explaining the way lies were being told about me in a systematic, existentialist and organized way, written by Gregory Karl, a partner of Wattenmaker, manuscripts explaining all this as “constructing a persona.” They have tuned out in favor of PITT’s explanation that I committed a Louie Louie adultery with a married woman from India who didn’t tell me she was married in 1986 and that the Black Man was violated and when the Black Man is violated you KNOW the streets are going to mobilized for the retribution demand of compensation sex from the family of the white suck guilty.

They tune me out in favor of support for the white Eugenic dungeon master, Will Zell Broome, and laugh that I think Rottenmaker was with Schwarzenegger and that a man named Gellomini punching me is reminescent of Mussolini. Having thus been discredited by their puns, they challenge me to a dare. They dare me to try to report their barking mad war crimes, as the hour glass of medical malpractice runs out, and my stepfamily, co-authors of the Burstyn scroll, leer wisely from their job at 20th Century Fox.

My readers of course have seen my clips and screenshots from Reagan Era Japanese film and observed the examples of occult symbolism, which surfaces also in his own disordered films. They’ve read my social history of American cinema and how Reagan personally participated in the rescue of Hitler’s primary film-makers for Red Scare Hollywood. They also know that I exposed an agent of Geffen Corporation, working with Gail Burstyn, named Sean Strub who was photographed outside the Dakota immediately after Mark Chapman shot Lennon. Strub/Burstyn were both from the Jewish Holocaust Survivor Community, and Strub took AIDS to upstage the Lennon messiah and lead from the front. Geffen artists in British rock music, notably the demonologists in King Crimson, whose Gurdjieff Cult I personally investigated as a resigned Medical Library Clerk, worked with Burstyn and her rabbinical leader Victor Frankl, psychiatrist in charge of Logo-Therapy, or what John Stockwell, Oliver Stone and the CIA called, “Operation: Medicine Man,” the storm and light show set off, including Exxon Valdex, the bombing of the USS Iowa, probably Timothy McVeigh’s action, the rape of deaf Jeannie, an act mapped out by Rosine Monteleone’s partner Evangelia Karmas, or avenging angel of Karma, after ACT -UP leaders deceived the victims, with the help of Geffen Corporation, into believing that it was an uprising meant to symbolically avenge them. The plan for this was part of the semiotic prior scripting, and this prescriptive violence was a sooth.

My readers have not, however, heard everything.

Midori Goto was working at Duquesne University when Rosa was set upon me as a bewildering, pre-seizure, post-multiple trauma care victim working at the Community College library. She planned a horrid sexual mugging to justify Will Zell and advance the idea that the Japanese were only trying to help me understand by giving me scabies, triggering a neuroplasm, chemically castrating me with a heart poison crime, poisoning my stomach, raping deaf Jeannie, murderously mocking me, slashering Shannon Harps. The politics of Yoko Ono were just beginning.

It was all set up when I was just a confused toy freshman year. PITT Ad-mini-stration brought in a big gun, James Dubya Child, from Bowling Green, who lived in the house of an actress, Julie Sellers, best friend of Lani Langer, girlfriend of Bill Gutendorf, named in the Burstyn script. Child’s mission was to school me in the web of thought behind the production that was to ensue. He authored: Nuclear War-The Moral Dimension, and a paper called Pacifism is Immoral. He was in contact with Geffen attorney Amanda Harcourt. Together they put my deceased father Ryland on public trial as a Red Witch in an interrogation designed by Graham Foundation against Humanism. My father was a Humanist. Franklin Graham called humanism “the greatest threat to American since Communism.” He also had a friend in the Central American mercenary army called Contras who went by “Hitler” until changing his nick to Lazarus, because, “he is back from the dead,” a name change at which Franklin wept before Jesus, speaking plainly of the miracle of Jonestown which freed up the land for the flock.

Jonestown occurred on the day Harvey Milk was killed. Ironically and coincidentally, De De Mancine (NEVA’S sister) the starlet in the Burstyn script in whose name Martin Luther King was killed, used to say, “Don’t cry over spilt milk.” The script was a Two Virgins pussyball game clocked to AIDS by Shinto martial theorists working for HitlerReagan. Greg Karl wrote, “The initial encounter of the X-motive is tainted by the shadow of the adversary.” Gail Burstyn wrote, “I’m really sick of Nobuko and her stupid code about what boys should do and girls should do.” De De had already lost her virginity, or spilled her oil as Bulgakov would say, when seducing me for the puncraft war. Geffen Corporation delivered Rosa so they could demand Forced Labor for their machine in the form of confiscated narrative, leaving me writing on paper plates pulled from the trash on the curb of Davenport, Iowa, as I screamed in seizures of homelessness.

Rusted Root invaded my home with David Lucarelli, an estranged stepbrother who was violent towards me, for the Burstyn scroll, the contents of which I had no idea. They were setting up something about which it is said I will never know anything more than the most sketchy details. PITT made off with my fiance and are never tired of reminding me of how fiesty she was. The truth of this atrocity however lies with King Crimson in their partnership with The Graham Foundation. Peter Gabriel was married to the daughter of Queen Elizabeth’s secretary, a close friend of the Grahams. Gabriel and King Crimson were Graham Foundation demonologists party to the Burstyn plan who were scheduled to mislead the victims by selling resentment about the disappearance of Lennon, telling them their spirits were safe in his purse, and it would be just like starting over. Trust Buddha, myuh.

During the Red Witch Show Trial of the Post-Gazette, they signalled me the question Jerry Falwell had raised about emotional damage in the fight with Larry Flynt, who supported Sean Strub. Not really understanding what they were doing, I questioned if a man so powerful in his own right should really be upset by wayward remarks by a known and discredit ogre like Flynt. Have it your way, said Harcourt and Child. Patricia Fripp, who appeared on Sixty Minutes with Colin Powell about this time, knew how to hurt someone who was deaf, in poverty and suffering from peer rejection due to deafness. You target the neuroplasm, Pittsburgh, because little Jimmy doesn’t even know it is there. Her cried about losing his girlfriend last time. We know the murderers who tortured him, punished him over De De, we can really get him by having Midori, elope to them on the wings of a Lennon superwave after stoking the impacted neuroplasm.

Harpers Magazine’s Lewis Lapham thought the idea was fabulously, stupendously funny. Midori Goto would be taken by force by Clinton’s Secret Service who followed her when she followed me to Iowa. James would be put in jail as she played in Ames. Having stolen letters sent to him, James would be derided as a jealous possessive who had it coming by Ringo. Midori would serve in compense for what Greg Karl intoned as, “the persona is subjected to successive degradations of the X-motive and then subsumed into a larger structure dominated by its adversary.”

For spite, King Crimson, Pitt Neurohypnosis and Clinton conjured rape libel trauma, sniveling that I was used for AIDS testing because I protested being derided in high school by Gail Burstyn’s partner, Leslie Sanetta Katz, Valedictorian of Ellis Girls’ School, for leaving me unrequited. King Crimson went so far as to allege that Katz’ virginity proved me guilty of rape, because it must have crossed my mind due to the enemy within. Myuh.

How did the pig lap ham?

* NEVA is the name of a Japanese Pornography giant corporation who use a C in the Star of David as their logo.

Poetry: http://jacintosworld.com

Blog: https://jasmaccrary.wordpress.com



Liars Versus Schizophrenia

A lot of people knew I was being set up for blame in the murder of John Lennon, if that really happened. Obviously, they are more to blame than I am, however, the practical joke worked out real well for those who did it. Not only can I not handle the workload they presented me with, but I wasn’t even able to secure the arrest of Gail Carolyn Burstyn who actually wrote the letters. Those who authored the AIDS Onslaught and attending war game were able to brag of it openly with the help of celebrated British rock moguls. I no longer have any readers.

In the Jewish Holocaust survivor neighborhood where all this happened, there was a cast of character who would embellish flamboyantly, who would lie colorfully, and who angled towards being entertainers. Michael Tive of SONY was one. Tive would lie and lie. He was famous for it. His father Ralph, who administered a final book deal before my father fell sick after finding a bat in his bed, was an advisor to Pennsylvania Governor Milton Shapp. Martin Andelman was another one. He was a ringleader behind Miles Kirshner, who had me in D.C. the day Reagan claims he was shot, Thos. Gordon, who acted up enough at Harvard to nearly get expelled for date rape, and redoubtable Leslie Katz, who led a brilliant team of character assassins capturing King Crimson and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, by offering up her vagina to the tongue and then shrieking that her virginity proved rape.

David Lucarelli, who was married into my family by the forces of power, now at 20th Century Fox, positioning him to make the grab on the letters, knew one of these jokers. He came trashing through my house one day, and when he saw me, this friend of David’s, he whirled on me, shouting that he had seen King Crimson Live just a few nights ago and they had played Moonchild, man. When I told him I didn’t believe him, that King Crimson didn’t play Moonchild on their Discipline Tour, David grabbed me very hard by the throat and pressed his thumb and finger on my jugular vein giving me a mean shake. I was mighty surprised by the viciousness.

It’s important to understand that what Peter Gabriel did in putting my words on the song That Voice Again was to set up justifiable suspicion about the source of the blaring voices that developed shortly after I discovered that Gail Burstyn had scripted the murder of Lennon, whether as an attaché of Lennon himself or not I don’t know, and a key snapped out of my hand into thin air repeatedly. I awoke today to the usual maddening voices, saying, “Rock stars are laughing their (tails) off.” Ringo’s war machine of the mind, if that’s what it is, doesn’t have the sense of propriety that my grandparents did. For a while it got real ugly. I remember the reaction of Andelman to old Ward. He shuddered and ran for it, telling me aside on his way, “I just can’t see sitting around listening to the opinions of an old fogey.”

This was, after all, the neighborhood Gail Burstyn had called Squrl Hill.

Having induced schizophrenia, they were in a good position to immediately exploit it. One doesn’t get read no matter how important their evidence, with sz. The details already militate against it. Gail Burstyn wasn’t arrested. The world has already printed the Encyclopedia saying Reagan was shot. Robert Fripp’s sister dramatically depredated on an impacted neuroplasm and proved to her satisfaction that sexual frustration was behind my tears about Leslie. Why shouldn’t they have used me for an AIDS testing guinea pig? What noble cause can be claimed by a rock star aspirant having sex with a high risk call girl? Surely John Lennon’s money is worth more than this!

Sz. gives rise to grave scare stories. Who knows what evil lies in the heart of James? The liars are doctors now, they have ways of making record play, thumbs cruelly pressed to the jugular vein of an impacted neurotrauma for extrusion of Forced Labor to appease the widow Ono in satisfy of narrative for Hitler’s revenge. Rock stars are laughing their tails off about the ripper murder of Shannon Harps, and nothing matters less than the rape of deaf Jeannie.

In hitchhiking to St. Louis and trying to get home, I got picked up by a madman in a stolen car. When I asked him where he was going and if he would let me out, he started laughing, “This car ain’t gonna stop, this car ain’t got no brakes.” The last time I saw him he was trying to sell a bowling ball to keenly dressed women in a motel parking lot.

The Beatles operate from what James Dubya Child of Bowling Green called the Maximum Preference Perogative. They have the right to remain silent to the world in a staged and phony discovery of evidence that AIDS is manmade. Like the German professor Hans Jurgensmeyer their tribe’s sympathies for Humanism suddenly end, no wait, they cheer, maybe the Fundamentalists are alright after all! The execution of the play comes full circle with Midori Goto arising to lead Blacks to the higher power of comprehending the unwritten law of the Ku Klux Klan, thou shalt not do Louie Louie in which name Muhammed Ali endorsed Will Zell Broome of Mt. Desert Island.

Reagan didn’t know, myuh.

Saul Brecher once said out of the blue about a task his mother asked of him, “Just pour some gas on it and let’s get goin’.” He was sort of a pimply Jewish Humphrey Bogart with a sadistic side, who used to laugh to anyone who would listen, “When Jimmy was a kid we used to drag him through glass, hahahahahaha.” Better than listening to old Ward, ya’know?

David Lucarelli’s father John L. (Luger/Luke16) once told me he was “a trained Medieval scholar.” I never understood what that meant. All I see on their wall at home is a Philosophy, Ph.D from PITT. My mother vehemently denies he ever said it. I know their best friends the Astons helped break me up with the woman I loved; Rosa, virgin one in the joust over Midori “Go/to,” and referred to me as a parasite when I got the job at PITT’s Falk Medical Library. I know that Medievalry involved plague, fighting over virgins, and that King Crimson consider themselves the Great Ones of the Society for Creative Anachronism. Two Virgins Pussyball was just about perfect for a trained Medieval scholar to make commentary about the AIDS Onslaught. It was all set up. Martin Luther King’s killers got promoted in the ranks and Dexter King didn’t care just so long as he got the money he was due.

The great mystery of why mother doesn’t care either could be that this was arranged by the CIA before I was born. What do I know of old Nancy? When I was a little boy she had a camera with a very, very bright and blinding flash. Although they killed my father, he had a few suspicious quips, calling me “sport,” saying, “noah way,” “let’s not and say we did,” there were others; and my mother, marrying a Catholic theologian from the “Mark Mark” script of Elmira where Twain lived, has the maiden name of Strom Thurmond’s wife, Nancy Moore. How interesting that the bloodletting turned on a spin any reversalist could have made on his famous book, “None dare call it treason,” ie. none dare call it poison. These calls and response were consider Holy mindset by the Gumby gargoyle David Bowie in the Taliban dance of death.

The people positioned to protest are not the people you immediately suspect of doing it, so the rock stars in the AIDS Combine had it made. David Lucarelli didn’t bother to send me a sympathy card when my father died. It might as well have been something that happened in Mexico. Nor was he particularly inclined to care when his actions found hostile allies whose only goal was to leave a bereaved deaf man terribly, terribly unhappy. Now that I have sz. I am a greatly devalued witness. I was never popular in the manner of Rusted Root. What was Rosa doing with me in the first place? That was the question that won the war. Don’t be associated with the loser. It’s too humiliating. Let bygones be bygones.

Through the loophole of that voice again, “rock stars are laughing their tails off,” they secreted the moon spoon June at father’s bedside to the tune of Moonchild on King Crimson’s Discipline Tour, just as Sean Strub went to the Dakota, and a bearded Fundamentalist slashered Shannon Harps for the blood oath of queerdom.

Syphilitic Tony Levin genuinely believes that’s higher.

All together now.

Remembering Pitt News

When I was a Medical Library Clerk in 1984, I was not yet absolutely sure what I was dealing with. My father had not yet turned up sick, and I had not really understood what happened to me as a child for being organized and symbolic. True some things had crossed my mind, even as a child, but a child is taught, and to a great extent regards their own mind as less significant that the voices in the world around them, and this fact is so even when there isn’t terrifying authority, hypnosis and brain damage at work.

Nevertheless when I left the library for Pitt News I did learn some very dramatic changes were taking place while caught in a hurricane of libelous material, strange psychological justifications for shock jock media, torrential manipulation being hooted derisively as the nature of reality, while Reagan’s team was pulling the plug on the wire dispatch, and the Associated Press too eagerly making arrangements for direct Pentagon dispatches.

During Reagan’s term the situation in Central America was being covered, but since that era the wars abroad have been invisible, without anything even close to the coverage offered by the media during Vietnam. Our society chooses to like this, and if something goes wrong and makes it past the censors rather resents it.

Herbert Agar knew that there would be tension in our society over so-called National Security but he was very clear that the public had the right to know what was going on and being done. This fact was very basic to all. When the argument comes forward, if you know what is good for you you will be silent, the Newspaper Establishment is the first and absolutely most imperative place where they should be turned back as scoundrels. People make dangerous decisions when facing predators in their lives, sometimes in their own families. What are we to do when the Fifth Estate begins giving comfort to the enemies of our children? Our futures? Our openness? Our courage? Our lives?

Sometimes I think the fatal mistake I made was in being too coy about the nuclear threat from Riback, sharing it only with Lapham, Posvar and Fripp, or in not turning my story of Ronnie and Caspar torturing me over to the PITT NEWS instead of what I took to be wise men. I made clear to Tim Menees that my life had been under attack since grade school, that I had been brutally gassed, that my life was in danger, not in a million years did I believe that the wise men would laugh and derisively contort my letter to advance the sick idea that men who nearly murdered me, who ruined my life, who drove my mother from our home, who murdered my father, and continue in power today, lurking, were my friends. The idea is too ill and too hateful.

I expected help, the poor man has been tortured, I expected child psychologists.

Herbert Agar said, “that which renders our politics obscure renders them dishonest.” I thought that Fripp and Gabriel were honorable people who meant well by their work in communities and with Amnesty International, instead, aware that Pitt neurology had given me a terrible nerve agent, a poison crime, not medicine, that made me howl in tears of pain when deserted by my betrothed, Fripp began sneakily saying to his fans, “King Crimson is for mature men who get erections.”

They slandered me this way in a orchestration to justify a long premeditated AIDS testing war game and now want to settle for the lesser charge of hideous, brutal torture. They raped a deaf girl for calling them the liars that they are and the F.B.I. agrees with them, agrees with Ming Na Wen, that this was called for. Then, not satisfied in their hideous satire that virginity proves rape, they chemically castrated me and slasher murdered an innocent woman. All this obscure horror from prog rockers sure of themselves in the limelight, having never been humiliated as a deaf child, having never crawled, having never seen their mother in tears beyond tears.

Pitt wants it said that I did this to myself by my own stupidity. They are counting on such a horrible, horrible assessment to silence me as though I have no answer, forever tongue tied by the sinister idea that Ringo had the right to be a bully drug pusher and then blame the victims poisoned who did it to themselves.

I don’t understand why the world has tolerated this hideous, evil man: Peter Gabriel. I cannot however condone just slinking in the shadows and voluntarily hiding my head when faced with evidence that AIDS is manmade, and I would have spoken loud and clear long, long ago if they hadn’t been out to lie.

Knowledge they say is power. Well, it would have helped.

Understanding Yoko Ono’s Ruthless Ripper Murder of Shannon Harps

The Beatles were always a Royal joke, notarization of the idea that the British are superior no matter how tawdry, repugnant and despicable their behavior. When Yoko Ono had an innocent woman, Shannon Harps of the Sierra Club, slasher murdered outside the Emerald Clubhouse of Sound Mental Health in Seattle it was in the spirit of cultural warfare that she had deceptively captured the public’s imagination with through hypnography on Peter Gabriel’s SO, and that was their response to indignation about the slasher attack: So?

The release of AIDS was an arrangement of great cunning, executed with the help of Warhol Museum in the City of Pittsburgh. When Don Ostro took me as a child, whom he had gotten very drunk, in the middle of the night, several blocks from his safehouse to Black Street to the house of an strange adult woman who used me for sexual gratification at the age of 13, his Japanese sponsors knew that I would feel very guilty, hide it from my parents, and be ripe for blackmail after the horrible beatings and nerve toxin that me shattered, impaired and at their mercy.

When the time was ripe, Yoko Ono called upon her agent, David Lucarelli, of 20th Century Fox, who had been married into my family when I was young through a Union mission arrangement between his father and my mother. Lucarelli grabbed letters sent to me by Gail Burstyn while Carnegie Mellon University began spreading slanders about me using the names of anyone and everyone they could find with whom I had been involved in a one night stand, which was a fairly common practice in these parts. The hysterical blackmail and violence to the mind ignited by New York Times media was used to cover for the AIDS testing war game I found out on Mt. Desert Island.

Yoko Ono went right on libeling me with the help of Peter Gabriel, who is close to Queen Elizabeth, and her friend The Graham Foundation. The ritual purification insisted upon by the British in the AIDS Onslaught had chosen a symbol of their obsessive cruelty. I was born, as a child of a humanist, the symbol of their enemy. I was attacked blindside going to school and never had a chance.

The letters of Gail Burstyn were written as a lottery ticket, stolen as a lottery ticket and collected upon as a letter ticket by those who authored them. Yoko Ono had no trouble summoning Black barbarians from the Los Vegas outposts of politics in Hollywood. Led by Rosa Clemente, Aaron Dixon and the Green Party they authored a wave of gang crime in support of the authors, claiming that the atrocity was justified. The AIDS Combine itself spared a little bit of their murderous violence on behalf of their victims as an act of charity. Beatles influence made sure that discussion of this Hitlerite hypocrisy was kept out of media.

The slashering of Shannon Harps was just something they had to do because the idea of it was stuck in their craw. They had the concept of helping themselves to spoils by partnership with those who released AIDS so long ago and were so certain of their success when Gabriel wrote the alibi for the murderers on Mt. Desert Island, having been cheered to rub the whole thing in everyone’s faces by confederates in Police Society, the FBI and the White House, that the Gays in Seattle decided that it just wasn’t a finished art statement without giving definition to it by a sacrificial ripper murder. So?

Rosa had been at work in Pittsburgh a long time, with abomination in support of Gail Burstyn. They had committed identity crime, put me into seizures by cowardly, cowardly attack on an impacted neurological injury, raped a deaf girl who was legally a child, all of this endorsed, set up, as team work by New York Times with the help of Carnegie Mellon and Lewis Lapham. It is their itinerary, and their culture pastiche, mimicking in rivalry for loathsome those who released AIDS in confederate brotherhood with the victims who were recruited for the final accounting. It was all kept off the air, and is no doubt a little, er, shall we say, embarrassing to brother Sir Paul.

The idea of helping those who started AIDS by leering that it was in satisfy of the victims is so twisted and ghoulish that it has been fobbed off as the genius of Lennon.


The Most Horrible of Milgram Experiments

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The CIA and the Beatles had something in common. In the 80’s when Reagan was in office and those concerned with his war mania were trying to call attention to Death Squads in El Salvador (a song about which Peter Gabriel decided to suppress) John Stockwell, who ran the CIA Angola operations, followed me to Allentown on my birthday, just hours after McCartney’s representative from Oxford had cued me to the Wall Street Crash of Oct. 1987 with an aside about The Day Earth Stood Still, sniveling that if Hero had met Archimedes the population boom cudda been averted by an industrial revolution in early history. Stockwell said that the CIA were not about to open themselves to millions of lawsuits by victims of illegal drugs they had poisoned with strychnine. Nor were the Beatles, despite being the commercial firm of soliciters hardselling the dangerous narcotics to pre-teens.

The Partnership of McCartney and Stockwell bore strange fruit at Carnegie Mellon in 1993, when Brock Hamlin, working for Patricia Fripp and Alternative Conflict Resolution, put on the cover of the Student Union Newspaper where I was reporting an AIDS war game predating appearance of the virus, a long military finger on which was stood a loathsome pile and the cover caption was, “You gonna eat that.”

The Beatles will not care about the truth being knowable and in the public domain until the day it begins to enlist legal sympathies any more than Hitler cared if the world knew what was in store for the Jews. Until Pearl Harbor anyone opposed to Franco was labeled premature anti-fascist. Knowledge can help you live with hopelessness, it can lessen the gravity of spiritual defeat, but it cannot address the void left open by insouciance about failure to warn. Trying to contemplate the soul and gyrations of Paul McCartney is like trying to understand the horror that could produce a German willing to drop Zylon B into the death showers.

King Crimson and PITT, those terrible namesakes, forging my name on a script by Reagan’s little girl, Gail Carolyn Burstyn, a homophone for Christian armageddonism who gave Holocaust Jewry their voice in advance of Hitler’s Revenge attack, with a lesson for the assassinated that was heaped in the world address egoism of Ayn Rand and John Lennon, have made me the toilet of their psychopathic gang crime and hostile, deranged, Gestapo brand research into neuroplastic trauma manipulation. The centrality of The Beatles in the success of the AIDS Onslaught is as criminal as it is disturbing. The only hope left is for factual history find them out.

The credibility gap around Ringo Starr, Winged Lion of pus, the most vile and evil of the Harkonnen Elders Project, follows the long prescribed route of lusty looters and tricky dicks. Like Nixon he denies everything, while yammering from a wild stallion as he blasts his whip at the scattering peasants. It is a story he tells very differently from his crypt as vampire lord of the zombies. When feeling particularly blue Ringo summons my former fiance to the table of the ogres for fellatio. It is no secret that Ringo has built his domain by cubing the loathsomeness of HitlerReagan, nor that he commands the extreme and lunatic fringes of drug insanity through Beatlemaniacs on campus, protected by Pentagon-Disney and the Clinton machine. I don’t think it has ever really happened that God took the side of a human being in this world, but he or she has certainly many times looked away when men playing God became vampires.

When community oriented police (cops), by which we mean here the police loyal to protecting child-trafficking mutilationists as police warfare for HitlerReagan, put out the word among street drug varmints that a certain special someone has been a snitch, we are treated to the intonement that Ringo has special insight into the truth about drug culture in America, and by waves of shocking music he moves us with a double-jointed jaw by tirades spoken with two-tongues. The Beatles are the source of the most horrible and dark Milgram’s Experiment that most sordid minds driven mad by Isaac Asimov could conceive, the playing of love songs as justification for extermination abomination.

Lolita and the Fly

I’ve been ignored a long time, accordingly the price of my lawsuit against the F.B.I. is going to be 30 million dollars. I’m in a Community College as a prematurely elderly victim of neurotrauma and torture, hoping the classes I’ve chosen have sufficient enrollment to study Police Operations, Family Law and Art of the Cinema, pursuing Independent Study credit for my lawsuit against the F.B.I. and semiotic research into the pre-government politics of Hitler and Reagan, an odious tagteam, about which historians continue to keep the Republic in the dark. The F.B.I committed a deadly identity crime, encouraging terrorists, leading to severe personal injury and probably premature death. They are the enemies of the United States. They have used me for Forced Labor in conditions of terrible exhaustion, poverty, homelessness and suffering. For me the Public’s Right to Know about what I investigated came before everything. They impaired me deliberately as a child in attempts to make me a curiosity and slave to their deceitful political war game. It is indeed a game for the F.B.I.

Short work can be made of the claim that it wasn’t the F.B.I. James W. Child and Wesley Posvar were both well aware of me. Peter Gabriel and Robert Fripp had to clear broadcast of my persona on the album SO with the Federal Communications Commission. There is also a great deal to say about the direction of their cyber-stalking, the hiring of agents to bring up drug talk when a battered deaf person seeks help, so they can hiss at you what a rat you are. You can tell that the crime they committed was very serious by how low the direction of their counter-allegations. They have been egged on by foreign English and the various twisted fans King Crimson can find still holding student tapes of their marked man. They have dared to call me a pedophile and a pervert. The ravenous pigs at the F.B.I. working with the Beatles won’t give an inch on the truth of what happened, which is that I was disgracefully mutilated in a set up as an AIDS testing guinea pig by those who released the AIDS virus. They are angling for a final vicious way to silence me. A court of last resort is to get schizophrenics online to gang up on me, cooing that it is out of concern for me.

The Foreign English had little trouble manipulating Black people, they’ve been at it long enough. While it isn’t surprising they would hate what they took for a sheltered or favored blond boy, it is still strange that great powers like Martin Sheen need to see me defaced and subject cosmetic damage to give themselves infinite satisfy. A technique of Foreign English is to venomously advance two contradictory arguments simultaneously in sufficiently backhanded way that you have to answer them in succession with little time to realize they are hypocritical interrogations. They have Black brilliants to back them up, soothsayers wowed into the tent when Reagan said, okay, to the fringe, come on in and tell me what you would do. They have twenty dollar ideas from Cornell West like, “biological linkage,” when it’s just a matter of who gets the fellatio from Asians for the Green Card. It’s hardly like they don’t know what they are doing. The murderers accused me of facelying for being so appalled by what the assassins were doing on Mt. Desert Island that I couldn’t believe it was real, a fact that allowed me to infiltrate more deeply, hardly a facelie and not in the least contemptible, given that I was onto the authors of AIDS and planning to stop them. Typically the English rotter seethes with hatred for the detective, justifying home invasion, mail theft, identity crime and child rape by malicious and false compare.

Pitt knows the truth, devil Jimmy was suffering with the madness of King George and wanted Rosa to protect him from slanderers, myuh. He’s out in the streets screaming with neurotrauma right now, hahahahahahahahahaha.
The Foreign English also took measures with the F.B.I. at Pittsburgh Post-Gazette to construe me as a Red and my poetry the scheming of witchcraft. Needless to say they started using my verse for trigger bombing and arson, equally needless to say they frown on enriching someone they tortured who subscribes to the same heroes they claim to have: Martha Gellhorn, Herbert Agar, John Hope Franklin. This isn’t because of who I am, it is because of who and what they say I must be, and much of this is the headhunting of Yoko Ono, claiming it is a privilege to be molested in the name of John Lennon, whose death empowered his killers to succeed in mass murder. Ono, the partner of HitlerReagan, needling the psyche of Jimmy the Imperfect.

The assassin leers that on Mt. Desert Island I was a food handler and that my lovers, who they carefully selected, were under suspicion of transmitting saliva to my face. This they cautioned could have moral implications for extra cheese pizza. Then from their other side of their double jointed mouths they leered that if I washed they would be offended and that Black ministers of the wisdom had the right to demand I eat from a plate they licked, and that they wanted to sleep with my girlfriend before me as tribute to my place in the Ku of Blackery. They used scabies, mouth putrescence, forced me to dip my bleeding hands in filthy water, while spitting that they didn’t think washing my hands thoroughly with warm water and soap for a good long time before cooking was effective against the allegation of leftist. It was an insult by someone who thinks I’m better than us.

There’s reasons to suspect that Larry Flynt was behind the shooting death of a Federal Judge in Seattle. The Green Party had created a cover story for the AIDS Combine sneering that they were a chance for Black people to get ahead and that there wasn’t enough for the world’s wretched and poor, that the Union had decided this was the way to cultural equity, the survival of the wisest in Epoch B Death Control of Operation: Death Seed, with Rosa, the Conscience of the West, preceding the great parochializer Midori Goto, fetching alms being cast to those who fell to lick the feet of their own betrayer. Flynt was made a hero by Hollywood because he had the victim status of a wife who succumbed to AIDS. That means he GITS to write the alibi for the monsters who killed her. The Federal Judge, like Shannon Harps, was assassinated to underscore that nobody gets the upper hand against the Death Row pirate claims of The Rolling Stones and Scotland Yard.
JAV bukkake is odiously eyed by the Sheriff and Christians. Surely looking at pornography is an invitation to raid the master bedroom in the mercy suite of Section 8. Just think if I didn’t miss Rosa, whose heavy petting was always very civilized, as was mine, maybe I wouldn’t be feeding into the justification for castrating a poet offered by rock stars in the rabies of gloat. They didn’t have the right or the justification to end my sex life. This was all part of being earmarked as a flesh and blood effigy of humanism in the AIDS Onslaught. All of this is terribly obvious from the evidence of torture and the meaning projected into the domain by landscape artists who sowed the killing field with their criminal purpose and then began hoarding.

I remember, by the way, what it was like to be a child, wanting someone to realize that you felt something when they noticed you, paid attention, or bought you something to eat, but that being too shy, you could never make that clear, and you seemed invisible to those who loved you most. To be accused of having the potential to harm a child by murderers defending brutal pedophiles, endorsing blackmail on behalf of brutal, insane child molesters in order to extort slave labors by terror from a marked man, while calling themselves Law Enforcement is an incredible indecency.

Naturally, they are quick to cite schizophrenia, which seems to me, quite truthfully, simulated and related to brutal trauma, in their effort to weasel out of responsibility. They cite sexual irresponsibility. Abortion may be legal but it doesn’t make you popular. That means the rapists of deaf Jeannie GIT to contract attack prostitution for mandatory AIDS testing and defamation of character. Money is authority. If they can get away with it, why shouldn’t they?

The spirit world is an occupied zone. Even the weirdos who want to be Top Dog in The White House only get a few seconds on the air. What happens when Fox News wants to cut and paste, splice from your personal Truman Show six seconds of embarrassment found in a bar, an aside, a stupid joke, a fart in the bathroom, a careless and harmless backbite? The internet has become a trench war against freedom of speech and the press, a vicious landscape where the most disordered, anonymous police entrapment interrogation and war gaming poses as recovery support, like the kisses of a hired ripper from Geffen Corporation come to bring karma rape to the children in your home; but the Princess comes first, because Rosa is the Conscience of the West.

How a Rape Frame Serviced the AIDS Onslaught

Exiled to Chinatown of Seattle for over a decade, I coined the term: Mysterious Chinese Gordon for the manner in which Ming Na Wen of Mellon Hollywood services had covered for Gail Carolyn Burstyn in the AIDS Onslaught. I had met Ming Na at Carnegie Mellon. We dated a few times. She lived in Mt. Lebanon with David Cohen, who was very close with Gail Burstyn, and went to school with Thos. O’Connor who set up the Kelly School reckless driving incident to offend Black people around town. Ming would have understood how to entrap me in the Obama pussyball war game over Midori using the seduction of Alpana who didn’t tell me of her marriage until the next day.

Together, Ming and Burstyn secured the brutal rape of my sign language teacher Chini Tamburro as punishment for reporting the AIDS war game Reagan authored with PITT Police and Ringo Starr, covering for a brutal child trafficking syndicate who have used me for Forced Labor over forty years.

The AIDS War Game, a testing operation, played out through the Gurdjieff Society to which I was lured by Robert Fripp and King Crimson. This was an entrapment and testing ultimatum on Mt. Desert Island back when Caspar Weinberger was living there, seduction as hazing by Lisa Cassidy who sported needle tracks and a tattoo of the grim reaper on his innermost thigh pointing you know where. This was just before the great arson of Jackson Immunogenetic Laboratory and the alibi written by Peter Gabriel calling it all an Experience Park. He completely ignored by testimony regarding Zell, evidently in glee that the Burstyn letters were in place to fulfill his war aims.

Ringo Starr had authored the Mysterious Chinese Gordon evoking Harvard Law over Thos. Hale Gordon, an attache of Miles Kirshner, working with Amanda Harcourt, legal advisor to Queen Elizabeth, Martin Andelman, Leslie Katz and Andrea Swimmer in an attempt to hide the mutilation and torture of a child under slurs of vaginal fluids contracted by attack prostitution, a favorite game of Bush and the Royals. The ringleader and spoil was Midori Goto, symbol of the Lennon East/West sexual mystique, and close SONY confederate of Ralph Tive who ministered farewell at my father’s deathbed for the show.

Lisa Miles had lay in wait in Pittsburgh to gag Ray Geiger, an artist I met at the Governor’s School, while getting as many people as she could to turn on me with jeers that I had never been tortured. Rosa and Evangelia Karmas, or Alia, finished up the Two Virgins operation before avenging their angel of karma with the rape of deaf Chini, at which point Midori Goto unleashed the tirades of Obama and Nancy Reagan on my head. All concerned laughed that I was just a boy making good on the offers of a series of Federal hotties. They ignored my testimony about Will Zell Broome, my desire to settle down, and the deep love I once felt for both King Crimson and Rosa.

Living in Chinatown in exile after a long ordeal of homelessness, was made even more painful when the V.A. authorized an unidentified registered nurse working for Amanda Harcourt and Brian Eno to give me an unneeded and unwanted blood pressure medicine resulting in castration of my involuntary erection responses. I was unable to date women of mutual interest and sank into the lethargy of Japanese Adult Video, from which I learned that the Pittsburgh Police pedophile ring who mutilated me as a child were working with Yoko Ono and the NEVA Corporation as a function of Hitler semiotics from Hollywood masterminded by Reagan during his political years as Master of Hollywood. This at last allowed me to understand the difficult to explain fact that I was in D.C. with Reagan’s FEMA team at the time he claims he was shot.

Most of my time was spent reading in a Chinatown bakery and collecting books for the Gary Locke Library of Wing Luke Museum. They were under orders from Locke I suspect never to acknowledge the gift of over ten thousand dollars of rare and valuable books and community artifacts, not a bad accomplishment for a man living below the poverty line in Section 8. I was surprised one day in the Library to come across the name of a man called Mysterious Chinese Gordon and numbed to learn he was played by Charleton Heston in a movie. I don’t want to understand that one. I had thought of the expression unprompted on my own. I guess there is such a thing as weird coincidence.

Obama is giving Black politics a very evil reputation on the margins where my testimony is known and understood. The ripper sacrificialism that was behind the murder of Shannon Harps, courtesy a blood oath taken by Queers for Fripp to the Graham Foundation over Leslie Katz as a symbol of Sir Paul McCartney’s holy moneybag was directed by Obama’s street viziers at me to announce the Green Party package who brought in Rosa demanding servitude to AIDS victims by the man in the street. Extermination don’t come easy. The line of homelessness kept by the Oligarchy in place to generate tension against illegal immigration is a fortification line making the AIDS Onslaught a fait accompli. Nevermind AIDS Nuremberg, failure to warn or the fact that Gail Burstyn is still at large. Peter Gabriel found Sean Strub as victim token to ward off any claims against his collaborator status. Strub is the link between Burstyn and Mark David Chapman, adopted with Leslie Katz or put there in advance, by McCartney and Braunstein, another Midori Goto confederate fast on the track of little Jimmy for NEVA Mancine and Don Ostro.

All concerned clucked with glee over the carrot tape extruded by Andrea Swimmer for Carnegie Mellon. It was the Mark Mark Twain satire proving that self-deprecating humor really is the enemy within.

Miles Kirshner has a private law he calls, “the too-good principle.” I always understood Jewish asides about my blond hair. While I didn’t understand the importance of my father Ryland’s position in Philosophy of Education at Pitt to the City of Pittsburgh, I did realize that there was something Joseph and his Coat of Many Colors about my fairy tale grandparents estate as former family working at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the greatest of responsibilities in a free society. I knew that my name James MacRyland Crary was much, much better than Dubya George Bush or Robert Fripp, but I didn’t think that men with that sort of appetite for status and acclaim would take it out on a deaf child. It was a fatal mistake. Ringo Starr wasted a man’s life with an allegation that had no basis because of his spineless phobia that someone would upstage Lennon.

When Midori Goto attacked me for New York High Society by ripping into an impacted neuroplasm cause by poison given to me in trauma and sedation by Wm. Wattenmaker, of Pitt Neurobehavioral Research for Gail Burstyn, her goal was to avenge the Little Boy bomb symbolically and secure High Apology to Yoko Ono as skull and bones emissary to Hitler’s revenge. After setting up the DiPietro entrapment on campus to protect Wen/Zell, she evoked Mary Anne Steiner of He’s Dead, Jim to say that on a visit to Bard College I had been too graceful to a girl insecure enough to make love and then push me away, and that this compliance meant that Leslie Katz’ virginity proved I raped her. Good enough for Mysterious Chinese Gordon.

Yoko Ono can go around castrating people because she thinks she’s a Durrenmatt widow and that John Lennon is entitled to ISIS Services and the hangman barbecue of the Old South. She got the Black Panthers to agree. Beating around the bush of the neuroplasm with her greedy speculations, she built a prison by hexing my justified denials with old songs and dance like the armed robbery charge that awaited me on return from the Governor’s School.

Obama used Stockholm Syndrome in a neurocoma traumatized child to terrorize an impacted neuroplasm baselessly with voodoo rape interrogation after saying they loved me and invading my marriage bed. It was quite a spectacle of police pornography for entertainment, including a special Asian Cult Cinema black market pirate film of the rape of deaf Chini, rumored to have brought Larry Flynt a bundle through Warhol and Ono at Sotheby’s back room. Yoko Ono, after all, was victim!

Hillary Clinton Is Not a Champion of Women

Just ask deaf Jeannie.

Madames throughout time have based their reputations on controlling the service of subordinate debutantes. The Midori Goto imbroglio which culminated with 911 is shrewish conditioning response by the evil Matron Ono to align AIDS Act Up HQ with Ming Na and Leslie in the name of Lennon on behalf of those who started AIDS.

The Arts are important to understand in this, particularly the talented Arts of American Black culture.

Carnegie Mellon had a Black violinist named Lionel. He was very gifted and powerful with martial arts as well. The idea of traditional chivalry was that righteousness and the protection of women was the province of knighthood, which leads to police service notions of fighting the good fight in the sex wars.

The idea that to the winner goes the spoils has taken precedence over chivalry to such a dark and insane degree that Clinton and Bush held a martian Shinto fantasy war with the help of British Royalists, who just buy women, during the AIDS Onslaught.

The Not Man Enough refrains that taunted me, from the mouths of Andelman and Exler, were used to depict me as foaming at the mouth for saying no after Wattenmaker and Cervi impacted a nerve agent, like pouring peroxide in a Negro actor’s mouth during the making of Birth of a Nation.

Butoh which was created by Hijikata largely under the shadow of Hiroshima, show humans in a pre-formed identity using their bodies in ways that are visually challengig. Dairakuda Kan and Akaji Moro developed a butoh that despite being very challenging to the eyes, manages on the level of physical contact to be very gentle. The powr of true gentleness, which Bruce Lee understood as a source of chivalry, illustrates the pre-formed spiritual beauty of the letter Clinton maligned to do horrific injury to disabled innocents in Pttsburgh for quench of Midori Goto’s cackle.

A Week at St. Louis Today ~ Current Affairs Forum

Sitting Pretty with the AIDS Combine


Obviously murderers as dangerous and criminally insane as Robert Fripp and Yoko Ono are not in a million years going to stop with the full enthusiasm of law enforcement after over 40 years of vicious brutality and sadism. They will continue to cyber-tamper, threaten, kill innocent people, rape and bomb at will in thrilling justification for their statement that AIDS was No. 9.

I want to go over a few formulas with you grandma, regarding the postcard I sent you when I realized this was going to have to be seen through, back in the 80’s, and I want to thank you again for the beautiful blue jacket you helped me make by hand, teaching even to sow button holes, that summer when I came out to Gray Street, the summer of Get Down and Stuck in the Middle With You, the summer I read The New Centurions which you had just finished, back when it was a new bestseller, the summer D.T. died. I knew from that of course that you did in fact know all the words I wasn’t allowed to say in front of you.

First the Federal Bureau of Investigation tortured me. They murdered your great grandchildren in a sense by splattering the school with the abortion from the girl I truly truly loved. The FBI tortured me for saying Reagan started AIDS back in fact when I didn’t yet think it had been him. Of course, I didn’t understand everything yet. I knew that he was demonic about liberalism and his snickering hate cast a dark shadow over the way I was kidnapped and mutilationed as a darling little boy.

The Beatles and King Crimson will always lie. The New York Times and Harpers, who betrayed Ward, like playing games about the kidnapping, sort of taunting me with the idea that the Post-Gazette might try to straighten things out with an article stating that it happened, that I was too scared to tell anybody and that Robert Fripp did some unconscienable things with Carnegie Mellon, but they won’t, it’s not just that they don’t dare, although I suspect that’s a ruse, that nobody really cares about public opinion, it’s more like they’re toying with the idea of reporting it to taunt me because lying has been absolutely famous for them.

There’s something wrong with Midori Goto, and I don’t just mean that she is a partner of Mehta and you were surrounded by a Mehta Family in the last years of your residency in Poplar Bluff, just that the whole story has something pre-written about it, the way they pretended to find it and saw it all through.

The British were too busy experimenting on us, smashing things at the breaking point, to warn anyone properly. What do the Beatles care? For them it’s all fiction. For them, we are all just ants. I was used as part of the weapons program. They kept toying, viciously, indescribably viciously, with the neuroplasm then setting off bombs to my therapeutic poetry. It was hard to get them to stop it. They think they have the right to torture someone for saying that AIDS was manmade, for saying it was Reagan. When they finally got me to say it, they died laughing.

The film-maker in Russia who is so important I think his name was Sergei Eisenstat, anyway whoever made Ivan the Terrible and gave comfort to Stalin, that’s the sort of villain as hero Hollywood authors with Flynt, Ringo and Oliver Stone. Hitler turned everything around. My old friend Martha Gellhorn, my oh my, had a wonderful article in Colliers Magazine, “Come Ahead, Adolf,” and that’s of course what he was after with the Burstyn letters, “Come Ahead, Jeemee.” Why don’t you go tell old wormWard?

I would have been a wonderful father, Grandma, a father like the Rifleman, on TV. I’m sure that’s why they wanted to overwhelm us of all people. Our dignity was so strong. I remember all your neighbors. To this day some of them say things like, “Why don’t you kill yourself already,” as though I was 20 still. They’ve used me ferociously for over 40 years, robbed me as psychopaths through online interrogation, daring me to practice free speech, under the guidelines of trappers who molest children, and their laughing D.A. saying, “sometimes that’ll do it, myuh.”

It’s obviously very sad. The USA: No More Heart, just hated.




The story of Operation: Medicine Man solves the problem of hysterical cruelty and sadism towards me for Yoko Ono and the rock stars. HitlerReagan knew that given any excuse the American Judiciary would be acquiescent and say who cares about the AIDS Onslaught. The Newspaper establishment shut its door and allowed a few strange monsters like Youssou N’dour to do slasher murder as therapy.

I hesitate to call something so obvious genius, but if there was a guiding idea behind the symphony of torture, murder and terror authored by Britain called Gail Burstyn it was the tagteam with Sean Strub. The idea that gay ill burst in was the anthem of the staged and phony intercept, then all faithful and raising their hands on high to fascist pigs like Peter Gabriel enjoyed the show of 911 and ripper murders that Pink Floyd unleashed while Robert Fripp and his sister Patricia, operating out of offices like the German revenge specialist Martha Harty Schiene’s Alternative Conflict Resolution at CMU, transferred shame back to their victims with cowardly bombings and ripper terror directed at other innocent people until the Germanic half of the victims was also quenched and they saw the light.

Tony Levin embarked on using Gurdjieff’s extreme philosophy of masochism to Svengali victims collectively through the hurdle of AIDS (never explaining while accepting AIDS was better than being warned and protected from AIDS, excepting of course that it enhanced his notoriety). The AIDS Combine knew no shame and the shame was on the other side, that of the victims, not the heroes of the combine.

The British are pretty sordid people. What they did to little Jimmy was just the beginning. But then, virginity proves rape, too, myuh, myuh, MYAWK!

Letter to the US Navy


My father Ryland Wesley Crary served as a Lieutenant on the US San Jacinto (CVL-30) a WW2 aircraft carrier. His civilian career included terms as Chair of the Philosophy of Education program at the University of Pittsburgh.

As a child I was assaulted blindside by an armed gang in East Liberty who brutally kidnapped and tortured me. The treatment was too degrading and deadly to describe. I went deaf when one of them, Wm. Wattenmaker, now of Neurobehavioral Research at Pitt, gave me a deadly nerve agent that remained buried causing an invisible injury for many years.

As a little boy from the pacific fleet when the Air Force dropped the Little Boy Bomb on Hiroshima, I became aware from evidence left by Wattenmaker that what has been done to me is part of a secret government military program called the Little Girl bomb which included the release of AIDS. If you track my movements you will find that the confederates of Wattenmaker lured me to Mt. Desert Island immediately after the virus spread for an AIDS testing war game.

The British knew about it and sent me a windy, fraudulent alibi. They then set upon me for Pitt at the Community of Allegheny County where I worked in the library as a deaf person with an attack prostitute named Rosine Monteleone from Milan, Italy. I was in love and thought she wanted to be married.

Pitt was protecting Wattenmaker. They knew about the buried neuroplasm. They knew I didn’t know, my mother didn’t know, nor did my school. Rosa was hired to stoke the neuroplasm into a breaking point to put me into seizures and convulsive arrest so that Pitt strategic services could attack me in the injury as though it were a character flaw. When a deaf woman named Jeannie Tamburro stepped in and tried to protect me, she was attacked and brutally raped.

I ended up homeless, in an ordeal for my life for the following twenty years. In Seattle, a hospital orderly at Harborview Medical Center purposefully gave me the wrong and needless medicine, deliberately leaving me all but chemically castrated, in reprisals by the British for talking. They forced me to travel all the way to New York City by train to Seattle while very sick to offer a High Apology, in Japanese custom, to Yoko Ono, whose husband was killed as part of the Little Girl attack. I found this incredibly demeaning to the interests of the U.S. Navy. Andy Warhol had many contact in the neighborhood where depraved, violent pedophiles kidnapped and mutilated me as a little boy. He was a friend of Yoko Ono. Wattenmaker came from the classy cadre of Jewish kids who frequented Julliard nearby her home. All of it is very suspicious of a revenge attack by fascist forces internally.

Thus, I have to protest. I realize that AIDS took care of a class of people who are regarded as unbecoming to the martial character, if not always the martial spirit, as the sadistic and horrid, violent way I was tortured by gay pedophiles as a hostage child illustrates, but to use my name, and destroy my life, in a secret program intended to violate the Genocide Treaty is completely inexcusable. Whoever authorized all this at Pitt is dangerously disturbed and yet at large in the Pittsburgh civic community.

The Wattenmakers came from the Jewish Holocaust Survivor Community, and tolerance of them appears to be part of a sophisticated bi-partisan quid pro quo that I don’t feel comfortable assenting to in silence.

This letter is printed in copy, in the public domain, at St. Louis Today Current Affairs Forums page online, although it may be moved by their brass to Off-Topic. You are welcome to contribute a reply.

Very truly yours,
James MacRyland Crary


Mr. Cannabis Castro


For the syphilitics in the Caligula Palace of London, Martin Luther King, as we know from the King Crimson papyrus signed Gail Burstyn, symbolized the abolition of Church/State separation. To make sure he did not die in vain, the victim buried in Bitberg/Belsen and Queen Elizabeth set upon deaf white suck with Hitler jailbait. The principle of the thang was beardstroked by King’s son Dyslexter, Mr. President of Intellectual Property Management in Atlanta. The principle that invasion of privacy is trumped by public sniveling when discovery of sex eurekas underwrote the orechestration of “Come Out or We’ll Burn You Out,” H.Q. of the British Foreign Service.

Foolishness adds up and the Shinto war game clocked to AIDS has gained sufficient definition to begin checking incredible contradictions against demonstrable realities to untie truth from British fabrication and the ugliness of Queen Elizabeth’s backstab of the Woodstock Generation with Godspell Nammies and Hollywood in fulfillment of Hitler’s revenge plan is writ large, and counting on human sentiment about so-called over-population. Only the Beatles matters, and if you think other than, then you killed Lennon, too.

Lennon wudda shoveled spaghetti on De De Mancine’s plate with a Dali eating grin. Seattle closed ranks around psychedelic tabloids in pro-pedophilia services for Hitler’s Basque Injuns to protect their smear in the venture. If you think Black Lives Matter raiding the microphone of wanking jewboy Bernie Sanders in West Lake was bad, you shudda seen’m go at Jimmy when Rosa notes started flying.

Contending with an Esoteric Circle requires wisening. As a result the disgrace of Mark Nordenberg of Pitt can be measured in the way Pitt burned my life from both ends and in the middle. With the issues requiring a long gestation which was the point of Gail Burstyn suppression of dissent can be accomplished by premature death or inhalant senility.

It is as if Patochka had something on Havel.


Both Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are criminally insane. Operating through the State of Pennsylvania they experimented with intent to do total humiliation and the Union won’t allow compensation because they have prior conscripted as compulsory their collaborationist idea of strict political control over the persona generated by the tension between Jimmy Crary and National Security, a lewd, ridiculous situation from the mind of HitlerReagan to many rounds of denial. Their platform is that no issue of torture or child mutilation mitigates naming the killer. They are politicking a bizarre psychological operation to justify failure to warn the public or arrest Gail Burstyn. To comprehend this you need to realize that every last AIDS victim on earth’s interest in being informed, every person who was at risk, in trauma and could have been saved takes second fiddle to their egos and the maniacal politics of Hitler’s emissary Yoko Ono. This also is what is really going on in Ferguson right now.

The anniversary of Michael Brown’s shooting came on the heels of Megan Kelly’s memorable exchange with Trump during the Republican/Fox special interest presentation laughably termed a debate. We need to be clear about what we just saw and what it indicates about the mutual agendas of the Hillary-Trump tagteam and their media satraps. It pushed Jebb Bush out of the camera lens, and gave the public a thirst, a bloodlust, for a showdown between class bullies. The fact that Mrs. Kelly wants to move on, while CNN has announced that Trump’s childishness has confirmed his powerhouse nature, the fact that Kelly wants to move on may well be the motive behind the slap in the face. Trump may have asked Fox with whom is always chatty on the phone, to hit him right off where he is weakest on the basis of Nietzsche’s sacred axiom that which fails to destroy strengthens, a half-truism that serves our Nietzsche generation in power. Trump, who doesn’t care what he mustn’t say because of the risk of elder abuse, knows that Americans are closet douches and doofbags who privately throw personal insults around like confetti, has now paraded the wilding spree of his campaign as a session in I’m Okay, You’re Okay.

The sexuality of the moment is lewd. While I certainly don’t care to imagine either Trump or Clinton as Mature porn stars, I don’t enjoy having the integrity and deportment of my personhood rendered political by a Federally mandated, “We,” or trampled upon the way they have molested me. Trump abuses women with Republican chivalry, a mixture of distain for thin skins and hostility for common decency while Hillary steps up to vow that the byproducts of such male attitudes and seductions will not be tolerated by the sorority of birth control. So now we know just how it is. While this doesn’t begin to answer the horrid indecency of the malicious claim that a brutally impacted head wound itself proves the victim abusive, it does shed light on the mayhem in Ferguson.

Central to the whole career of Bush and Clinton as partners in Middle East War and blackout Gestapo on the prowl of our campuses and rock arenas, led mysteriously by Moonunit Zappa, is the manner in which they used Obama as an installation for the purpose of keeping Black patriotic, bailing out the whites in power as usual, while inciting lunatics at Death Row and Nation of Islam to believe that AIDS was a race war crime. The result was endorsement of those who released AIDS, literally, by Black Power chauvanists who were granted the myth of victim status as a function of bully dominion. Nelson Mandela sided with the murderers of Martin Luther King, adopted their script, when offered freedom in return for silence about AIDS, and Midori’s box. At Duquesne University where much of all this was hatched, like the tang of lizzie borden, a man named Davey Jones approached me with an Asian girl named Jocelyn. The Elders had begun. Wise owls like Bowie who could orchestrate the power of misunderstanding among the masses to gangland satisfy. If you don’t know your history, you’ll never be able to read the citizen’s band as the crow flies.

Oswald was used to hide a crime for which we have never found a System Restore switch behind the shadows of communist witch-hunting. By making spectacular arguments for race war, the ordeal of little Jimmy was smothered in rancor from the margins of black grievance. You’d think I would be ashamed to draw a comparison to Oswald, but I was framed for armed robbery after returning from the Governor’s School, tortured by hitmen named Pitman, Ronnie, Caspar, Ostro and Man/cine as a child. Their Jack Rubyisms about Arctaurus showed up at the Clubhouse this morning. I’m supposed to tell Yoko Ono that I rove her for the Karls; and Reagan had me in D.C. for the cross purpose of final precedence, death or exoneration, in his historical nightmare by Hollywood over-ride of reality, there with FEMA attorneys who caused the mental illness that Hillary bases her lies about Mt. Desert Island on, openly, with raucous sadism and mirth, Trump style.

SWAPO wanted to poison Mandela’s brain and then embark on a disturbed, bizarre, weird and eerie spectacle of discrediting him. Foreign English said no. Foreign English said he’ll think he’s better than us. We’ll do it instead in his interest to a sacrificial white then have him railing that Jimmy’s a Louie. Mayhem serves total victory for the AIDS Combine by masquerading as a stalemate.

Sex isn’t really that sinister, but it’s midnight oil.


Hitler Shrugged


I want to talk about what happened again so that although it is bound to evoke the response of done and what does it matter there should be in the midst of attempts to terrorize free speech an honest record of what was after all a world shattering cataclysm despite the inaction and nonchalance of the powerful. The root issue of course is the campus scene in Pittsburgh as effectively organized by pop artists through the Warhol Museum.

The theoretical possibility that I cudda recognized the danger and saved John Lennon is supposed to harmonize with denial that the letters meant anything and with failure to war about AIDS or arrest Gail Burstyn, just as the idea that cool people don’t want to hear excuses about whining, pathetic jealous boyfriends.

There was of course some problem with the political evidence assembled by King Crimson. I hadn’t hurt Leslie Katz. We had moved in trauma and tears from the situation in Highland Park, there were school records of mistreatment and disappearance, serious physical scars. Fripp however was clever enough to see the saleability of evil ingenuity despite requiring dishonesty on every level.

Those who betrayed the young largely had the support of the young due to marketing of attitude and solidarity with Yoko Ono. For a long time, suffering from a personality change chemical and terrible child brainwashing, I was drafted into an ideological opposition to oneself which came out in the Katz letter. We hate you for the same reason you obviously hate yourself, came the gyration. Sympathy for a victim of torture was far away. This primary solidarity was achieved by Frankenstein means, the sale of hate could then be called love with a pernicious incessance, and what does it matter now?

Everyone is sleeping through the blackout, quietly bemused that Jim Dispirito wunderkind from Rusted Root accomplished the séance of voodoo by rejecting the lover, and making off with a stolen wife. Church power showed that there was nothing fake about the moral supremacy of Godspell over the victims of HAIR. While I was accused of seeking oil, being the tin man, and having no heart, that wasn’t really the problem, as my girlfriends well know, nor was that their goal, I mean, I don’t have a heart anymore. The coup de grace, of Ultrahigh, that voice again, the Eno experiment in mind shattering, shows that humanism was outlawed under Reagan and he began bombing the children of the devil.

New York made an ugly stink, while setting up cop raping ripper homicide about an abused child going on to abuse, but they lacked a sufficiently scarifying victim. The impacted viturperative disorder had the name Burstyn from The Exorcist, and evoked the enemy within by the name of Caspar, the good Hitler, who would lesson the whimperer.

In light of the terrible gaslighting involved, the strange arrangement in D.C. when Brady was shot, the soundtrack and theme provided by Revolution No. 9, Double Fantasy, Just Like Starting Over and weird extreme Ayn Rand it really isn’t out of bounds to wonder if John Lennon got away. Either way, I don’t see how such cold, cold, reptile blood called be called Love in anything but song. They are hideous faceliars.

The sophomores of Mendoza won’t ever agreed. They are cheerleaders of a lynch mob that was scheduled for the AIDS test war game.


Black Hitlers for Reagan


The cosmic jest that accompanied population control from Sgt. Pepperland cannot and should not fill you confidence that the Royal syphilitics in London meant well by the wretched of the earth. Maybe you didn’t like the story of a bomb being disguised as a child’s toy to terrorize gooky civilians in the nobility of the Vietnam just war, but you gonna love what the Ku Klux Klan and Black Reagans for Hitler did to Marie’s grandson, while he was all tied up choking in the pussyball tourniquet, myuh.

Authors of Sexual Self-Destruct: The Conscience of the West, or their minions at large in the plantation here, foresaw they could hack into the subconscious for the impacting of neuroplastic suggestion to cause focus upon desired hypnotic ideas in the terrible trauma of post-pedophile hostage shock.

Gruesome and apoplexic was the foreign rabies of King Crimson as they gesticulating and ravenously leered that the deaf white suck, abused by terrifying so-called peers, just wanted a Shetland Pony, myuh. No one stepped forwards to tell Nancy Moore that something intolerable was done to her son, and so the police network has a blank check to do any dirty Peter Gabriel chooses, and of course, Dixon, ill, and Swapo Idi are watching.

The ghouls of murder and mayhem who crow that they are Amnesty International while raping and terrorizing from every Federal angle they can summon, come in all shades, Black and white, easily called to the beckon of the foreign English finger.


The Ultrahigh Onslaught:  Trojan Horse or Shetland Pony?


Dear Mr. Crary,

I appreciate your bringing to my attention the concerns that you are dealing with in regards to the horrible acts that you endured as a child.

Mayor Wm. Peduto
City of Pittsburgh

Evidence in the murders of John Lennon and Martin Luther King emerged during an investigation into the origin of AIDS and has been confirmed to be exactly what was suspected: a testimonial by those who released AIDS. So the question from years of study of the inaction and avoidance by the F.B.I. as well as their reprisals and outright sabotage, comes out to be: was this a trick by the Beatles? And if not why did they rape, bomb, torture and murder to cover for it? We know now that they did just that. Accordingly, the conscription that they were indignant and that their revulsion expressed itself as inhuman hostility has ceased to persuade that their evil trickery on behalf of the perpetrators does not suggest joint authorship.

Despite the certainty of all of this, authorities have ignored the development.

There is too much distance between this lack of response and the magnitude of the crime. I believe a thorough investigation and prosecution is due and that suitable recognition and compensation for the mutilation crimes I suffered be forthcoming unconditionally.

It has been countered by collaborationists with the Onslaught from Ultrahigh that at the time I received the Burstyn letters I was a juvenile delinquent and have been hesitant to tell the full tale, involving kidnapping in stolen cars, and being used for sex by a police network of horrid pedophiles, because of fear of self-incrimination. This is a cover story meant to empower the British power structure to punish giving testimony by cruel abuse of a neurotrauma impacted for that purpose, while slurring me on campus as weird to gain a cloak permitting their viciousness. I was tortured horrifically and repeatedly, leaving me badly and irreversibly injured while the British pirates made this into a game and a cover up in a brutal attempt by fraud to punish accounting. This was also all planned. I remain hard at work giving testimony.

The Lennon assassination letters found during an investigation into the origin of AIDS have given the study of history an unexpected turn, profoundly tainted by the twisted public attitude authored by British poison that somehow this was an acceptable atrocity. We are at a crossroads of either hiding this development completely hoping it will disappear under their mockery into irrelevance or pursue the academic and legal challenge posed by this surreal revelation in the hopes of matching our talents against the mind-shattering implications.

Before I submit my grandfather Ward’s work history for review, I want to point out that Bush invented the queerbait persona used to create a traumatized child into a weapon that his fascist allies could aim at the Post-Dispatch in seeking dismissal of the grievance he mocked loudly. Dissatisfied with covering for the AIDS war, The Beatles broke into my home, sabotaged by marriage bed, raped my sign language teacher, stole my bride, chemically castrated me and incited cruel public jeers on my head in an ordeal of vanquishment bereft lasting over twenty years, a very vicious thing to do to a deaf victim of neurotrauma.

It appears likely now, in evaluation of very strange evidence, that I was a present, a head in a box, presented to Yoko Ono by Lennon in absentia. How can I justify that? Look at the perniciousness of the strange motif? Look at the Ayn Rand film with a lookalike of Burstyn covering her ears in the atomic warning gesture captioned with the words of Lennon’s last song? The semiotics are horrendously consistent. Somehow in the seven boxes of hope destroyed by Clinton’s SS, my life’s work, my grandfather’s work history survived. You think pornography would have offended my grandmother? These murderers splattered Carnegie Mellon with the head of the beautiful fetus they contracted an attack prostitute to produce for that purpose, while I was blissfully in love and in rapture with the dream that somehow by luck my King Crimson daydreams had led to the love of my life, while Sir McCartney was snickering that the Irish suck had finally gotten his Shetland Pony.

Robert Fripp used Leslie Katz for his ends. Strange to say there is an ugly scene in Lennon’s Oswald Moseley film, “How I Won the War,” with blood running down his chin lewdly. Greg Karl in his Fable Analysis paper about the structural discipline behind the AIDS war game Two Virgins, a coded album title, wrote, “the listener is led through a bewildering myriad of surface details to arrive at the fundamental themes.” How can one not shudder that the innocent Korean girl Fripp had brutally raped is named Chini in knowing the pretext Leslie provided by her vagina monologue over the nectar of virginity. What gives with these hideous rippers? It was long planned is what gives.

The Beatles always said that it was them against the world. The facts show that The Beatles, as a monstrosity, started AIDS.

Ward’s work history:

At the start of my work career, there was a generation of professional nomads known as “tramp reporters” and “tramp printers.” Just ahead of that generation there was one of ranch workers known on the ranges as “fiddle footed saddle bums.” Thus my ancestry is established.


1921—Started work as printer’s devil, janitor, ad and news hustler on Ottawa (KS) Weekly World in May: employed as cub reporter on Topeka (KS) Daily Capital in September.

1922-23-Reporter and copy editor on Daily Capital until December, then went to Atlanta Constitution.

1924-Hired on at AP in April and was assigned to Montgomery, AL, as capital correspondent; returned to Kansas as reporter on Daily Capital in November.

1925-State House and Legislative reporter for Daily Capital until November, then went to Oklahoma City Times as reporter and copy editor.

1926-Went to Kansas City Star in February; then to AP as wire filing editor in September; and in December to Cleveland Press.

1927-Went to Ashtabula (O) as city editor of the Star-Beacon in May.

1928—To Birmingham (AL) News in February as general assignment reporter; to Marion (AL) in short-lived partnership on weekly newspaper; returned to Birmingham on Post as reporter and copy editor in early fall.

1929- On Birmingham Post until October; then to Wichita as telegraph editor of Evening Eagle.

1930-To Wichita Beacon in January; to Arkansas City (KS) Traveler as city editor.

1931- Back to Wichita as telegraph editor of Beacon in January; then to Protection (KS) in another short-lived partnership in a brace of weeklies.

1932- Sold at Protection in May; nine months without a job in which I tried without success to sell life insurance.

1933- Returned to Beacon as telegraph editor in February.

1934- Went to St. Louis Star-Times as copy editor.

1935- Hired by Post-Dispatch radio station to set up first news room in October.

1936- Full year as news editor of KSD radio.

1937- Went to Cincinnati Post as telegraph editor. Remained on that job until

1940- Transferred to city news staff as business and industrial reporter.

1941-Hired by Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce as manager of civic affairs department in January, and spent much of winter and spring bird-dogging Ohio Legislature.

1942- Went with Office of War Information as information officer in charge of branch of Cincinatti, O., in May; returned to Cincinnati in October as supervisor of public relations for Branch plant of Wright Aeronautical Corp.

1943-Went to Miami (FL) in November as telegraph editor. Remained there until August of

1945-Returned to St. Louis as copy editor and swing relief man of Post-Dispatch in August. Remained on P-D in variety of work assignments until

1950-Back to Topeka in May as news editor of Daily Capital. There until

1952- Left Capital in a messy explosion of conflict, involving differences of opinion over whether news editor’s function was to put out good newspaper on time or indulge in a lot of back-scratching and image-making which I considered the job of an overload of executive drones. Went to Tulsa (OK) Tribune in March; returned to St. Louis Post-Dispatch in May, where I remained in variety of sub-supervisory jobs, including nine year stint as night wire news editor, until

1968-Returned to Topeka, where Mrs. Moore and I met and married in the fall of 1923, to finish out retirement in city with some more amenities, better transportation, etc., which we considered important to two people on the downhill side of 75.

Some observations:

At time I broke in, J-schools were just arriving on the horizon. The city desk usually ruled by a hard-nose, was the instructor in those days.

I could not be hired on any newpaper I know anything about today because of my lack of academic credentials—not even a high school diploma.

Pet peeves—Sloppy use of words leading to ambiguities, and advocacy journalism which is assumed to justify slanting stories to suit the objectives of the write.

Things to forget and things to strive for—Forget about objectivity (what is it?); strive mightily to always be fair and factual.

Something to beware—Never confuse facts with truth. Facts are concrete and supportable. Truth is something that we hope eventually will emerge from an assemblage of facts, but it may never suit our purpose.