A Letter My School Probably Won’t Bother Read Even Though I Ask Them To.

Topic: Is counter-investigating illegal and invasive entrapment immoral?

     The way my old school in Pittsburgh covered for atrocity towards me was to manufacture rumors of personal misbehavior.   This didn’t come across the board openly, it was sneaky and done very offensively with experimental psychology from Warhol Museum.   They blackmailed me with my own terror by saying it was suspicious conduct as though it was illegal, evidence of a crime, to be sick with fright after being tortured and faced with people behaving this way.   What language do these people speak? What language do you? In saying I made the whole thing up they allow admissibility of not one shred of evidence, why? Because they are using me, which they consider grounds for stigma embodied, Jimmy Creary they called me from childhood, as medium to make up anything they please, as though it is illegal not to be the performing puppet for them.

        In the Democratic Debate on Sept. 12, 2019, Andrew Yang made what appeared to be a good offer for ideas from people who thought they had bright ideas that could help, but it turned out just to be a lottery.  I thought maybe someone was on the other side of the computer who would actually read and adjudge the value of a Town Hall input. After all, he had just said we should take back democracy and make it work for us instead of working for it as though for a giant computer.   What I wanted to share was why I thought Jay Inslee was important and suggest not only hearing Town Hall stories, but funding prominent contenders willing to take the fall for something important, as Inslee was, to raise awareness, as someone, Obama apparently couldn’t, should have tried to stop him from forgiving Detroit and urging us to switch to mass transit.  We need talented persuaders who make understanding possible, and people with ability to look at hard issues and if they have to be encapsulated in a bumper sticker at least make the slogan stick. For example, we know that the new generation of money holders who see society as only a burden on them evoke Libertarianism and Ayn Rand, but did you know that Objectivism actually sees informed debate not as a war of ideologies but as a mutually beneficial exchange of ideas?  In short, Be Conservative, Be Open-Minded are synonyms as understood by American Heritage. Knowing this does not mean I am not a Liberal. It means I am a Liberal who gladly gives credit where it is due.

       The attackers who tortured me and run the schools, influencing peers towards me with a great deal of absolutism, prey on a tendency in the young and confused that was expressed by John Stockwell of the CIA in a public forum who said, “the Left,” by which he meant student radicals on campus, “have a horror of self-examination.”   This was meant to imply that by being confused there was something wrong with me. Why do I say me? Because he followed me to a small town on my birthday in my 20’s, wrote the date after the lecture on his autograph and underlined it. These are people who speak the same language you do in a different way, they speak of things that are, although open to public review, neglected for being from spy society.  My school profited in their organized crime by knowing that I understand why I am a target for someone like Stockwell. It makes it possible for them to communicate with me, know I understand and be absolutely helpless to get help.

        Stockwell wasn’t talking about the Seattle Left, that’s for sure, nor Donald Trump’s friends at Warhol Museum.  Who is left? The Seattle Left are super up and up, with UW degrees, on the whole mess. The use the refrain, find someone who cares to announce the message that terroristic hate crime is legal.   Administration shrug and say it’s just this one use of their special system. The crime is a serious one, human sacrificialism for a Hollywood story line. The truth of my political activism never changed their obsession with depicting me as a white hate object.   They criminalized my right to exist as a pawn in their little shop of tokenism, using such things as the paradoxical issue of abortion and non-violence to convey a so what attitude because of the surrounding lens of common crime. In this monster creation of Warhol Museum they have created a stunning, violent to the mind symposium about the chivalry of death by AIDS injection or blood panel comparison for sacrifice by other means, which explains the obvious serial poison crimes involved.  They think I should die by public execution for even trying to get help and make this clear in their timing of letters from the school, sending me a letter after I left with Honors that they refused to explain implying a disciplinary complaint for good example. They do all this to me and then expect me to care about the seemingly humane aspects of their obvious fascism. So Stockwell didn’t mean the Seattle Left, that’s apparent.

          Walker Percy, a famous man, wrote to me in the mid-80’s with a quick, succinct comment, “beware the delectations of despair.”  It was a real warning about the plan to take me as a souvenir to hell by these terrorists within our society who gleefully call themselves witches and devils and publicly bragged of killing Saoirse Kennedy for their plutocratic glee club.    Clearly, being a rock star doesn’t mean being left wing either, because King Crimson were all over me and constantly stalk me with gang sign, sporting their reputation at school of being friends with big, Black Colin Powell. Since they were considered the intelligencia of rock arts, the warning of Percy is clear and defined, a handful of cyber-stalking psychos, clamping down on police through the powers of Powell, enjoy the endless web spinning that forces me to try to get help despite what Martha Gellhorn, another famous person who wrote to me, observed about Dachau, that it did no man or woman ever any good whatsoever to cry out from this place applying so definitely to this set.  Stockwell also bragged that his subordinates when finishing with an interrogation chopped up the victim and threw them into the street to make sure nobody followed suit.

          Shawn Brooks put into play at Pitt, “tell us if he is being weird.”   I discussed the situation with Sgt. Christine Secilia of the Pittsburgh Police when I was very fortunate to have her to myself after class for a while.  I told her that the reason I got in so deep in my journalist field work was because I kept telling myself this can’t be for real. To my absolute amazement she told me she understood completely.  Everyone else I had ever even tried to explain that to rolled their eyes. Vladimir Nabokov, a White Russian, once wrote, “I think (s)he may have nursed a small mad hope.” Sgt. Secilia is someone I have to imagine to say this, because I know she, at least, would understand.  When you are in a situation where you pray it isn’t real, and pray that what is happening must not be what it seems, you tell yourself it isn’t wrong to behave with some normality or normalcy, however you choose to express that term. That condition, looking for the truth, and behaving normally, is weird.

         I’ve heard the expression triangulation of crossfire.  I don’t know what it means, but it has something to do with snipers.  I use it as concept to explain where they had me pinned. Peter Gabriel called the operation an experimental response to a public health emergency.  Since he was in Amnesty International I had no reason to suspect that he was behind the attacks that I suffered as a child. I was wrong. Working with Stockwell he had hired attack prostitutes who were paid in the distant past to be in place after humiliating me as a little boy to provide uploads working meta-narrative, a UW word, for Gabriel when Stockwell went on his roll about horror of self-examination.   In Maine, after I mentioned Ming Na Wen’s proximity to this at CMU, the Bangor Times ran a headline: Scientists Find Chink in Aids Armor. The chink in my armor was my belief that maybe my society was sane, that maybe if I stuck it out someone would stand by me and show me love. What I got from my school was an overly precious daredevil from Trump’s hottie patrol named Rosa meant to finish their warfare with Brooks, who had everyone saying it was weird of me for wanting this not to be real, for wanting not to be deaf, for being terrified that not one friend, not one family member spoke out.

      So what really gives with my family?    Judge Pechman laughed at me when I asked decades ago for a grant of orphan status to be declared by the court to free my testimony and me from their service to the plutocratic glee club.    You see, the political administration doesn’t want to let bygone be bygones, they want to be able to twist my arm. They figure on justice the way a kidnapper who gassed me named Pitman figured on justice when seeing my tears, “Boomer doesn’t hafta,” breathe the gas chamber, “because his brother bled from the mouth, but queerbait (e.g. meaning me) does.”   And King Crimson is down with that. They call it their Art Council panel.

         The more you bring it to light the darker it is.   Brooks and Warhol expect me to gag on the irreconcilables and irresolutions.   They expect me to change my tune because nobody reads me or sympathizes or understands.   They expect my explanations to implode against the reader’s perceptions of theory, my own fear of reality, their incessant claims of unstated things, and the refusal to address the evidence supporting the objective facts in the information.    Then, as usual, criminalizing evasion, they demand I vie with their perverted meanderings, the hallowed and esoteric blitherings of Brian Eno in the warps of Yoko Ono. It’s a corporate world. They got into my house through Fox Media and a stepbrother who went for my jugular vein once quite literally for second-guessing a friend of his who was lying.  It allows them their cruelest act of sadism, to call themselves friends while raping my mind.

         The script was conceived of as Planned Abortionhood.  That is what was meant by the terms of the deed they created.   I was a donor baby. I’m reasonably sure that my father knew, probably thinking God gave his begotten son, why shouldn’t he?   He was CIA type military express. I think they knew the manner it has been planned for me to die. Dad slipped me a trophy with a walrus tusk of three missing before he perished and it was in my room.  The only thing my mother, long divorced said was, “I wonder what became of that awful cup.” She once used Ian Wattenmaker’s favorite image from a Crawford film, Crawford was in Dallas that JFK day, a “spike” being nailed through someone’s head, in abusing me by misrepresentation.    Meanwhile, Mancine, a felon who watched me being serially beaten and kidnapped me for months, she characterized as having raised me. He showed me a putrid story about a news racket who were first on hand at crimes because they knew they were coming, working both sides, and subjected me to a mania about Thufir Hawat who was a genius fed faulty information, a good metaphor for how people were lied to about Lennon, and used on me, and of course the snickering alibi for Reagan.  Mother knew the author of Black Elk Speaks who had children in his family named Gail and Kasper, the two prominent names of the script. Powell, Trump and Seattle Left voided reality about what was done to me, insane crimes, to sell the Warhol doctrine that I was a jive boyfriend and so hafta forgive their hun Kasper, whose gang locked me in a house from the inside at a gathering I thought was with Salk Labor called Ark Artek, a company from my school and from WQED with MisterRogers.  I guess Jefferson Airplane meant Jefferson Davis because Rev. Wright wanted to sell connivance of the Black Muslims with the KKK as the Wright Brothers’ Wings for Ms. Goto’s Mr. Right.

          Sounds like a horrible rerun of the war holocaust from Warhol.