Bukkake of Sarin

I suffer from an unusual injury in my facial nerve. This was diagnosed by UPMC Dr. Michael Soso as Atypical Facial Pain. I will present evidence that the poison which caused this serious problem was administered in a dreadful crime in 1974. Last year, 2014, Dr. Joe English of UPMC removed a pre-cancer lesion from my face. The essence of this civil complaint against the University of Pittsburgh is that two injuries to my face, one in the nerve, and one on the skin are not unrelated and were caused by deeply depraved, criminal sadism authored by the University of Pittsburgh with intent to destroy my life and cause torrential, permanent, catastrophic terror. It has taken me decades to summon the courage to confront them, and during that time they have never stopped in acts of ritual abuse intended to deeply humiliate me as an already deaf person. Incomprehension regarding their cruelty has contributed to a state of mortification during which time I was in a virtually catatonic state with regard to my experiences. For nothing would they stop, and they have no intention of stopping now. This is a violation of the 13th
Amendment forbidding slavery.

I will be presenting the evidence from 1974 showing that a planned poison crime took place. It is a letter from Gail Burstyn illustrating what she calls a purple disc thingo. In another letter by Gail Burstyn, who was introduced to me in the house of Shelley Friedman, she names the brother of a Neurobehavioral Researcher at PITT. Then I will present a letter written by me in the days following the poison crime administered to me in a state of trauma by friends of these malicious criminal individuals showing the severity of the injury from the onset. Despite this terrible, sad, tragic experience in my childhood, no one knew the gravity of the injury I had sustained, not even me, certainly not my family. My father who
was Chair of Education at Pitt never knew. This injury, now visible in my facial nerve, was unknown to me until it surfaced in 1997.

Yet mysteriously, in 1992, PITT authored a political action targeting this cruel, impacted neuroplasm. I have four pieces of evidence in addition to the three letters I have referred to, which prove this allegation about this significant and terroristic political action. This shows they knew it was there when I didn’t. This is because they put it there experimentally. Their political action was very devious. They used a personality change chemical to make a grandiose claim that I was character flawed. To do this they hired
Rosine Monteleone-Arnberg to masquerade undercover as in love with me and as my fiancé. Her purpose was to brutally humiliate me.

In October of 1993, I went to PITT Law School with evidence of foul play. They invited me to the Law School and arrested me for trespassing. The trauma of this betrayal caused me to lapse into convulsive arrest, as they had planned. In the resulting suffering, I boarded a bus to Iowa and shrieking in misery and agony from the anguishing neuroplasm, I lay on the ground screaming, face pressed to cement, vomiting, as the memory of their attempts to impugn my character flowed through my mind, the neuroplasm forced its way to the surface with memories theretofore blocked by amnesia caused by a
neuroplasm.

The evidence from their political action shows that PITT was working to structure an allegation against my character by depredating on the neuroplasm, claiming I was dangerous and hiding an abridgement
of conduct and decorum. They slurred me as sexually occupied. What was the real memory that forced its way out? It was of a day in 1974 when it was freezing cold and snow on the ground, but school was not closed. I had been sent to the Principal’s Office for biting my fingernails bloody and told Dr. Marshall that I was going to be killed. When I disappeared for months she never investigated. That particular day I was afraid to go to school and was wandering around walking alone, frightened, terrified for dear life, but the Pitmans, in their stolen car, found me anyway, and forced me by deadly threats
into the car where they exhibited weapons and threatened to kill me if I didn’t use inhalants. Somehow, at a red light, in my panic, I eventually escaped that vehicle that particular day. This buried
memory was not what Pitt was implying.

I took to hiding on the top shelf of our towel closet at home. Mother, in tears beyond tears, finally agreed to sell her house and move us across town. She never knew what happened and I had to live with her blaming me. Somehow, although deaf, I won a Governor’s School Scholarship. Shortly after I came home Pittsburgh Police attempted to frame me on an armed robbery charge. As a result of these experiences I was afraid enough of Pittsburgh that when the bus was late in Iowa, I began to cry so profoundly that the bus attendant asked to help me, and in pity he agreed to change my ticket to Seattle.

For twelve years I sat in a recovery house in Seattle just staring into space, unable to believe or accept that PITT, to whom my father had dedicated his life, not only employed the men who tortured
me as a child, but hired an attack prostitute to masquerade in order to humiliate me in the impacted injury they knew about when I didn’t know it was there.

As a result of toxic overexposure to the sun, I developed pre-cancerous lesions on my face. This isn’t all. I have been informed privately by the Neurobehavioral Research team that their crime is a lifelong operation of experimental sadism and they have dared me to report it. I tried to report it to PITT, the Police, the Sheriff and Mercy Hospital to no avail. So in my last attempt at manhood, I feel forced, in absolute conscience, to bring it to the attention of the Courthouse. I want to add that because of the sexual innuendos advanced to cruelly intimate me and secure the evidence in order to destroy it that no one would no one would know what they did, the rape of my deaf girlfriend and the malpractice crime by Harborview Hospital in Seattle which left me chemically castrated, look like the long arm of PITT executing punishment for whistleblowing.

In closing, I wish to add that although I am a student in good standing at CCAC, I live with trauma from having to pick up math where I left off as a Scholar’s Program student at Fulton Elementary at the time when the nearly fatal attack caused a head injury which made math so difficult for me that at the age of 54 I am struggling with blind spots that Dr. Gregory Chin confirmed were a result of severe beatings, in the hopes of finishing college by a course in Business Math which is all I need now.

They had no right.

My father Ryland Wesley Crary was Chair of the Philosophy of Education at the University of Pittsburgh. What I might have been had I not been attacked, held hostage, brutally tortured, mutilated and pedophiled as a child, or if PITT had not aided the assassins in traumatizing me further and covering it up was illustrated in such material as my monthly editorials for Emerald House Journal of Sound Mental Health when I tried to take sanctuary in Seattle. My poetry appeared in Real Change Newspaper and even Chinook Coupon Book. I was given Certificates of Achievement by ACORN, a branch of the Asian Counseling and Referral Service and by Amnesty International. I am a student in good standing at the Community College of Allegheny County, but I am picking up math at a developmental stage, where I was when attacked as a Scholar’s Program student at Fulton Elementary School. I feel a good deal like Charly, the man in a film by that name with Downs Syndrome who catches a temporary glimpse of what life would be like due to medicine that only lasts a short time, and he ends up back on the swingset of childlike tears. School is the most important thing we have. My father dedicated his life to PITT.

In some circles, like CCAC, what I am and what I have lived through is a very famous tragedy. I still wake up screaming. A powerful faction at PITT saw my father’s work and decided to make money turning it into a killing using such brutal curiosities as bondage and mutilation pedophile cinema, and their Law School still sees the whole thing as a big joke. I have the evidence to take you on a terrible journey into a war crime, a journey into Pitt’s true motive: evidence in John Lennon’s murder found during an investigation into the origin of AIDS. I’m not a cow. I don’t just moo to the music. I have to get my terror under control. I still live under the domain of the smut-addled smirk of child molesters wearing a parochial leer.

There are reasons why PITT refused to give me medical help. I had worked at Falk Medical Library and then for a Philosophy Fellow named James W. Child who was on Reagan’s Iceland Nuclear Debate Team. Also, I was contacted by Peter Gabriel, so you see there’s a mystery surrounded by lies and crime, a dangerous confusion resulted flooded with fantasy loyalties, a lot of interests at stake.

Pitt not only inflicted this grave personal injury, but by denying it, and forcing me to live for decades in neurotraumatic amnesia, suffering, oblivious to the cause, confused beyond measure, deaf and afraid, they forced me to stand up for myself in a climate of mockery full knowing that it would be nearly impossible for me. The evidence shows that they did this as a jest and that they are murderers.

They not only did what was done to me, but they forced me through a lifetime where it was evaded and denied. Things are hazy. I can’t hear. I have blind spots. Some of our society who don’t care or see me as a unique human being who had rights compare it to everything done by a generation of evil and decide they can’t have me being called a victim. You can tell yourself no, but it’s just denial, you can see what they did from the evidence. Denial, as might on high, is why my failure is predicted in a courthouse, not the facts or significance of the horrible wounds.

I’ve always know PITT were unethical to their core as a franchise heist of inate dishonor. They bray openly of their deceit and misconduct. In the 70’s and 80’s their war machine, law and philosophy, their urban guerillas in the Army Reserve, referred to it snickeringly by their slogan: The Nature of Reality. It’s not, in other words, just the vile, loathsome, criminal nature of Nordenberg’s attacking me in an impacted neuroplasm that they knew was there because they put it there and I didn’t know, couldn’t even remember the details of the brutal surgery because of fell ethers they forced on me in captivity, so his decision to withhold exculpatory information to brutally humiliate me FOR LIFE is just another variation on the blurb of their top law school student’s brochure reading, “There’s no such thing as objective reality only what they jury believes, “ meaning hire PITT and their graduates to lie through the teeth most effectively and Our Commonwealth can hang. They did this to the son of their Philosophy of Education Chair and then dared to breathe fire over the issue of loyalty.

Laughing at me when their division executed the brutal punishment rape of my beloved and best friend.

When I struggled with my dignity and gave expression of my conscience at PITT NEWS they horrifically degraded me and spat on me as a naïve idealist. I am seeking a fortune in damages not only because they have the money and the injury is so grave but because I deserve it for exposing their horrid hand in atrocity and because they deserve to be punished soundly.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of what my life could have been. Certainly when I struggle these days with multiplication tables and physical agony from the gyrations of the neuroplasm, I wish God or Pitt had been kinder to me, shown me dignity and pity. Again, t’s like being Charly in the movie from the book Flowers for Algernon. I see glimpses through the haze, but it’s neuro-congestive, it freezes up and I’m back on the swingset, struggling with addition and subtraction rather than breezing through trig, and of course no woman would ever have me for very long. It was easy for them to pin it on me.

I should be in a respectable house in Portland by now, with books, keeping to myself and looking after my cares, but even if I win it’s not a life, don’t think that if they find in my favor they giving anything back to me of what was taken. They tried to disable and scare me so I couldn’t report it. Standing up for myself carries with it awareness of a society that has grossly degraded themselves by forcing me to. They no doubt will snarl with the time honored Nazism of slanderous, libelous, character assassins that I forged the evidence that I was able to copy from letters they wrote and then impounded to destroy. This is their nature, not the nature of reality, the nature of their reality.

Murderers have long sneered that I rifled the files of zombie porn seeking information about NEVA Corporation, who used me for bukkake at the age of nine and Zell, who had prior knowledge of AIDS, but it doesn’t come from me, it comes from them, and this PIT of horror and nastiness is what PITT stands for through their hisses, their greed, their sadism, their wormtongues and their lies. They gave me a facial, only they used acid, a bukkake of sarin.

_________________
Mac Crary’s father, Ryland Wesley Crary, was the author of the textbook: Humanizing the School

 

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