Some things are so horrible you don’t even want to try, and even if you pull together everything you have from your heart and soul and manage to make it clear, what have you accomplished in a society this irresponsible and bloodthirsty? I grew up in Jewish holocaust survivor neighborhood. I was tortured in one. I was used in a special education holocaust simulation experiment as a goyim little boy in one. I was brutally butchered and gassed. I used to read testimonials of immigrants from Germany who struggling fiercely to get word into the fine print of New York weeklies about the concentration camps, collapsing in exhaustion at the effort, but even if they succeeded they probably didn’t save a single life from Hitler. Yet to have not even tried would have been worse than death.
So I have to try. I have to try to tell you something about police brutality from another dimension. About the insane, asinine, beastial misconduct towards me by Peter Gabriel. It isn’t a laughing matter. This bizarre syphilitic hails from the Royal Family in London. He brutally tortured me again and had my deaf girlfriend raped after claiming to be from Amnesty International, and his roadshow included Cameron Brown of the New York Times.
I was in severe pre-seizure trauma from kidnapping trauma as a hostage child who had been severely mauled, battered, gassed, humiliated by pedophiles, and sentenced to death by the people of Pittsburgh for slanders so surreal that the mind is shattered by encounter with them. The perpetrators have been tied to Andy Warhol and the NEVA Corporation, a Japanese pornography giant. The foreign English rabid sent in Rosine Monteleone for Midori Goto to stoke the neuroplasm, depredating on my condition as a person pleading for normality. She preyed on my sincerity, promising me marriage when, in reality, PITT had hired her to stoke the neuroplasm so they could humiliate me and cancel out testimony of kidnapping and torture. Then, when she was ready to throw me to the wolves, she made off to PITT with her affections, and I was forced to endure 23 years of homelessness, abuse and isolation while she partied and had a good life.
Mary Anne Steiner of Bard College, a Jewish girl who I met at a band called, “He’s Dead, Jim,” including Evan Knauer who had blacklisted me because I cried in neurotraumatic suffering when Leslie Katz deserted me after high school and left me unrequited. MAS lured me to Bard College and while making love to me decided to stop when she sensed I was approaching orgasm. I complied. Peter Gabriel projected this incident into the neuroplasm, projected it into trauma, and started stabbing it with the allegation that I had committed defiant trespass, until I went, under his hypnography, into convulsive arrest. They made it impossible to contradict them and filmed the brutal rape of deaf Jeannie as one of their punishment raids.
Leslie Katz had already gotten me put through a putrid police pornography ordeal on Mt. Desert Island, where they gave me scabies and threatened me with HIV injection in writing. It didn’t do any good to report this in context, and to illustrate the attack prostitution and stalking which began with child pornographers in grade school, coming to a grand finale when berserkers led by Cameron Brown set upon me with Kathee DiPietro in camera. There was no trial. They simply claimed I owed them money for the gas they gassed me with and they collected, in homelessness, extorting money from me when I was sleeping on the street, and took compense from deaf Jeannie, their comfort woman. Their gang online sneered at me, “Did they use a ball gag?” when raping my best friend, and this sort of mistreatment of the psyche continued to this very morning in notes from Peter Gabriel’s fans.
They didn’t stop there. They chemically castrated me, making it impossible for me to get an involuntary erection. They did this in the name of Yoko Ono, who pronounced a Durrenmatt style ordeal, based on a macabre playwright who enjoyed prisoner’s dilemmas of great spitefulness, on me beginning in childhood when I was set upon by Japanese pedophile merchants hiring a gang in East End. She claimed I was hiding a date rape in fear of self-incrimination. When I went into seizures in an Iowa jail for public screaming and remembered what they were calling an amnesia trauma about date rape the real memory that came out was of being kidnapped in the snow outside an Elementary School in East End as a child and horrifically terrorized by their agents.
Ever since they have exploited terror and isolation for slave labors as a writer, despite the fact that I did nothing whatsoever wrong. Peter Gabriel wants to be known as a Caligula, the sickest, nastiest, most spiteful Machiavellian in the human race, and to get his fan mail from an anti-torture campaign because he understands perfectly clearly how sick this culture is, and where his market interests lie.
Gabriel justified this with tape of a conversation that violated my rights and based his entire libel campaign on horrific lampoon of a sardonic comment I made at Peter Shell’s while in a holocaust trauma trance from impacted neuro-amnesia due to abuse by horror violent pedophiles. It was a regurgitation of something they did with one of their women that I couldn’t even place or source, something I heard and spit up when being abducted to hellholes in crying hostage as a very little boy. The murdering pigs didn’t even try to sort out what was true.
After I tried to flee to Seattle, they circled me and massacred by knife attack a woman named Shannon Harps in a sacrificial homicide outside the clubhouse where I had taken shelter, just to let me know, they mean it.