I have learned something about Foreign English, or Britain as they call themselves, in their Hitlerian doublecross. These rabid, murdering pigs, professing to be my friends, hissing derisive facelies like, “I love you, man,” led by arcane, spine-tingling neon prophets like Peter Gabriel and Robert Fripp, contacted me, put me on one of their rock albums incognito, encouraged me, and then set upon me with horrific, malefic glee, leaving me shattered for decades in appalling homelessness, a deaf man who already had so little hope, from horrible kidnapping attacks in gradeschool, and they licensed the murderers I had reported, getting my only friend brutally raped, spitting at me that they would never let anyone tell their cold-blooded reason, that they were blaming me for John Lennon’s murder, about which I knew absolutely nothing, seething that I was trying to muscle on his name when they are the ones acting in advocacy for the Jewish, offensively deranged scriptwriter who penned my name into the crime as identity theft. These horrid, foreign rapists, crowed that they were from Amnesty International. The United Kingdom are nothing but vile wolves.
Ralph Tive’s name mysteriously appears on my father’s last book. His son Michael works at SONY with Midori Goto, who targeted my father’s name with the help of Peter Leo at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Father was rudely and viciously publicly derided, put on a witch trial, as a red communist for his long, distinguished career, first as a World War Two Naval lieutenant, then as a Peace Corps leader and then as Chair of Philosophy of Education at the University of Pittsburgh. Robert Fripp of King Crimson had found an enemy to use in an exampling. Coming to the furious, slasher-murdering support of my father’s killers, who had violated me as a child horrendously in brutal pedophile bondage attacks, and licensed Gail Burstyn to pen her malevolent screed, this Hitler rubbish and his putrid band he calls King Crimson after the Devil, slave trafficked me in a long premeditated AIDS testing war game by those who killed John Lennon, raping deaf Jeannie, and for nothing would he stop. This ravenous, murdering pig jibbered that as long as he didn’t give me AIDS, too, he was doing the work of God no matter how vicious his travesty.
The Mayor of Pittsburgh tried to calm me down with a civilized letter that spoke of the “horrible acts” I “endured as a child.” It made me feel better, true, but it did not answer the lifetime of scalding, horrendous ordeals the psychopath Robert Fripp has authored, keeping the Federal Bureau of Investigation frozen like pants wetting little waifs with the terror that Reagan could be named. This is enough to silence everybody and make the world-shattering reality of this hideous bedlamite go away. The simple truth of Pittsburgh Police involvement in pedophile trafficking and child mutilation, the horrible, horrible vivisection that the University of Pittsburgh authored, and what was their answer, these shits? They attacked me in a pre-existing neuroplastic head trauma that THEY KNEW about, even full knowing that I didn’t, so they could have a Royal hottie terrorizing me and ripping my heart out when she left me in terribly, terribly cruel seizures from convulsive arrest, and then jeer as she ran off, the woman I loved and dreamed of every night for twenty years, to have children with a nobody they that found for her, giving her a job at their college as her reward. They all knew that they would have the campus laughing themselves sick.
Make no mistake. These murdering pigs did this in cold blood for the true assassins of John Lennon.