All in the Family

All in the Family by James M.R. Crary

Copyright Steven Arnold Thompson

 

Political assassination is very sophisticated and subtle so it is often hard to know who is to blame, the killers or those who laugh. It is too much to hope that failure to understand is simple ignorance and not something much more willful. People learn what not to read so books don’t have to be burned. For women, being a victim isn’t sexy so they would rather offer their nest to conquering Germans with an alibi. Forgiveness plays really well among inside inheritors. As often as not the victims are left friendless. The institutions that defend political assassins are belligerent in the matter. They will look away when their favorites do it again. Political assassination in and of itself is now so common it is no longer even considered wrong. It is just a question of who. It is a very serious matter if the killers are threatened. You must be polite to them about it, but it is not so much a problem if they laugh and get away. You can’t reason with anybody about it, at best you can write just to try and keep yourself from insanity; although police psychiatry is a huge hurdle for dissent.

 

When the victim is your own father, a genial man, it is of course very painful when nobody cares or worse takes criminal actions against you for trying to get help. Victim status in fact is now so inflated in media that you are supposed to cheer that a hero has been made a martyr on the auction block of notoriety if only a media representative would come along. Forensic police detectives won’t even admit the difference between a red hair and a blond hair. The F.B.I. are so culpable they would be laughingstocks if they were so remorseless and so deadly. The only thing Scotland Yard will do is strike again.

 

Ryland Crary was no Che Gueverra. In fact he was so urbane that Blacks were dismissive of him despite the huge he paid for being their advocate in higher education. The Jewish Community at Pitt couldn’t make his idealism a laughingstock, so they made me one and publicly whispered in his ear as they poisoned him. I’ve always wondered what Wesley was thinking when he murdered my father. That Hitler had a better sense of humor? Yet it is precisely this quality about my father’s liberalism, the good old-fashioned American brand, that made him so choice to the parochial savage at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette when they authored a political hanging of his humanism by putting him on trial as a Red Witch in the Roundtable Discussion during the Autumn of 1986. This was a shrewd campaign by those who were manipulating rich Gay culture through a staged and phony discovery of the Burstyn letters by Peter Gabriel and the Geffen Corporation with the help of Reagan and PITT.

 

There is a super-abundance of evidence that Ryland was poisoned dead. It runs the gauntlet from esoteric to graffiti-like scrawls on his obituary. It is strange in its tapestry and charismatic in its breadth. The laugh of it comes in the idea that concern is Constitutionally permitted, an idea that we are supposed to be so grateful about that it transforms into a mandate for silence. Reverence towards Freedom of Speech in other words is more appropriate than its exercise. What luck that you may talk outloud about those who whispiered in his ear as they poisoned him and to whom is this gratitude owed if not his killers, always patriotic. Paranoia, they crow, is the real poison, an attribute of traitors, and liberals.

 

The family of the deceased has so resolutely denied what was done to me that they are the trump in the hand of the killers. Rather than admit the atrocity in its full scope, they consider Ryland’s death a small price to pay. My father was a man of the world. He was on the same ship as Bush in the Navy, saw the Beatles in a small club before their rise and was an educator in the Peace Corps. The Northeast Regional Director of Amnesty International called him a hero.

 

Police psychiatrists are quick to remind you the great divide between what he was and what I am. Dr. Carrie Sylvester did not want Seattle’s decision to castrate me chemically wrapped up in any questions about the integrity of my father. Not that he was guilty of anything but that my inquiry into his death was. Such bad faith she had decided was very dangerous.

 

The evidence begins with the esoteric. Study of what was done to me reveals the hand of both neurobehavioral research, who poisoned me with a nerve agent, and natural language laboratories, who manipulated the injury for psychological extrusion, a technique of invasive psychological manipulation. So what about Nyguna Kabugi of Bethany College whose name was subconsciously so like Chikita Banana that he had me singing before daddy arrived sick, “It’s Jaguna (pronounciation) Kabugi and I’m coming to tell you, how to get rid of your teacher today.”

 

Then the fact that the Falk Medical Library staff, like by Erlen the magician, waving his magic fingers, decried the offer of a nutrition center just before Ry showed up with a loss of appetite.

 

Father put out an SOS about whisperers using the riddle of the Sphinx which recurred when the Red Witch Trial was arranged, and a mysterious blonde depressive came onto me in the Mellon culture with the music Syrinx. Syringes were to play a very important role in the AIDS war game on Mt. Desert Island.

 

Donohue is pronounced like Don’t Know Who, and hides the pun Ono. His name appeared in a tirade against liberal educators along with a memo about the German Green Party on the rear side of my father’s obituary in the newspaper that put him on trial as a Red Witch.

 

The execution of Shannon Harps by Queer Seattle and the Green Party, always hostile to white liberals, was wrapped in a Kennedy curse aimed at the children in our family, Abulafia choosing her name along with Meat Weapon and Ballard Pimp of the Seattle Stranger Newspaper. Abu – for Mumia on Death Row. La – for my sister Laura and Fia – for daughter.

 

Rosine Monteleone was sent by Peter Gabriel, Geffen and Clinton to attack me brutally in a pre-impacted head wound in order to de-victimize my family as white liberals.   Gabriel’s politics are always very loathsome and he participated in the Red Witch Trial, angling at the enigma of both me and my father as white liberals, to advocate for John Rawls’ closest continuer formula for the survivalist faction, while writing his alibi for the AIDS perpetrators on Mt. Desert Island. This war criminal gloated like a German concentration camp guard handing a pistol to a Jew to shoot another Jew, as he gave Obama the ripper back knife with which to slasher my father’s name.

 

The Praetorian Guard of the JFK researchers led by Jim Marrs made a joke of the tragedy, leering that I was like Galileo and then violently promoting the lies of Peter Gabriel, while shutting down my essays. The blackout is preferential treatment for the criminally insane. Enforcement of the assassination comes from the political allegiance built by the survivors of other victims, the ghoulish greed of Dexter King, who were eager to cast their lot with the assassins.

 

Wattenmaker in Neurobehavioral Research is named as having poisoned me in the facial nerve in the letters of Gail Burstyn. For the attack by Rosine Monteleone, the Beatles are to blame. They sabotaged common cause, evoking people like Jobriah, who died of AIDS and had no known interest in the Educational system. The Beatles promoted LSD use and they cast their support with the MK-ULTRA poison criminals behind AIDS. This is a sweeping reform in favor of Lennon’s assassins and the Green Party approach to population control, which is AIDS. Obama is a liar, but a shrewd one. He claimed that AIDS was aimed at Black people when in reality it was aimed at promoting him as a Noah in the Ark of Colors. AIDS, and confederacy therein, put him in office. This was a Southern paradox, from Clinton and O’Connor, all in the family.

 

Ralph Tive who introduced me to Milton Shapp as a child just before his son Michael, now at SONY with the felonious Midori Goto, who brought in Rosine Monteleone to advocate for the assassins in a revenge attack by Japan on my father’s name, evidence for which is found in HitlerReagan’s semiotic film legacy, where the fact that he was a Japanese Tokyo Rose who they listened to, identified and followed after the war, seducing me pre-mutilation with the Japanese NEVA Corporation, a smut company, is stored in old films, now works with Tive whose name mysterious occurs on the oddly laid out final book of my father about George Leader, talk about puns.

 

John Stockwell of the CIA followed me to Allentown in 1987 when Penny an agent for London told me about the Day the Earth Stood Still on the eve of the 1987 Wall Street Crash, and spoke to me on my birthday. This was the precursor of my inside information about 911, the secret of which is the anthrax. Gabriel had manipulated public appearance to give escalation dominance and victim status to those who released AIDS in the time honored fashion of driving a wedge between liberal groups. Penny Crary was instrumental, representing lesbians in her hatred against my father, giving Gabriel the means to protect Will Zell and Gail Burstyn by making up lies about me, raping deaf Jeannie in name of Lennon. This wedge prevented timely common cause and subverted attempts to warn by making commercial claims on copyright to assure foreign control of media blackout. By conniving a sad story about victim status, he made a victim on victim gladiator fight at Carnegie Mellon that greatly amused those who started AIDS, got ravenous Gays behind Will Zell’s weaponizing of AIDS, allowed Moonunit Zappa to threaten the lives of the children in my family and got Shannon Harps slasher slain. All in the name of Lennon. Indeed, my letter about Olga Havel, so well received in Czech Nation was spat on by the Zappas in their strategic tirade.

 

Gail Burstyn clearly spells out the targeting of my family.

 

Silverblatt, a horrific liar who spread lies about Julie Sempel to give Amy Edelstein an excuse to beat her brains in, publicly whispered about me in a Pitt News column, titled something about hidden in plain view, was almost certainly a friend of Gail Burstyn. Edelstein was with me on the day I was accused of armed robbery but refused to testify. Fortunately, the lie of the Pittsburgh Police was found out when the woman robbed became furious that I was being held, admitting not only that she had never seen before but that she had not chosen the photograph of Ronnie Czsinski they said resembled me.

 

Will Zell conducted the AIDS experiment on Mt. Desert Island where Weinberger lived. Ronnie Z sin-ski and Kasper-ow-ski brutally attacked me as a child, in a war game described by Greg Karl, an all out ally of Ringo Starr, as being over Midori’s virginity, which Rosine Monteleone gave herself to me promoting for the Green Party which is what Midori’s name means in Japanese, GREEN. The nerve agent caused jealousy, green with envy. My how the rock madness grinds.

 

Lucarelli moved into my house to make the grab on the letters when Rusted Root set upon my name as cat callers for the local student gossip mills, in service to Reagan, N’dour, Bowie, Obama and the Rolling Stones, all of whom the coward Fripp had informed about me, all in the family. Ryland never really like King Crimson or Peter Gabriel, try though I did to convince him. It’s a terrible shame that Robert Fripp sided with Leslie Katz, a partner of Gail Burstyn, over a letter saying the opposite of what he claimed, and castrated a deaf poet, raping deaf Jeannie, pursuing an alibi for those who released AIDS, pleasuring the syphilis of his feminazi wife and sister in their hideous self-regard.

 

Against such an arrangement, my poor father stood no chance.

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