Geffen media use for their network a spin system built by fraudulent detectives who lurk as ingenues soothsaying the Federal police by their mobility in popular culture. Because they can pronounce what will be the next fashion, they see reality as plastic and truth as malleable political substance which can be twisted to suit their purpose as a private art form. To a great extent St. Louis Post-Dispatch operates well within the prescribed perimeters of conduct expected of little people doing their duty in service to morbid and hateful syphilitics.
In Peter Gabriel: I’m talking about an infamous, brutal, hideous, sick and criminal moral imposter who is deadly and dangerous. I have no idea what his sadistic clique have done to others, but I am sure he regards what he has done to me as some sort of warped exception, and I have failed to get help from him. I am making sure that some effort to warn the public and request proper police investigation is demonstrable and noted. This virulent, shocking ripper homicidalist is a GASLIGHTING pro. If you don’t know what that is look it up. Contrary to the popular belief in his sensitivity to correctness and humanism, he is a ripper who uses his acid rock expertise and Yoko Ono’s experimental acid-psychology to set upon and sabotage recovery. It is no good trying to get help, it only gets you in deeper trouble.
Like Hitler’s Gestapo, the psychotics working for Peter Gabriel in Seattle regard me as a fugitive from their lifelong vivisection experiments. Queer Seattle and their psychiatric institution have hissed that chemical castration was justified by a very obscure set of Reagan formulas brought to bear on me by Gail Burstyn. They hissed that because I was seduced by a 12 year old at the age of 13 who was experienced when I was not, jailbait for a gang of murderous police pedophiles involved in the murder of Martin Luther King (according to the script of Gail Burstyn, which they refuse to acknowledge) that I am a statuatory offender. Deafening me, they say, was a point of parochial mischief, to be understood as fair. Recently they repeated this doom because by accident I wrote to a Facebook chick linked me by a friend in New Zealand who looked 25 but turned out to be 16. Fortunately my comments, while meant to be flattering, were innocuous. I have also received snipes from the rippers because Japanese Adult Video occasionally dress their 18 year old starlets in school clothes for the ravages of their fantasy tours. The irony of this shocking situation is that by questioning it I am taken into dens of blackmail by police pornographers who regard me as a fugitive from vivisection by the AIDS Combine.
The murderers who tortured me are seeking to example me against the leer of public prurience and hostility for their own odd media promiscuity. It was inevitable this would turn out this way. Nancy Reagan and Elizabeth Taylor covered for a barbaric AIDS experiment by attacking me in a near mortal head wound through an undercover attack hottie invading my marriage room, then pushed me into the streets as a screaming victim of vivisection alone and ravaged through my 30’s and 40’s. Because Amnesty International turned out to be brutal, non-commiserative pimps, pushing their slanders to execute a deranged program of holocaust execution in the name of art, the idea that I have abridged propriety lines is a hotwire they police with shrieks, entrapment and terrible venoms, due to the terrible crime they have committed.
Tony Levin, Yoko Ono, The Reagans and Peter Gabriel, which is to say the Clinton/Obama Ticket, are very, [u]very dangerous when the Delusions they have Mongered yield to the presence of comprehension and analysis[/u]. They used me horrifically as a child with a brain injury chemical in an attempt to maul me into the scapegoat of their great exampling, and towards this end they recruited Queers with the idea that I should be regarded as an object of derision by them as well. The murder of Shannon Harps by slasher homicide with the fore-knowledge of Queer Seattle was based upon an argument put forwards by the Green Party that no one gets outta here alive. Gabriel ferociously advanced the idea that human sacrificialism is not only a special insight into African psychology, but a noble obligation for the scapegoat. His syphilis stains the sheets of our modern history all the way up to 911.
My mother once woke up in the night crying and calling for me. She said she had had a terrible, terrible dream that someone was trying to kill me. Although she knew that Gail Burstyn was writing to me everyday, somehow she overlooked the letters in our frightened, nervous breakdown condition as people fleeing for our lives from a brutal gang of child molesters. Her advice to me to forget and move on had bad news in store for us as the slanders which Tony Levin and King Crimson later learned of and cultivated for their ends, whirled around me. I saw the hideous nature of the curse and Amityville style of the horror that had enveloped me and hitchhiked all the way to St. Louis from Pittsburgh trying to get the coward Fripp on the ball.
The British willfully misused information for Gail Burstyn and Lennon’s assassins, their purpose in sexual vilification of a victim of vivisection. I have been alone for 30 years in deafness and crying humiliation because of King Crimson’s brutal slanders in defense of those shown to have started AIDS. They rig the most intimate perimeters of my society, from online chatrooms, to the people who have come onto me professing they want to be friends, or in one case even to become married, because they are deranged, abnormal people. Rosa’s game was Two Virgins Pussyball, a war game clocked to the AIDS Onslaught by the NEVA Corporation. Note again that Dr. King was killed because De De had already spilled her oil, and that Robert Fripp’s favorite, Leslie Katz, had left me unrequited at the time of the Lennon slay. For this reason, the British took Midori Goto, with the help of Clinton, as their due, much to her recreational spite and mirth.
To the face lying is the only thing they are capable of as a point of departure in the realm of civility. The result was that these dirty dealers, cheating and lying through the teeth, created a sickening debasement of a child victim of police pedophile cinema, held hostage in a vivisection experiment, to justify an AIDS experiment on Mt. Desert Island that was proven pre-meditated. Casual encounters is an easy way to manipulate you into appearance of criminal company. One doesn’t dare not speak with who they demand, because if you wash they’ll be offended.
Obviously they are going to be very dangerous knowing someone may look into it objectively. These sickos are the Kingpins of Popular Delusion in the mystery.
On the subject of schizophrenia, which is used to taint the public with shrill fears of an immoral man in their midst, dangerous to hotties in high school, with whom, to be very clear and truthful, I have nothing whatsoever to do, anytime ever, and towards whom I strongly deny bad intent, you have to place the condition in the context of which it emerged, which was after I was written to by Martha Gellhorn about my investigation. This condition, that voice again, started the very night I went to hear Midori Goto play violin. Goto was part of the police pornography operation that targetted me sexually in a head wound for the NEVA Corporation named in the Burstyn letters in association with the murder of Dr. King and today’s bizarre traffic of the murder by parochial sadists like Martin Sheen in Hollywood, whose child smut whisperer Vince Eirene darkly misused screams for help in a blackmail system meant for lifelong hostage-taking.
All of these bigwheels have one purpose: immolation of a whistleblower. As a person who now does have symptoms of schizophrenia, I really have to wonder, somewhat wryly, what if the day comes when broadcast artists can do brainwave sonar? Whose hands do you think it would fall into if not Steve Hawking and Brian Eno? What purpose do you think they would put it to if not defense of the High Science community who targeted what they consider the unwise, the immoral and overbreeding with a germ? These very men are the ones who wrote the alibi for the insane, sadistic and berserk war game on Mt. Desert Island, while hissing that it was just weird art from high delirium in Hollywood, snarling that nothing untoward had me in D.C. when Reagan waved hello, goodbye to me the night before Brady was shot, and all in all he’d rather be where I was, in Philadelphia.
The city of brotherly adolfs.