Souring on Skateboards

Skate culture in Pittsburgh seemed renegade in 1986 and I liked the Nazi Punks Fuck Off challenge that I saw on some of the local scene, so I took up with them long enough to take some great action snapshots, which were lost in the stalinist purge launched when authorities became infuriated that Martha Gellhorn had written to me.

At the time I was friends with M. Christian Robinson, a local artist in his own dimension of rap, so to speak, Black, angry, but well aware of the intensity with which Reagan was out to cap our hopes. He wrote for my genre zine: Skate Scam. I also tried to pull together Brent Coldiron and Adam Eisenstat from Pitt News to answer the allegation that Civil Rights for political dissent meant mandatory equal time for skinheads.

This devolved into the hostage affair of sarcasm in a climate of identity crime supporting tyrannical child molesters that Adrian Belew worked out with Peter Shell, of Carnegie Mellon and the Thomas Merton Center, the tragedy of the carrot tape, and the lewd, and willful misread of that tragedy by the forces of crimson terror.

Maliciously, my skate zine was called evidence of white racism, despite doing my level best to feature Christian Robinson who, to my deathly sorrow, I learned had committed suicide while I was in Seattle. Christian had founded the Pittsburgh Poetry Slam. Pittsburgh answered his self-assassination with rude innuendos about his personality, calling him a girlfriend beater. I believe he was a tragic hero who was engulfed by a nerve agent that got the better of him, of the sort that I was also poisoned with. In any case, we were not printing a white racist zine.

More was to come, as Adam Eisenstat revolted me with a masquerade as Abdul the Terrorist on KDKA radio, who exploited his Jewish gesture to spread hate for Arabs while Peter Shell’s roommate Todd Kaufmann leafletted the Giant Eagle with pictures he’d made of Nancy Reagan and Khaddafy. I did everything a person could imaginably do to try and stop them, but Dennis Brutus came to aid of Peter Shell, as did Rusted Root and King Crimson. They never apologized, even after being told what they had done. When I told Mike McGough of the Post Gazette that Oakland skinheads were the shock troops of the white supremist movement, he answered by blood curdling libels about my complete innocence in the matter of Leslie Katz, and then Kelly School happened.

In my forceful and widely admired letter in the Post Gazette demanding divestment from South Africa by University of Pittsburgh, which they answered by divesting, a strange mis-spell took place. Mr. Beatty was changed to Mt. Beatty, a sinister typographical error on the road to Mt. Desert Island. I was not the driver at Kelly School. Steve Gibson, who was around with Coldiron and Eisenstat, introduced to me at the same time as Tom O’Connor, owner of the Flynn Construction van and classmate of Ming Na Wen, had his story wrong about my using the word, “Jiggiboo.” I was lampooning Stewart Sheppard, asked Gibson to help me report it, gave him the address of the authorities and Stewart Sheppard confessed to it in writing which made no difference to the rabids and vultures unleashed by the monsters in Bath.

Despite this Ming Na Wen and Peter Gabriel went to work sneering that I was a white racist recklessly endangering children at Kelly School, in reality a furious passenger who quit the job over the incident. Promoting a white racist named Zell and a long premeditated AIDS war operation, Gabriel advanced eugenic pussyball over Midori Goto.

Pity me.

My father, denounced by Rosa Clemente and her Golden Horde of the Green Party as a deaf pale liberal patriarch thing, a white suck hypocrit, dedicated his life to Black advancement in higher education and his son was kidnapped and tortured by the Ku Klux Klan. Using skate genre as his medium, the murdering pimp of the crimson terror, Robert Fripp of King Crimson, set upon my home to poison the name of this very dedicated public educator who knew that power de-humanizes.

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