The Treachery of Spike Ole Lee

The Black leadership of the United States cut a deal agreeing to go along with the AIDS Onslaught as a strategic plan based on deception management in return for a piece of the action. This case is conclusive: a script exists, written in 1974, by those who released AIDS. Long premeditation and elite school education went into its wording and cunning. The script is not itself a beginning, rather it describes many prior moves setting the stage for abomination. Its power derives from its density as a keystone distilled from a lengthy tome of dark calculation involving many military minds from Ivy League schools. It has been delivered to history as a fait accompli, with a mutilated child as its object lesson, the damage done, the responsibility of the injured party is to live with the damage. Justice has never been a consideration, a fact that should weigh heavily on the Gay apparatus who were engineered into tawdry collaboration.

Spike Lee is not a worthy person. He blamed a child for something beyond a child’s grasp and then lied about it. The consequence to other innocent people was suffering and death. A white woman named Viola Liuzzo was murdered during the Civil Rights Movement for supporting Black people in their attempts to secure the right to vote in the South. It was an ugly crime. Her tomb is kept hidden. Spike Lee’s dire and parched cowardliness towards a white child mutilated by the Ku Klux Klan makes you wonder who defaced her tomb, children of her killers or hoodies from Brooklyn?

In the tragedy of my many lonely labors, the message has gotten across to me by the murderers who tortured me and raped my girlfriend that Acknowledgement will be my epitaph: on the day that I am heard and believed they will punish the truth they failed to outlaw. I have said many times that the City of Pittsburgh and County of Allegheny should concede my membership in the community and human race, and admit that the mysterious injuries that make my life an exhibition of raw torment, deafness, atypical facial pain, and belligerent derision, have been willfully neglected by many people well aware that it is exhibitionism by the criminally insane.

In the AIDS Onslaught, failure to warn resulted in a stigma boom. During the flocking of those who were under attack towards the comfort of mutual community, like horses in panic running towards the burning barn, all part of the plan, deranged leaders from the AIDS Combine interrogating the sexual revolution to get the desired response, orchestrated them into high risk behaviors as an orgy of communal bonding, demanding of the victims performances of a sexual nature cued to be hazing, blood oath and death vow, keeping what they knew very secret in leveraging a landstake for collaborators. Dia Douwes called me to announce the murder of Lennon in whose name this evil misadventure was said to be in formation. Her mother told me, “In war all that matters is the art, not the people.” While Paul McCartney whined that Hero and Archimedes cudda averted the population boom, Spike Ole Lee sent race papparazzi to the memory of Denise McNair, while whistling his tunes of grievance having personally lifted not a finger to help the victims of Katrina. This media vulture then crowed that Blacks were the victim when the Ku Klux Klan, Bobby Jindhals from the David Duke school, set up a sex dare through the Bible thumpers on the margin of Pitt, seething that a woman from India seducing me was grounds to help White Nazis shown to have started AIDS because they told Spike Lee that the hooded Black man was victim.

Having hitchhiked from Pittsburgh to St. Louis just to hear Robert Fripp play guitar, I was amazed by his surrender to the cringing that Spike Lee gets out of white folks he accuses of being as politically incorrect as his own movies. The double meaning of Cardinal goes a long way in illustrating the war game from the Palace of London who went along with murderous greed in the X-termination plan. Spike Lee wanted race sex X-terminated, too. It is very sad that while he was backbiting me about things I knew nothing about, on behalf of ruthless white assassins, I was actually working on a book I had planned to send to him for first option: The Thinning. My, how perverse the Reagan klan was in turning friend on friend in the name of tribute.

The Obamamanian Black man, of whom Spike ole Lee is a mainstream screamer, have made false proclamations about what all this means, creating a Houdini situation of political correctness, vowing that the answer would be Poetic Justice, as though complying with the every fetish of those who started AIDS in a bid for their promise of gold was the summit of Civil Rights wisdom. Dr. Ralph Proctor recently moaned that Blacks may face a blowback for Obama’s two terms. I don’t think so. So long as Blacks don’t question his scruples in subscribing to a Faust bargain with Hitler’s revenge they have nothing to worry about. Blaming a neuro-traumatized deaf child, they leer, “Stop Making Sense,” with the usual unbearable hypocrisy of people with inflated claims about their lousy music, art and political position. Spike Lee is nothing but a vulture.

It is foolish to ignore the intuition in one’s labors about contemporary human events in the United States at large, and our communities at home, but to deem the intuition of a British syphilitic like Peter Gabriel infallible is to withhold information that is direly needed in favor of cold-blooded lies. Mania will not solve our problems. JFK died just before the Beatles arrived, giving them a messianic taste, and King Crimson published in the winds of Martin Luther King’s tragic end. There is about this supplanting of our dreams with the greed of racist hippies in their primal drive not only the sorrow of what could have been, but strategy. The items of despair that come to mind, as well as to light, come bound with tourniquet exhaustion, the desperate wish of the assassinated not to hemorrhage so conspicuously, the lynched not to soil their jeans before the schaedenfreude of Spike ole Lee and his horde of character assassins. The joke is not just on Jimmy Crary, nor is the spiteful laugh of David Bowie exclusively bent on victimizing me alone. The celebrity superstate, The Clintons and Republicans, are using a secret deal to cover that Failure to Warn was decided by victims who were in on the decision to attack. Holy War is like that. The martyrs believe themselves saviors. In the mirror-like windows of the Imperial structure at Carnegie Mellon University (CMU for Church Military Union, in league with PITT) the towering gothic walls of St. Paul’s Cathedral reflect as a statement of purpose, hellbent on maniacal precedent. The footprints of CMU’s drama school lead directly to the slasher mauled body of Shannon Harps in Seattle, victim of sacrificialism from Hitler’s Hollywood Pan-African tribe.

Spike ole Lee is an unworthy and tawdry individual. The persona of the white defsukke constructed by Dr. King’s killers served the purposes of those who were arranging the action in the AIDS Onslaught to be read as tribute to the Black man. Oh, perilous Spike ole Lee, hadda go along with Reagan. He Got Game! Lee bellowed in mockery. Together Lee and his Yankees buddy Henry Kissinger manipulated the attack into appearing like a Civil Rights Move. To do this was infinite shiemish, the glowering conumdrum of the coward Fripp basking in Jewish war game, the grievance of Leslie Katz, manufactured by manipulation of a damaged golem through nerve agent toxin formulated by Will Wattenmaker of PITT Neurobehavioral labs, and Peter Gabriel knew this, he had the evidence, but just had to go along with it for the ruse, and London’s stake in token manipulation. Gabriel, who wrote the alibi for a sick white Nazi proved to have had prior knowledge of AIDS. I should really be careful, because Spike Minister Lee’s Black Nazi Panthers may creatively poetry slay yet!

As a prime facet of the politics of illegitimacy that are the foundation of Barack Obama’s career is the Los Vegas deterrent, the idea that someone might make money if the public were warned. In their infinite scruples, the British had Shannon Harps kiled, a strategy devised by Amanda Harcourt, as a symbol of Sir Paul McCartney’s sacred penny whose spiritual continuum alone can render to the plague mass of Dia “911 anthrax” Galas. Flynt harvested with the help of the F.B.I. secret footage of Jimmy Creary crying in trauma as he was destroyed by gang pedophiles at a pre-lingual and prepubescent age, footage for Asian Cult cinemaphiles of the Sotheby’s variety of Ringo Starr’s enemy’s best friend, legally a child, being raped, for the glorious gurgle of Yoko Ono, a banshee who demanded Apology to the Third Reich, to Mancines of Manson Pedophile cinema, from a Little Boy born to the atomic fleet, in the name of Midori Goto, Spike ole Lee done proud. Sad as it is. Spike Lee brings us to the message of Martin Luther King by preaching sympathy for the vanisher, in contempt of Xiu-Xiu, the Chinese sent down girl who was killed when they were finished raping her, always beginning her ordeals with the British facelie: “I love you, man.” Spike ole Lee joined powers with the brilliants of misanthropic pun in the Hollywood of Hitler and called it Poetic Justice, myuh! Adults who knew blamed a child who didn’t with the words: Not See.

He got game, don’t laugh!

Hollywood and That White House Gang are selling the post-war world devoid of factual history, heaped in deception. Forgetfulness created by purpose through media blackout needs a word of its own. Forgetization is unwieldy, but fits. When Black America cut a deal with Hitler for power Mandela was set free. They got something for the deceit and they’ve been lying ever since. They don’t dare let on, for fear of what all those victims of AIDS would say about being backstabbed by the Beatles. It’s a family affair.

Foreign English have full gloat as of this writing. In the film The Killing Fields a bound man is taunted with an apple and shot for biting it. Oliver Stone, Victor Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone announced like Mussolini that this is an outcome every man on the street can relate to. Why it is only poetic justice that the queerbait should be chemically castrated by rivals after the family gems in tandem with white Nazis as Black racial tribute for sniffing around looking for evidence. The paranoid was indeed used for police pornography as a child, a recreation rendered unto Shiva, but did not he have a chance to saved John Lennon? Well, then! What is less illegal, myuh? Posing as though syphilis is law, Obama has managed a too casual grace.

Matthew Thorton came to PITT News on a mission for Clinton of libel representing Matt Marcus of WQED and Midori Goto of Thornton School of Music. Having found Zell and Burstyn, his father calling me “a horse thief” they set up the AIDS war game with glasnost though queerbait yelt, “sin!” What is less illegal? Playing into a vanished entrapment of risk jeopardy for the trick of English pardon or starting AIDS and lying to the object lesson? Tom O’Connor hired a stunt van to race around Kelly School buses. He could have killed Black children, but it was a stunt that Spike ole Lee thought lucrative as he read the script slipped him by David Lucarelli at 20th Century Fox, guitarist for Tom O’Bedlam.

Oh, and, ja, Peter Gabriel cares!

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