Unconceivable human filth: Karma Martell, the daughter of a relative of my father's who lived in Fort Hamilton Parkway in Brooklyn.  The reason for this incredible violence? This prevention from reading, studying, doing anything positive? These false bills? These misdeliveries? these small worries that take years to solve? Resale of you to the canibal market. I was reading an article on European economics and politics and Martell started exerting an inconceivable violence (Kelly, the team at the New Yorker, Stewart derides, also involved, along with the  trouble with the Tapiero) to prevent me from reading. She has United Nations contacts, mewls like an enraged cat (what the hell is that? This from someone who introduced herslef to me as Ms Sophisticate when I first met her) she starts communicating with Maria Di Maria, to th eleft, and Linda Pittmon, who 's broken into my house, my mother's apartment and who, along with my mother's family, is involved in a human meat racket. She started saying in Italian that I 'm not masturbating like she wants, and she has a business deal with a cook (a human meat arranger). It leaves you speechless. I'm in my own apartment, minding my business, reading a paper, any sexual reference to me and relatives being absurd, inconceivable, any even vague connection to masturbation and being observed, or it being evaluated by an estranged relative at a distance, sex being a matter so incredibly personal, to someone I barely know, someone who thinks my genitals are a matter of hallucinatory possession, to someone who thinks my sexuality is not mine, and extremely private, but who decides she can rule it because she has a contact with a cannibal cook? My sexuality her business? When have I ever even addressed any issue of sexuality with this unbalanced freak who inserted a  Atkinson in blonde when I was taking a drawing class to offer me a cup of coffee when I playacted her as a blowjob to her contact at the caf? She also suggested the Arts Students League. My father was a musician. Hers no! E il modo ancor m'offende, the trash says. YOU have NO idea what a perversion of Dante that is, NO FUCKING IDEA HOW TRULY OBSCENE what she just said is, NO FUCKING IDEA. For this sophisticated web page designer, I should masturbate in public, and what an effort at sophistication that must have been. They've all fingered that now's da rite time to betray my pop. "Per te no?"rattles the Tapiero downstairs. I'm writing this on my computer, I'm in my apartment, this asshole thinks he's predator the sequel in waiting, stalking me, bothering me, never shutting up and that's normal? I have never EVER experienced this level of both stupidity and dulled brutality in my life. That makes him thibk he can be successful in conning me into a weaker income bracket. Oh, but no, now he's all confused, he doesn't know what to do, now his pageboy coughs with rancor, really, it's all I can take not to go downstairs, bust the fucking door open, grab them by the fucking collar and kick them in the fucking face the fuck out of my house , and down the fucking street the fuck away from here. Unfuckingbelieveable. This guy measures the vaginal smears in my fucking underwear in the laundry bag thinking it graduates him to Thor. Really.Now he imagines sadistically attacking my right nipples as a foggy sooty wiff of gas, that frowns upon my very existence. I'll make himand his fucking family  live in a fucking shelterfor the rest of his fucking fucking life. Unfuckingbelievable. And that's the sophisticated, jazzy, city girl karma Martell, who'll claim I'm a fucking Mexican, that's why she's extracting my fucking teeth at night, for my mother's family, and hers because one of the first things she told me, when I finally met her (her mother and grandmother would be welcomed for a vacation  in our house in Italy by my parents, they did absolutely nothing and when my mother and I were in need after my father's death she equips me with a toilet brush and asks me to clean the bathroom, and my mother had to spend and spend to suit hers, when at our house they were treated to anything, and good thing my mother didn't and we left-now she says that had we nowhere to go, she would hav eeaten us? The daughter of a chiropractor who, come to think of it, embraced me a bit too closely when I was 19 years old, and a guest in his house. Good thing he didn't come a-knocking. Eat my mother? How the HELL was she brought up?) she said how could we not be related, we shared the same dental structure? Dental Dam for Iolanda Tozzi Pane who still thinks New York San Marcellino is a stone's throw away even if I never went to her wedding, I haven't seen her for thirty years but still can't get it through her fucking skull because it's a fucking disease that she's never EVER seeing anything of mine, and that my mother and I have so little her salivating should be boarded in a psych ward and a cell next to Hannibal Lecter's? A dental Dam in New York City? In New York CITY? And in New york City it's prestigious to know a human meat maker? For someone who works or claims to at the United Nations? What happened to nouvelle cuisine? That's not good enough? A drippyhuman eye more to the taste? Go fucking shoot yourselves.