APRIL 30, 2013 My birthday, and, happily, also the day Hitler committed suicide years earlier.
Today is also a wonderful cause for celebration, for all of us partisans:
Called the Leon, at 33-39 88th Street, Jackson Heights, 718.426.1018.
Mrs. Leon asked for my name, which I gave her, and told me she arranged to make me nazi dinner. the term she used was "chicken". That, "fish" and "chocolate" are the terms used for their cannibal market. I asked for Maria, a hell whore who just claimed she would have me raided by the Klan cops to be abducted, for my birthday-Leon is also a Provenzano, Anastasia, Berlusconi and Gambino associate. I was shouted at by Lucia Leon, who repeatedly asked for my name. I interrupted communication immediately.
Also: Gloria Steinem is covering for the Nazi KKK and fascist collaborator her by claiming she's a "real gangster queen".
Happy birthday, Alex.
In addition:
2 calls from them, at 7:32 and 7:34AM. No spoken word from first call, in voicemail. Only an electrical buzz. The other listed as a missed call.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
VENDUTI:
SOLD OUT:
Meg (Ex 99 Posse). Si specializza in fisco, anche statunitense. Il suo contatto e' Iolanda Tozzi. che neha con officianti di Salo' ed e' un membro di famiglia. Non ho a che fare con la famiglia, e se dovessero presentarsi sporgo denuncia. Iolanda Tozzi e' anche un contatto a Casal Di Principe, o, di Sandokan. Anche Litizzetto e' coinvolta;
Meg (Ex 99 Posse) She specializes in defruading taxes, also in the US. Her contact is one with fascist officiants, organized by Iolanda Tozzi, estranged family member as the rest are. Tozzi is a Casal Di Principe contact. Even Litizzetto is involved;
Concita De Gregori, spia all'interno alla sinistra ed antisemita;
Concita De Gregori, a spy inserted in the left, and antisemitic;
Maria Leon remonstrates that role for herself. A Salo' influenced idiot from Queens College who still obsesseses with me since 1982, needing, wanting to claim she's me to embezzle me out of my houseeeee (etc). Her contact is Jon Stewart, who Ellen Stewart Way'd 4th Street, to celebrate the connubium between Jews and nazifascist white supremacist KKK members. Yesterday he tried to have me abducted to a nazi brothel to be tortured and murdered, by 196-28 45th Ave, Flushing NY 11358; since that did not work, he sent a police squad car over, to see if he could abduct me to a psych hospital. Bruce Springsteen also accepts these"trade offs".
Maria Leon, una idiota dei gruppi periferici di cattura nazifascisti con Anastasia si ossessiona a me dal 1982. Dovrei avere paura di mia madre, devo andare in ospedale psichiatrico, devo donarle immobili, devo fottermi i suoi bambini del bordello nazifascista a cui appartiene. E' un contatto di Jon Stewart.
Spelling alterations not mine, let alone contextual nonsense.
Alterazioni ortografiche non mie, stesso per quelle contestuali.
Gloria Steinem;
Fausto Bertinotti, idem.
Li considerero' tutti per danni personali, economici e fisici.
"Basta, oer me e' finita" e' un contatto loro per chiamare Ellen Hinds, che vorrebbe inserirsi in chi si interessa a studi partigiani. Vedi Giovanni Pesce, Senza Tregua.
SOLD OUT:
Meg (Ex 99 Posse). Si specializza in fisco, anche statunitense. Il suo contatto e' Iolanda Tozzi. che neha con officianti di Salo' ed e' un membro di famiglia. Non ho a che fare con la famiglia, e se dovessero presentarsi sporgo denuncia. Iolanda Tozzi e' anche un contatto a Casal Di Principe, o, di Sandokan. Anche Litizzetto e' coinvolta;
Meg (Ex 99 Posse) She specializes in defruading taxes, also in the US. Her contact is one with fascist officiants, organized by Iolanda Tozzi, estranged family member as the rest are. Tozzi is a Casal Di Principe contact. Even Litizzetto is involved;
Concita De Gregori, spia all'interno alla sinistra ed antisemita;
Concita De Gregori, a spy inserted in the left, and antisemitic;
Maria Leon remonstrates that role for herself. A Salo' influenced idiot from Queens College who still obsesseses with me since 1982, needing, wanting to claim she's me to embezzle me out of my houseeeee (etc). Her contact is Jon Stewart, who Ellen Stewart Way'd 4th Street, to celebrate the connubium between Jews and nazifascist white supremacist KKK members. Yesterday he tried to have me abducted to a nazi brothel to be tortured and murdered, by 196-28 45th Ave, Flushing NY 11358; since that did not work, he sent a police squad car over, to see if he could abduct me to a psych hospital. Bruce Springsteen also accepts these"trade offs".
Maria Leon, una idiota dei gruppi periferici di cattura nazifascisti con Anastasia si ossessiona a me dal 1982. Dovrei avere paura di mia madre, devo andare in ospedale psichiatrico, devo donarle immobili, devo fottermi i suoi bambini del bordello nazifascista a cui appartiene. E' un contatto di Jon Stewart.
Spelling alterations not mine, let alone contextual nonsense.
Alterazioni ortografiche non mie, stesso per quelle contestuali.
Gloria Steinem;
Fausto Bertinotti, idem.
Li considerero' tutti per danni personali, economici e fisici.
"Basta, oer me e' finita" e' un contatto loro per chiamare Ellen Hinds, che vorrebbe inserirsi in chi si interessa a studi partigiani. Vedi Giovanni Pesce, Senza Tregua.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Adikimetakis, a Mussolini contact and would be Re Max Real Estate idiot, comesby to visit my mother while I type my piece for tomorrow, and they both strat fascist nonsense, him telling her audibly that he's wanted for 15 years in Greece for what he's done and thinks fascist talk while I'm writing will intimidate me. My mother is an idiot for associating with people like him,and that's also her business. next she fucking traipses the tenant downstairs to check the boilers, claiming that they share the electric bill for now. I want nothing to do with sightseeing just because my mother is a sad left over from the Italian side that accepted fascism, am tired of this constant misrepresentation of reality to frighten people, and who cares what senility brought on.
On April 25, 1945 World War Two was declared over, and Italia liberated from Nazifascist rule.
Italian partisans fought against the enemy from 1943 to the end of the conflict, 1945.
Here's some excerpts from Giovanni Pesce, Senza Tregua. Without Rest.
This passage has the strongest impact when you consider that Italy was officially on the side of the United States and allied forces,but these zones were in denial of that, and were run by fascists and nazis that would not give up the fucking ghost.
"(...) in partisan war don't fall by maneuvering, they're destroyed; enemy forces are not surrounded, they're annihilated. In "no man's land", between a unit and another, forces move in irregular formations, not to expose themselves to attacks."
"I receive the news March 23rd, in the evening: in the morning Germans and Fascists captured the entire Piedmontese regional command Volunteers for Freedom: General Perotti and all the rest, including Eusebio Giambone. The messenger bringing me the news doesn't know the details:
'They were in Piazza San Giovanni; nothing else is known except that the square was completely blocked. Fascists knew and set the trap. The hit was successful.'
Our actions as gappists had their effects on the working class andon the partisan formations acting around the city. The entire clandestine movement was picking up quickly: hope, unimaginable until yesterday began to reappear, maybe in a new strike, maybe in new demonstrations of struggle. In any case, the sabotage of factories and the enlisting of workers in partisan formations proceed with growing intensity.
The hit surprises us as we are gaining the upper hand. Only in the last ten days we blew up a train at Porta Susa, shot dead a high German official, and executed an SS sargeant; in the same morning, while our command was being captured, Bravin and me eliminated one of the most despicable characters of fascist propaganda: Ather Cappelli, the director of Gazzetta del Popolo, the provoker of bloody reprisals. The action was one of the of the more risk filled ones. The betrayer was well "guarded"; when he would go out in the morning to the paper's office, or to the offices of of the fascist federation, or when he returned home in the evening, he was surrounded by a squad of armed goons. It seemed impossible to surprise him. But looking into his habits we found a pull in his precautionary net. Living in the downtownest Largo Migliara, continuously monitored by nazifascist squads, he returns home for lunch at one. he probably thinks any action impossible in an area where a man can be localized at 1,500 feet, because of the rigorous geometry of the streets and the lack of porticos. Cappelli returns home by car. We cannot use bicycles, since they would attract the attention of nazifascists.
We meet at dawn with Bravin, in Piazzale Susa. "Are you ready for a stroll?" I ask him. It's a way to hide my tension. He must find himself at the end of his rope too. It's been a long time we don't give ourselves any breaks. He doesn't know for what action I've called him. When I tell him the command's order, he only asks me if the itinerary was studied. I tell him that I personally took care of the preparation. We reach the "base" with Ines' s help. Near Cappelli's house there's one with a damaged gate that's always open: the old iron fence has long disappeared along with the other iron donated to the fatherland. Hidden there we wait 'til one. It feels like the hours do not ever pass. Luckily the place is not crowded. The greater part of the tenants must have left the city for safety. We still get rid of the tension.
Days and nights go by in a continual state of alarm. We're forced to control every gesture, to slide close to the walls at dawn, to stay shut indoors while people are at work to avoid being surprised by squads that would analize our ID excessively. Here, now, at the corner, we're living one more of those long, exhausting waits.
'Let's go', I tell Bravin.Only a few minutes to one. Cappelli is always exactly on time. I checked it out. We're exactly on time as well.
We split up. I go to my position on Largo Migliara, on the side of the street.
Bravin goes to the opposite side. At about 25,000 feet on my right, I see Ines. She's also on time. She took her place at one. I try to look as natural as possible. On that street, a man who is not wearing a nazi or fascist uniform cannot stay still for more than a minute without provoking alarm. The area is overrun by military vehicles and in many houses live fascist officials.
Ines, pretending to read a flyer, checks the side from where the car should approach: I seehermove and cross the road: it's the signal. I turn a little too quickly, walking toward Bravin. According to my calculations, walking normally, we should meet in front of the fascist official's house at the right time.
Even Bravin, with a confident look, comes toward me. I distinguish clearly the strained expression of the gappist, one of the best. He has a cigarette dangling from his lips, and has, like me, his hands sunk in his jacket's pockets. I hear the car's noise behind me: it's Cappelli. I become aware of the instinctual impulse to quicken my step. But it only lasts for a moment: to run would mean setting off the alarm. Even Bravin starts walking casually. We can stare at each other's eyes: we're about 250 feet away from one another, at about thirty steps from the front door where Cappelli will stop. Bravin doesn't look at me anymore. The roar of the motor lowers as it breaks. Bravin pretends to look elsewhere. There must only be about 50 feet between me and Bravin: two people who who meet each other, completely by accident, along the sidewalk of a residential neighborhood. At this point Cappelli's car passes by. My comrade moves his hands slightly in his pockets. He probably notices the same movement of my hands. 20 feet between me and Bravin. I see Cappelli collect some papers, then open the car door and get out. Bravin and I shoot at the same time. Seven bullets mow him down. There's the driver. The command insisted we should spare him, but he calls for help. I tell him to shut up, but he shouts anyway. I make him shut up with a bullet in hisleg. He falls to the ground. We have to run, now. Ines is already safe. Instead, we have to run to a less deserted area, where we could mix in with the crowd. Running without cover, risking being shot at sight by a Salo' fascist or a nazi, we hold our weapons in sight. Suddenly at the street corner we see an official and two fascist soldiers. They see us: I exchange a glance with Bravin. If they're only three at the height we can use our guns, we might overtake them. We continue to run breathlessly. If the three position themselves at the corner, it's over for us. But we can't backtrack: by now the alarm has been given andwe would inevitably fall in enemy hands. Even the main doors are shut. It's an old neighborhood with strong doors, bomb proof. We're only some 100, 200 feet from fascists. I tell Bravin: "as soon as I throw myself on the ground by the wall, do the same. But at a distance, so we can shoot together." Bravin nods. Just some more feet: now we can shoot. I'm about tothrow myself on the ground, when the unexpected happens. The three Salo' fascists run. They disappear in the street from where they came. The street is free. We finally reach a crwoded square. I climb on the first trolley passing by. Bravin goes off on his own. We will meet later. We're safe,now. When I get home, at Piazza Campanella, I throw myself on the bed. I've never seen my death so close like this time. At 7:30PM they bring me the afternoon paper. It announces " A bounty on those responsible for the assassination of the worthy comrade Cappelli." It's the eighth bounty onmy head and Bravin's. Later I receive the news of the capture of the C.V. L.command."
Italian partisans fought against the enemy from 1943 to the end of the conflict, 1945.
Here's some excerpts from Giovanni Pesce, Senza Tregua. Without Rest.
This passage has the strongest impact when you consider that Italy was officially on the side of the United States and allied forces,but these zones were in denial of that, and were run by fascists and nazis that would not give up the fucking ghost.
"(...) in partisan war don't fall by maneuvering, they're destroyed; enemy forces are not surrounded, they're annihilated. In "no man's land", between a unit and another, forces move in irregular formations, not to expose themselves to attacks."
"I receive the news March 23rd, in the evening: in the morning Germans and Fascists captured the entire Piedmontese regional command Volunteers for Freedom: General Perotti and all the rest, including Eusebio Giambone. The messenger bringing me the news doesn't know the details:
'They were in Piazza San Giovanni; nothing else is known except that the square was completely blocked. Fascists knew and set the trap. The hit was successful.'
Our actions as gappists had their effects on the working class andon the partisan formations acting around the city. The entire clandestine movement was picking up quickly: hope, unimaginable until yesterday began to reappear, maybe in a new strike, maybe in new demonstrations of struggle. In any case, the sabotage of factories and the enlisting of workers in partisan formations proceed with growing intensity.
The hit surprises us as we are gaining the upper hand. Only in the last ten days we blew up a train at Porta Susa, shot dead a high German official, and executed an SS sargeant; in the same morning, while our command was being captured, Bravin and me eliminated one of the most despicable characters of fascist propaganda: Ather Cappelli, the director of Gazzetta del Popolo, the provoker of bloody reprisals. The action was one of the of the more risk filled ones. The betrayer was well "guarded"; when he would go out in the morning to the paper's office, or to the offices of of the fascist federation, or when he returned home in the evening, he was surrounded by a squad of armed goons. It seemed impossible to surprise him. But looking into his habits we found a pull in his precautionary net. Living in the downtownest Largo Migliara, continuously monitored by nazifascist squads, he returns home for lunch at one. he probably thinks any action impossible in an area where a man can be localized at 1,500 feet, because of the rigorous geometry of the streets and the lack of porticos. Cappelli returns home by car. We cannot use bicycles, since they would attract the attention of nazifascists.
We meet at dawn with Bravin, in Piazzale Susa. "Are you ready for a stroll?" I ask him. It's a way to hide my tension. He must find himself at the end of his rope too. It's been a long time we don't give ourselves any breaks. He doesn't know for what action I've called him. When I tell him the command's order, he only asks me if the itinerary was studied. I tell him that I personally took care of the preparation. We reach the "base" with Ines' s help. Near Cappelli's house there's one with a damaged gate that's always open: the old iron fence has long disappeared along with the other iron donated to the fatherland. Hidden there we wait 'til one. It feels like the hours do not ever pass. Luckily the place is not crowded. The greater part of the tenants must have left the city for safety. We still get rid of the tension.
Days and nights go by in a continual state of alarm. We're forced to control every gesture, to slide close to the walls at dawn, to stay shut indoors while people are at work to avoid being surprised by squads that would analize our ID excessively. Here, now, at the corner, we're living one more of those long, exhausting waits.
'Let's go', I tell Bravin.Only a few minutes to one. Cappelli is always exactly on time. I checked it out. We're exactly on time as well.
We split up. I go to my position on Largo Migliara, on the side of the street.
Bravin goes to the opposite side. At about 25,000 feet on my right, I see Ines. She's also on time. She took her place at one. I try to look as natural as possible. On that street, a man who is not wearing a nazi or fascist uniform cannot stay still for more than a minute without provoking alarm. The area is overrun by military vehicles and in many houses live fascist officials.
Ines, pretending to read a flyer, checks the side from where the car should approach: I seehermove and cross the road: it's the signal. I turn a little too quickly, walking toward Bravin. According to my calculations, walking normally, we should meet in front of the fascist official's house at the right time.
Even Bravin, with a confident look, comes toward me. I distinguish clearly the strained expression of the gappist, one of the best. He has a cigarette dangling from his lips, and has, like me, his hands sunk in his jacket's pockets. I hear the car's noise behind me: it's Cappelli. I become aware of the instinctual impulse to quicken my step. But it only lasts for a moment: to run would mean setting off the alarm. Even Bravin starts walking casually. We can stare at each other's eyes: we're about 250 feet away from one another, at about thirty steps from the front door where Cappelli will stop. Bravin doesn't look at me anymore. The roar of the motor lowers as it breaks. Bravin pretends to look elsewhere. There must only be about 50 feet between me and Bravin: two people who who meet each other, completely by accident, along the sidewalk of a residential neighborhood. At this point Cappelli's car passes by. My comrade moves his hands slightly in his pockets. He probably notices the same movement of my hands. 20 feet between me and Bravin. I see Cappelli collect some papers, then open the car door and get out. Bravin and I shoot at the same time. Seven bullets mow him down. There's the driver. The command insisted we should spare him, but he calls for help. I tell him to shut up, but he shouts anyway. I make him shut up with a bullet in hisleg. He falls to the ground. We have to run, now. Ines is already safe. Instead, we have to run to a less deserted area, where we could mix in with the crowd. Running without cover, risking being shot at sight by a Salo' fascist or a nazi, we hold our weapons in sight. Suddenly at the street corner we see an official and two fascist soldiers. They see us: I exchange a glance with Bravin. If they're only three at the height we can use our guns, we might overtake them. We continue to run breathlessly. If the three position themselves at the corner, it's over for us. But we can't backtrack: by now the alarm has been given andwe would inevitably fall in enemy hands. Even the main doors are shut. It's an old neighborhood with strong doors, bomb proof. We're only some 100, 200 feet from fascists. I tell Bravin: "as soon as I throw myself on the ground by the wall, do the same. But at a distance, so we can shoot together." Bravin nods. Just some more feet: now we can shoot. I'm about tothrow myself on the ground, when the unexpected happens. The three Salo' fascists run. They disappear in the street from where they came. The street is free. We finally reach a crwoded square. I climb on the first trolley passing by. Bravin goes off on his own. We will meet later. We're safe,now. When I get home, at Piazza Campanella, I throw myself on the bed. I've never seen my death so close like this time. At 7:30PM they bring me the afternoon paper. It announces " A bounty on those responsible for the assassination of the worthy comrade Cappelli." It's the eighth bounty onmy head and Bravin's. Later I receive the news of the capture of the C.V. L.command."
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Midnight Log
So!
Frank Marzella was a contact of the Cunninghams, in Napoli. The guy, in the military married a Shatzee after the war, and generated a bitch of a daughter who flashed a picture of a common grave to me,asking me how I felt, then telling me Hitler was a good man, and there was something special about dresser drawers, or dressers, cupboards...wasn't very clear about it. I remember as a child, looking at the picture,in black and white, and feeling a still coldness, and a repulsion at what I saw, at how wrong it was. I needed to look at it, to understand what it was, so removed from any reality I had experienced. After that Icould not play with Monica at all. My father was conned into giving the eldest daughter guitar lessons, I just went to the house to read Michael's comics, and would be left doing that, not much talk, until the friendship died as an end. The Sammartino, one of which worked at the US Consulate in Napoli, approached me there. After thirty years, Patrizia told me she was a fascist on a visit in Texas. That eventually made that friendship nominal, and her a whore in Milano. Some people should be more attentive in selecting political faiths.
28, an animal barn house in white and black, with transversal slats up front, a smear of ill deposited politesse to aim for in future generations, were tormenting themselves by listening to Bruce Springsteen, to see who they could lure for a friday night party. No one came. Man, Bruce's voice warbled, and went Southern here and there, so I though, karaoke,what is it? An Ellen Hinds car was there, in rot suppository,a Ford 9802 TA MAINE. I write, she asks questions, so she must have a short attention span since WWII is actually over, and the SS really were not a noticeable presence on US shores. remember, Brooklyn is where the ethics board DA Hines resides, and it ain't Gregory.
The Marzella connected car pulled up with a would be or infiltrated marine and a flimsy, asking me SS questions I yawned to, considering. Step outside the house at midnight around these people cars stop, people jut out, cellphones appear, can we call the tip line, can we?
So, these people pull up right in front of me with an imitation of decision tinged with a tangent of violence, which pisses me off right away, but I say nothing.
Let me just say that dad's family moved to Brooklyn, as a second move from Houston Street, then, his third, the house in Bayside, about less than a mile from Frank-is Jerry Marzella Lewis Boulevard. He's from New Jersey's very own confederate general town Patterson with real estate calling, calling to Italians, and a great team of anarchists to strand,who instead figured everything out so well one of them assassinated Victor Emanuel of Savoia some number following or other. It wasn't Frank.
So the registration on the car-I mean, you know, I'm sitting on the stoop, I'm not naked, and even if I were show some concern about machoing with brio in front of a ranch house or two with Easter figurines of rabbits and such pushing through the holes the metal bars poked through the lawn.
Registration: A recondite FM then 690139;
Safety Emission: 07097872;
License plate:NY ESH 7748, a Malibu Chrysler, marked SS and MAXX in the back. Frank's house hunter daughter, who, although I've met her a handful of fingers of times, still obsesses about my real estate through 111, Queens cops and works her initials from an FM to an AM, or mornin' radio. I remember her furniture being mostly white with a unicorn moppet dangling from a string in a rainbow motif in her room,when she was already past High School. Scary, really.
Another car pulls up, when I was exploring the nature of siding on some houses to determine noy only building date, but remodernations. This slammed its brakes proudly displaying NY EWB 1456. A guy hops out, and joins house number 43. For that matter, a Japanese who blackened his race in South America sped on backhome as soon as he heard I was sitting on the stoop, andwho knows if he lives at ole 29, now adhesive 27 forsomereason. This is the 2nd time he does so. I continue the pattern of not saluting the dude, and write his license plate down, an ole NY GFH-3607. So, this guy is rumored to have cleared out two towns for the blitzkrieg, but he looks old enough to have only cleared out his fillings watching the Transformers.
wow, they're checking what I borrowed from the library to see if my story is straight about the siding. Why don't they ask how, I stepped out and the lights went on at the Victorian era porch house bare window? Oh, right, they already know.
So!
Frank Marzella was a contact of the Cunninghams, in Napoli. The guy, in the military married a Shatzee after the war, and generated a bitch of a daughter who flashed a picture of a common grave to me,asking me how I felt, then telling me Hitler was a good man, and there was something special about dresser drawers, or dressers, cupboards...wasn't very clear about it. I remember as a child, looking at the picture,in black and white, and feeling a still coldness, and a repulsion at what I saw, at how wrong it was. I needed to look at it, to understand what it was, so removed from any reality I had experienced. After that Icould not play with Monica at all. My father was conned into giving the eldest daughter guitar lessons, I just went to the house to read Michael's comics, and would be left doing that, not much talk, until the friendship died as an end. The Sammartino, one of which worked at the US Consulate in Napoli, approached me there. After thirty years, Patrizia told me she was a fascist on a visit in Texas. That eventually made that friendship nominal, and her a whore in Milano. Some people should be more attentive in selecting political faiths.
28, an animal barn house in white and black, with transversal slats up front, a smear of ill deposited politesse to aim for in future generations, were tormenting themselves by listening to Bruce Springsteen, to see who they could lure for a friday night party. No one came. Man, Bruce's voice warbled, and went Southern here and there, so I though, karaoke,what is it? An Ellen Hinds car was there, in rot suppository,a Ford 9802 TA MAINE. I write, she asks questions, so she must have a short attention span since WWII is actually over, and the SS really were not a noticeable presence on US shores. remember, Brooklyn is where the ethics board DA Hines resides, and it ain't Gregory.
The Marzella connected car pulled up with a would be or infiltrated marine and a flimsy, asking me SS questions I yawned to, considering. Step outside the house at midnight around these people cars stop, people jut out, cellphones appear, can we call the tip line, can we?
So, these people pull up right in front of me with an imitation of decision tinged with a tangent of violence, which pisses me off right away, but I say nothing.
Let me just say that dad's family moved to Brooklyn, as a second move from Houston Street, then, his third, the house in Bayside, about less than a mile from Frank-is Jerry Marzella Lewis Boulevard. He's from New Jersey's very own confederate general town Patterson with real estate calling, calling to Italians, and a great team of anarchists to strand,who instead figured everything out so well one of them assassinated Victor Emanuel of Savoia some number following or other. It wasn't Frank.
So the registration on the car-I mean, you know, I'm sitting on the stoop, I'm not naked, and even if I were show some concern about machoing with brio in front of a ranch house or two with Easter figurines of rabbits and such pushing through the holes the metal bars poked through the lawn.
Registration: A recondite FM then 690139;
Safety Emission: 07097872;
License plate:NY ESH 7748, a Malibu Chrysler, marked SS and MAXX in the back. Frank's house hunter daughter, who, although I've met her a handful of fingers of times, still obsesses about my real estate through 111, Queens cops and works her initials from an FM to an AM, or mornin' radio. I remember her furniture being mostly white with a unicorn moppet dangling from a string in a rainbow motif in her room,when she was already past High School. Scary, really.
Another car pulls up, when I was exploring the nature of siding on some houses to determine noy only building date, but remodernations. This slammed its brakes proudly displaying NY EWB 1456. A guy hops out, and joins house number 43. For that matter, a Japanese who blackened his race in South America sped on backhome as soon as he heard I was sitting on the stoop, andwho knows if he lives at ole 29, now adhesive 27 forsomereason. This is the 2nd time he does so. I continue the pattern of not saluting the dude, and write his license plate down, an ole NY GFH-3607. So, this guy is rumored to have cleared out two towns for the blitzkrieg, but he looks old enough to have only cleared out his fillings watching the Transformers.
wow, they're checking what I borrowed from the library to see if my story is straight about the siding. Why don't they ask how, I stepped out and the lights went on at the Victorian era porch house bare window? Oh, right, they already know.
Emails, facebook inaccessible through New York Police Department, 111 Precinct, interference, to either embezzle money through an abduction to a psych hospital or force me in a white supremacist neonazi human trafficking ring, through a contact of theirs, Ellen Hinds.
Those responsible include: Rachel Maddow, Elan Portnoy, Stephen Colbert, Paul Polivko, Frank Marzella, Saint Nicholas's church, Gloria Steinem.
12:40AM, April 19, 2013.
Threat: started outside Oasis, a local Greek cafe'. A team of late adolescents mentioned Paranoia or a groupie for Ellen Hinds. They accessed a NISSAN: the 111,Queens, has a contract with same company. This was a light gray, NY license plate ESM 6892.
They use my accounts to entrap,and alter information. facebook did not forward a text message, at least five times, and I have at least 8 accounts they forced me to deactivate by false claims of spamming and more.
two facebook pages contributing to embezzlement through health insurance are:
99% VOTE, with the photo of a child, because the human trafficking "resale' is to send me into a confederate area where I will be tortured and killed;
THE LIBERAL VOICE, where hackers for Maddow operate from using nazi orthographic threats. My posts are always damaged by these mispellings, and have been for years.
The idea is they dictate the news, through these corrupt police officers, not me. They want me murdered so they can arrange false cases through these nazifascist confederate cops, to make it all about them. I'm their, and a presidential "quota". Today a message from Michelle Obama was conveyed to me: "When we say you're a quota, you're a quota."
It was meant, as so much else, to have false statements affirmed, then denied, roll you to a Psych hospital by an illegally organized police based raid, wearing Cracker Jack ID.
Those responsible include: Rachel Maddow, Elan Portnoy, Stephen Colbert, Paul Polivko, Frank Marzella, Saint Nicholas's church, Gloria Steinem.
12:40AM, April 19, 2013.
Threat: started outside Oasis, a local Greek cafe'. A team of late adolescents mentioned Paranoia or a groupie for Ellen Hinds. They accessed a NISSAN: the 111,Queens, has a contract with same company. This was a light gray, NY license plate ESM 6892.
They use my accounts to entrap,and alter information. facebook did not forward a text message, at least five times, and I have at least 8 accounts they forced me to deactivate by false claims of spamming and more.
two facebook pages contributing to embezzlement through health insurance are:
99% VOTE, with the photo of a child, because the human trafficking "resale' is to send me into a confederate area where I will be tortured and killed;
THE LIBERAL VOICE, where hackers for Maddow operate from using nazi orthographic threats. My posts are always damaged by these mispellings, and have been for years.
The idea is they dictate the news, through these corrupt police officers, not me. They want me murdered so they can arrange false cases through these nazifascist confederate cops, to make it all about them. I'm their, and a presidential "quota". Today a message from Michelle Obama was conveyed to me: "When we say you're a quota, you're a quota."
It was meant, as so much else, to have false statements affirmed, then denied, roll you to a Psych hospital by an illegally organized police based raid, wearing Cracker Jack ID.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
9:05AM. Fascist Filippa Caetta, commissioned by staff of The Daily Show,Emma Fasano, governmental politician in Napoli Melinda Di Matteo, a "Giusi", contact of Emma Fasano, starts making noise outside my window.
When I came home,I found a bug,about 5,6 mm long, mottled beige and brown,elongated body, among my sheets. I also found a grease stain, dust and hair.
Last time I cleaned the apartment thoroughly was on the 27th of March, and I am fastidious. I never leave a dish unwashed and even dry the shower tiles after a shower.
The bug and trash were left to prove inability to care for myself, and my mother,along with Jessica Williams,and Samantha Bee,the latter with a connection to the Mittler, at 48-63 211th Street, Bayside Hills,NY , who in turn has a connection to New York State temporary disability office, want me to leavemy apartment so I do not do any bookkeeping or attend to any personal matters, so they canprov inability to take care of oneself. For that matter,in the past I found a beigish grease dirt stain on the back of a jacket I had never worn without clothing covering my neck. It removed easily with water. Mother and friend,claim a nazi raidwill be by in an hour, to abduct me to a psych hospital. She also failed to pay a Con Ed bill in my name,but of which I was only responsible for 20% of the monthly amount, to prove I did not pay all my bills, and was, again, unable to care for myself. I tried to close the account twice after I had moved out of the area,into another apartment, and that order was not only not executed, but my mother left all the lights on in the area for days. She had also told me she had paid the bill in full, then, when the bill arrived, started claiming I was responsible for the amount, was a bad debt, etc.
I have currently paid in full all my accounts, and am not a harm to myself or others.
Because of all this, I have not been able to address all issues pertaining to my life for the past week.
I have newspapers in my apartment I need to look through for articles to save. My mother is beginningto claim I am hoarding, and they're trash.
I run a blog concerned with current events. My mother and people like these, if not them, have interfered with my career in much the same way, for the same malicious purpose, and I have incurred severe physical and economical harm due to these arrangements.
Any mispellings and nonsensical syntax not mine,but a willing hacker's.
When I came home,I found a bug,about 5,6 mm long, mottled beige and brown,elongated body, among my sheets. I also found a grease stain, dust and hair.
Last time I cleaned the apartment thoroughly was on the 27th of March, and I am fastidious. I never leave a dish unwashed and even dry the shower tiles after a shower.
The bug and trash were left to prove inability to care for myself, and my mother,along with Jessica Williams,and Samantha Bee,the latter with a connection to the Mittler, at 48-63 211th Street, Bayside Hills,NY , who in turn has a connection to New York State temporary disability office, want me to leavemy apartment so I do not do any bookkeeping or attend to any personal matters, so they canprov inability to take care of oneself. For that matter,in the past I found a beigish grease dirt stain on the back of a jacket I had never worn without clothing covering my neck. It removed easily with water. Mother and friend,claim a nazi raidwill be by in an hour, to abduct me to a psych hospital. She also failed to pay a Con Ed bill in my name,but of which I was only responsible for 20% of the monthly amount, to prove I did not pay all my bills, and was, again, unable to care for myself. I tried to close the account twice after I had moved out of the area,into another apartment, and that order was not only not executed, but my mother left all the lights on in the area for days. She had also told me she had paid the bill in full, then, when the bill arrived, started claiming I was responsible for the amount, was a bad debt, etc.
I have currently paid in full all my accounts, and am not a harm to myself or others.
Because of all this, I have not been able to address all issues pertaining to my life for the past week.
I have newspapers in my apartment I need to look through for articles to save. My mother is beginningto claim I am hoarding, and they're trash.
I run a blog concerned with current events. My mother and people like these, if not them, have interfered with my career in much the same way, for the same malicious purpose, and I have incurred severe physical and economical harm due to these arrangements.
Any mispellings and nonsensical syntax not mine,but a willing hacker's.
Tuesday, April 09, 2013
leading to our abduction, here in particular a connection to harm Jon Stewart from the Ashley Stewart thing on Jamaica Avenue...
At Murray and Sanford: Limousine T616161C (Marilla Palmer, Tapiero-of my molar-connected, as he got on the bus later with his "pimp" hit. I hope nothing happens to the guy with the bleached blonde. This at 10:09AM.
NSA Ambulette marked North Shore license plate 17228 EV, a Colonna job, since they speak of the rib Eve tale to determine equality, etc;
another weird ambulance outside of Macy's Flushing (ThyssenKrupps escalator) where the driver came after me telling me she would call a cop because it was illegal to take photos.
How could I not?
1) there was a similar pattern in erasure on the ambulance as on the Ashley Stewart awning, so think that;
2)THEN a Jessica Williams contact says "Fuck you Ass" which appeared and sells sizes 12-26, which increases twice linearly,and three times by multiplying by 2, and you have A s hley S tewart, and WHEN WAS THE FUCKING LAST TIME ANYONE CALLED YOU ASS LOOKING AT YOU,so that's where I'm going. Oh,so transparent, oh, so malicious, oh, they'll pull out not to impregnate me at the right time like they'll stop harassing me when my breaks are broken and they can say I'm paranoid.
Notice how the Tapiero Leon connected car service is also a sequence of threes, not separating two digit sequences, but uniting and repeating them.
3)AND a Jessica Williams spy on a 20 A/B was talking number and letter combinations looking at houses, getting off at Civil Court by the NSA supermarket (if she's Morton Williams, there you have that investment) after doing all sort of weird things with houses she could see as the bus drove by, and there was a police squad car stopped by a car for no apparent reason at all, with traffic blocking it silly,waiting for me to start screaming and shouting.
SOME IDIOT REMOVED THE PHOTOS AND DETAILS OF THE TEXT THAT EXPLAINED CONNECTIONS TO THE LEON, BEE, AND WILLIAMS, AND NOTED MR. STEWART'S INNOCENCE.
Dialogue of Williams connected on Apple cell, white:
A sequence of numbers and letters; "I don't pervert". Looks out the window and lists specific houses;
"Another one thought of Jon: I'll call Marilla about it" in terms of admiration of the Daily Show.
She was wearing red and black.
"Standing behind Alexandra until her, a nigger";
"yeahheisthepresidenttheunitedtstaestohisfansthathwwegetchu"
"schoderonseventhabaronpoar"
"potuminahaveleygesbout"
whatever that means. Then she tortures her nose, pushing the bottom up into it, like a pig's snout. The nose bounces back.
her fucking continuation stalking me, on another bus line, saying:
"comunista"
"pendecho"
"bucchina"
One day after,in another part o' town.
At Murray and Sanford: Limousine T616161C (Marilla Palmer, Tapiero-of my molar-connected, as he got on the bus later with his "pimp" hit. I hope nothing happens to the guy with the bleached blonde. This at 10:09AM.
NSA Ambulette marked North Shore license plate 17228 EV, a Colonna job, since they speak of the rib Eve tale to determine equality, etc;
another weird ambulance outside of Macy's Flushing (ThyssenKrupps escalator) where the driver came after me telling me she would call a cop because it was illegal to take photos.
How could I not?
1) there was a similar pattern in erasure on the ambulance as on the Ashley Stewart awning, so think that;
2)THEN a Jessica Williams contact says "Fuck you Ass" which appeared and sells sizes 12-26, which increases twice linearly,and three times by multiplying by 2, and you have A s hley S tewart, and WHEN WAS THE FUCKING LAST TIME ANYONE CALLED YOU ASS LOOKING AT YOU,so that's where I'm going. Oh,so transparent, oh, so malicious, oh, they'll pull out not to impregnate me at the right time like they'll stop harassing me when my breaks are broken and they can say I'm paranoid.
Notice how the Tapiero Leon connected car service is also a sequence of threes, not separating two digit sequences, but uniting and repeating them.
3)AND a Jessica Williams spy on a 20 A/B was talking number and letter combinations looking at houses, getting off at Civil Court by the NSA supermarket (if she's Morton Williams, there you have that investment) after doing all sort of weird things with houses she could see as the bus drove by, and there was a police squad car stopped by a car for no apparent reason at all, with traffic blocking it silly,waiting for me to start screaming and shouting.
SOME IDIOT REMOVED THE PHOTOS AND DETAILS OF THE TEXT THAT EXPLAINED CONNECTIONS TO THE LEON, BEE, AND WILLIAMS, AND NOTED MR. STEWART'S INNOCENCE.
Dialogue of Williams connected on Apple cell, white:
A sequence of numbers and letters; "I don't pervert". Looks out the window and lists specific houses;
"Another one thought of Jon: I'll call Marilla about it" in terms of admiration of the Daily Show.
She was wearing red and black.
"Standing behind Alexandra until her, a nigger";
"yeahheisthepresidenttheunitedtstaestohisfansthathwwegetchu"
"schoderonseventhabaronpoar"
"potuminahaveleygesbout"
whatever that means. Then she tortures her nose, pushing the bottom up into it, like a pig's snout. The nose bounces back.
the black box is not a symbol of a penis, but a mini fascist camera there to record abductions for porn snuff circuits and illegal fascist files providing information to their inserts in law enforcement and government.
Outside Macy's Flushing,with ThyssenKrupps escalators. I have never had anything to do with either.
The NEMF ould be a connection to the nazi my mother worked for, the grandson of a Huber, who thought demonstrating as nazis in Yorkville was an example of democracy. I told my mother to not work for him many times.That namewas Nepf, as what I know. It could be different. I have no way of knowing.
ET may be a reference to Spielberg targeted by Mott.I've never encountered it in reference to anything connected to me, repeated a billion times.
SAME ASSHOLE MADE IT IMPOSSIBLE TO POST PHOTOS OF AMBULANCE DETAILING HARM TO JON STEWART
NOW!
The logo on the door resembles the Mets' s one: a team favored by Ben Leon,along with Howart Stearn, for him. I never witnessed any fondness for the team,or his playing Stern in my presence.
The covered wording is connected to the Ashley Stewart store. The Williams contact was on a bus passing through the area, and had an Alton Williams bother me at Flushing Library, implying I was not only cursing, but also acting 'crazy'.
The METS resembling logo was one listing FDNY EMS instead. Their ambulances are highly infiltrated by nazis who are Mittler's contacts. They use them to try to close down Long Island Jewish by abducting innocent people there.
Following FDNY EMS , it read particular member 911 Ambulance.
In the back I wasn't able to photograph a worn black and oxidized brass lettering small plaque reading:
Specialty Vehicles Inc
Limousines, Hearses, Ambulances
Plainview LI NY
Further up on Kissena, there was another ambulance, to simulate normalcy so the police could try to bust things up. That was also another Williams contact at NY Hospital, Queens, a Provenzano thing. Nearby a police car plate 3320 lower either 10 or 16 was loitering to prove that, if one ambulance filmed strange Palmer snuff things, then the other would cart you to the hospital though a fascist tie that "would delete your memory."
The Williams contact, being unimaginative about racial profiling others, by making her captures illicit as Chinese imitation bags. She sends tonsof Japanese nazi emails, along with the Tapiero involving chinese goods.Should you buy Chinese, she drops hell on you in a flash. Some trumpet chime went off here, I'm at Mulberry Library, and probably can't stay here much longer before somebody complaining about the true nature of my toes.
I alsoremember how I saw Woody Allen's wife in Valley Stream. We lived a block from a synagogue, she was by the park. Have no idea why she walked by there.Didn't feel right bothering her.
This oneis a version of the XMAS Colonna,on her way to the Bronx, via the 44 bus, who Pendechos Jon Stewart, wanting his asshole a souvenir, also a Ben Leon enterprise. It means asshole, literally. That's a nazi way thing to do, since for them, no imagination or alternative meaning is necessary. She said it out loud as I walked by, they always need to beclose to who likes, is aware of, or knows their special of the day. They make rings as satanists, of people. This in downtown Flushing/
I wait one day, and what does that bring me?
"comunista"
"pendecho"
"bucchina"
One day after,in another part o' town.
Guardianship plans to have people committed to psych hospitals, if they don't know better...
Mary Mittler, 48-63 211th Street, Bayside Hills, New York 11364. Sends her Japanese prostitute to a nearby stop, with an Ironmountain company bus to normalize everything, with a license plate connecting it to the F train car I photographed yesterday with the nurses and lawyers to arrange, through Creedmoor, Queens Center Hospital, Bellevue and New York Presbyterian to stuff people in psych hospitals after seizing their property and finances. My mother told me she had also contacted an Italian lawyer for the process-anybody who doesn't want to be disbarred really shouldn't -so that basically means that the money owed me from the sale of our family apartment in Italy was legally mine. It was never given me. A spy of for a person associated with the sale, now a government representative, a Japanese Melinda Di Matteo, was organized in the bus, drumming up support for this. How any of this applies to me is beyond the pale. I guess it's torture they're after, and an abduction to Italian psych centers that tie to beds, starve and have people die of thirst. This for Mussolini, through Di Matteo,who threatened me with it in the past, in connection to my family apartment. Marilla Palmer, or the Colonna XMAS are also involved.
Mary Mittler, 48-63 211th Street, Bayside Hills, New York 11364. Sends her Japanese prostitute to a nearby stop, with an Ironmountain company bus to normalize everything, with a license plate connecting it to the F train car I photographed yesterday with the nurses and lawyers to arrange, through Creedmoor, Queens Center Hospital, Bellevue and New York Presbyterian to stuff people in psych hospitals after seizing their property and finances. My mother told me she had also contacted an Italian lawyer for the process-anybody who doesn't want to be disbarred really shouldn't -so that basically means that the money owed me from the sale of our family apartment in Italy was legally mine. It was never given me. A spy of for a person associated with the sale, now a government representative, a Japanese Melinda Di Matteo, was organized in the bus, drumming up support for this. How any of this applies to me is beyond the pale. I guess it's torture they're after, and an abduction to Italian psych centers that tie to beds, starve and have people die of thirst. This for Mussolini, through Di Matteo,who threatened me with it in the past, in connection to my family apartment. Marilla Palmer, or the Colonna XMAS are also involved.
the car were all were aligned was 9271, and should havebeen 9269.
Mittler and the rest want to overmedicate me, put me in a coma, and traipse me from hospital to hospital making a newspaper story out of me, in the States like Schiavo, of some sort, in Italy like Englaro. I'm doing perfectly well so I don't care. The car was actually marked 9271.
This guy resembles the one my mother rented to, part of a family (Gambino, really) called Tapiero, from Columbia,wanted for extradiction. He wanted me to photograph a man, with a fascist as a girlfriend, bleached blonde, who was saying to him, say this and that in Italian. (di ....). He knew Iwas taking a photo of him, and moved his body so that the guy with tattooes and a cool earring would be visible with his body directly against his. I decided to delete it and want to report that this guy is at risk of a disappearance and torture through the blonde and her pimp, which is here, and a Mary Mittler contact. Can't deal with anybody too hip, that freak. This guy can claim to be a race only because the Borghese,and the Davis must have fucked themselves back on the planet in a frenzy.
Monday, April 08, 2013
For Jon Stewart. Photo Essay from Jamaica, Queens...or how our hero will be ritually sacrificed through last night's front by a New York Times customer service contact with false debt and account embezzling confederate contacts, with Williams claiming the prize, with me through Gambino...and cop cover up for King David's, when he schmucks. Then, a continuum of slaughter through an infiltration in Homeland Security that demolishes Southern or Continental Europeans through false Nazi raids-anything foreshortened...from Beverly Hills furniture, which also did not exist before, to the same awning, with the S missing leaving Beverly Hill at the place I had seen it before. NSA Supermarkets is in orange and green, meaning prot and cath, a Bush project, of house repossession. This is also a Portnoy variation, which needed to discourage me from having children, and encourage selling the best of human beings to people like Hinds, right at a quandary where the hope was, get upset and blather suicidal/homicidal. This for Creedmoor. A spy from my mother's team followed me from the bus, to schmuck eventually as well, along with so many others.
Then Project Guardianship takes off from New York Presbyterian, to Bellevue, through an Aversa Heidrich and a Walton, or Patton the Confederate, with Anastasia's blessing, and Gambino's as well, to have what is mine done in through contacts with Mussolini, Alessandra, my mother's estranged family, stalking me through a head-eating contingency employed in Queens Civil Court, in Sub Saharan.This for being a two...an arranged spy from Gambino on th eplatform said I was moving for him, shouting, while the Gambino spy followed me to car 9271 which should have been 9269.
Hines, through Ellen, at 40th and Avenue of the Americas lied a foudation and exploded a hole in the ground last night, and is planning on building a skyscraper to send into a sub basement Jews for masturbatory practices, through ruined investments, and the impossible to resist sexual pull...the worker's toilet a Mr. John, the building may be up in less than a week.
photos upcoming
Then Project Guardianship takes off from New York Presbyterian, to Bellevue, through an Aversa Heidrich and a Walton, or Patton the Confederate, with Anastasia's blessing, and Gambino's as well, to have what is mine done in through contacts with Mussolini, Alessandra, my mother's estranged family, stalking me through a head-eating contingency employed in Queens Civil Court, in Sub Saharan.This for being a two...an arranged spy from Gambino on th eplatform said I was moving for him, shouting, while the Gambino spy followed me to car 9271 which should have been 9269.
Hines, through Ellen, at 40th and Avenue of the Americas lied a foudation and exploded a hole in the ground last night, and is planning on building a skyscraper to send into a sub basement Jews for masturbatory practices, through ruined investments, and the impossible to resist sexual pull...the worker's toilet a Mr. John, the building may be up in less than a week.
photos upcoming
spies,with the Japanese mentioning muslims, as an SS question,laughing at their evil nature, and my good. Saw some in Jamaica, later, and found that a complete djellaba covered a Colonna for whatever reasons that particular inheritance, not mine, called for.
the seductive Hispanic flayer from Maria Leon...part of a team that needed to simulate my arrest after I was tracking the developments a current pope mobile took in the area.
Some bus spies, the last male and the Sub Saharan woman. Did not want to be photographed, for obvious reasons.
my mother's family nose cousin, stalking me on the 76, discussing me with a Iolanda. From the Vomero, in Napoli, is what I heard. Got off at Chelsea Street, where the 17 runs, and brings to Queens Village, a Gotti lugar.
animal brothel nazi nurse. I'm just thinking that these places are torture zones called hospitals, possibly...but there was a great proliferation of nurses around me, my guess to hasten my departure in a psych zone
awning that did not exist the last time I was in jamaica, some days past, andis already dirtied and wor. Same cover for letters seen on a Williams car referring to christ being sacrificed. The people walking by covered for the cop walking East, I wanted to take a snap shot of, perfectly, with their bodies. The other,walking in an opposite direction than the first,walking West, was miffed.
The police officers, only two left at the time I approached them, were Kuzow 25925 and Barry 12330.
these guys were by the phone I used to call The Daily Show, and was transferred to a security line. One of their informers shouted the name of the man at security,and the answering service glitched continuously shutting off within seconds at more recordings. I wouldn't trust what was said there, who knows,they could have doctored it, making it nonsensical and illegible.
why is an official homeland security police vehicle without registration or safety emission information, by a new store, Beverly Hills Furniture, and a weird foreshortened telephone number, suggesting nazi raid would be police officer numbers,listed in 5, being instead 4?
As I filed complaints to Internal Affairs Bureau I was harassed by a whole series of numbers split in three groupings, all garbled, as a nazi Klan thing would do. They would identify themselves as police officers. This in connection to complaints against abductions to psych hospitals organized by the police, which involved even people connected to the State Department during the Bush, Wilbur era.The calls are harassing, interrupted my calls twice,but were never made when officers gave me four numbered badge IDs instead of five.
the original Beverly Hills, lacking the s for stupid. And for SS arrangements.
Portnoy is altering my clothes, whenever he can, through small stores on the Jamaica Avenue drag, mostly, one, a child's, named after his aunt, Googie, embroidered on the front in a blue imitation silk thread, at the corner of Sutphin and Jamaica.
1:49PM. Ben Leon also involved in the guardianship through his involvement in Time Warner, with Altec written on it, which, if worked with the name of a satirical cartoonist, also a badge name for a cop in Flushing, Altan, works itself into a location in France, caen, or dog, meaning, nazi brothel that animalizes people into dogs. Just to put us in a good mood.
here's the NSA supermarket by civil court, Queens. There's also an ambulance service, marked NSA, connected to Ben Leon, that recently developed a North Shore sign as well, north shore being Long Island Jewish.
What if false antiques, such as celtic crosses in Southern Italy, were placed there to arrange for the dirtying of a culture, a break in, by nazi groups, and Klan as well? Look at what they're doing to Morandi.
And now, for the guardianship attempt against my life, replete witha fascist capture team to whore me to torture and death in a nazifascist brothel, my mother's contacts, and also those working internally in the clerkship of Civil Court. You should have seen the trash they planted to spy on us in the Judicial documentation room: all antisemite fascist torturers, Savoia, Gambino, Colonna, Borghese, just to have us fear the color of our underwear, for them. And rude, violent like you wouldn't believe. Also, a piece of Hanover Elizabeth II trash said he would look forward to night break ins, and carting off of people. This as a uniformed guard inside civil court.
One thing I noticed was that both the Gambino Savoia team start talking instead of helping me, like always, and the security team did the same at the entrance of the building: they walked away from my things. I think that's people drawing you somewhere then leaving to execute you. The guard was badly died tin badge 7034, and resembled Peter Zaremba.
And here's the guardianship program:
searching for Italian citizens, the court help relative
I left the seat I was in empty, for obvious reasons. I was it, in the middle.
Also, I forgot: I found hardened plastic toothpaste in my backpack, just to blame people like me, on an illegal search. I disposed of it.
here's the Gambino who followed me to this car
A Carol Anastasio spy, resembles a Borghese, in a 71 car that should have been a 69, with led going to 71 Forest Hills, and brown and black shoes to show for it, for some reason, connected to that lugar.
The column behind which an Occhiogrosso from New York Presbyterian hid, also resembles the wide eyed Gotti variety. She was parallel my exit doors when I got out of the car.
