Back as cold weather...

latest events

my neighborhood and people connected to the buyilding find me so enchanting they can't refraid from trying to start a fight and have placed bets on who can wage the mother of all, this thanks to an influx in the area by a Marilla Palmer hot on the chase of an italian that will not get away from her punishement of me being Italian; some traffic cops running off as soon as I grab my cell to report them after they state they can't wait to enslave me; noxious crowds unexplainable in the neighborhood unless everybody died and was substituted by an alien invasion of pods overnight, with some of whom actually accessing buildings to simulate a habitation so foreign to them they bristle at the lack of grime and subterranean stinks, but away from my sight, which is also puzzling due to their characteristic brash boldness ;

criminal accumulation of the murder hit gone bad Anastasia, who, supported by thug slavist Jews Arline Lasberg, & Elan Portnoy think they can make up for lost time by stalking me with every single nazifascist confederate concealed or unconcealed organization  fan and, by mentioning my name, can imply I know them, isolate me, and kill me, in boast, or the donning of anarchist flag colors red and black around me, to recall how they murdered Peter Panto an italian anarchist union organizer at the beginning of the 20th century. Latest attempts involve a bold, brash move: they seated at a public table of Morton Williams on 57th a team of trash that paralleled exactlly in organizational, how they arrange to infiltrate classes in schools, get close to their target, drop classes after the approach, why waste time? and try to kill the hit, covered by their contacts in the local police department. Now for school jobs they use SAT as terminology, invaded the Art Student's League yesterday,staging false organizing for 31. something millions, connected to a building next door, which they claim is going to be as tall as the Empire State Building and gave the name of Ex something, when the company is instead a Broadway Local one, involved in sacralizing African burial grounds, and improving life in New York City. They infiltrated the 111, Queens, with a tenant of my mother's family, Japanese posing as Korean, and accept every single contact from everybody interested in watching an Italian die, or be eaten, or what have you. Yesterday to keep me from taking classes the same in female form appeared asked by a younger version if she should call me in. She said no yesterday, today was to witness a Black Skins White Masks collusion extending to England's infiltrations to kill people directly in precincts and connected cover ups making my name, acting in shock, so that they can claim, again, that I'm bombing the Empire Strikes Back as Chewabacca, as the disgruntled daughter or an Italian artist who was oh shock! at the opening! which my father never told me, Carol Anastasia knew when I did not know about the Anastasia, at Queens College, CUNY in the early '80's with her ex boyfriend mentioning how my father was a recording artist on a Scott CD, when I had never even mentioned once that my father was a union musician, who worked as an orchestra director for CBS. I discovered dad's presence at the opening in a book on the Empire State Building I just happened to glance through and that's how I understood how my father was target of the same crime family, and annexed, since they specialize also in infiltrating unions and destroying democracies worldwide.

So, lately, namely since yesterday, also, a Bushwick infiltration backed by Lasberg paraded its new vacant female look as a Lega Hapsburg piece of trash discussing southern italian dishes in my presence for about twentyfour hours, with a 'lasagna' thrown in also by Jon Stewart's wife who will make us all her n-word slaves some happy day, when she can reel in my ideas to taylor her husband's ascent to millions at Ranch Beverly Hills my existence being nothing but an in joke some happy day, which Marilla Palmer is working in the world of song with a grueling reminder to avenge her of my falling asleep in boredom of her shouting outside my house, now in the "wake me up when it's over" encaustic, in which she not only simulates her being the origin of the attitude, but in the second verse, bristles the singer's rage at the affront in a nice murderous riff.

So today I discovered that my mother is still out to murder me, a consoling thought, and with Alessandra Mussolini money,through who knows what false arrest sequence once the 31 point something blow up the "syringe" on 34th, which the Japanese tenants involved in real estate cornering, home invasions for human finger eaters from South Carolina, and a heroin market which I assume grows its fine products in Turkey or thereabouts, making them not only Koreans, but Kurds.

It's hard for me to drum up even the slightest sympathy for people so cruel they organize my murder within feet of me, including schoolchildren they get to make my name, if they are schoolchildren, and not just teams of children gathering momentum on subway platforms for church chorus' sake.

Will the Art Student's League point their dirty finger at me, including the 60 something instructors when the building comes a tumbling down is anybody's guess: that was implied yesterday by an avalanche of unsigned flyers lining the elevators, and posted by the cafeteria, whose WiFi was blocked, muich like my access to WiFi is at New York Public Libraries, Barnes and Noble stores, Whole Foods, the Art Student's League, Morton Williams, and a smattering of others, by a mere tug of a plug, by sympathetic staff for about a couple of cents and a taste for a new nobility, which the Anastasia are working on, or namely...

this coat of arms, seen yesterday on a banner publicized by the Lasberg thug on the Bowery as an ersatz party banning artists from Bushwick, to favor a thriving heroin trade instead:

By the Queen of England! Once the US is a new absolutist tyrannical oligarchy, and even then, oligarchy...

black on white;
a sword with a vaguely samurai curve crossing in a confederate reminder a baseball bat

which brings to mind fine reminders of Howard Beach and beating of slaves of any color, since I'm destined to the same end, and their teams, as in Morton Williams DO include a religiosly organized non uppity subjected race sub saharan, kept dark for the cliecheed reminder of a people who became a race as a boast for importing them out of their own country, eyewitness as I am, and for that matter, audible as they are, for whatever invulnerability to kriptonite they may believe to have, along with a curio seeker's need to get close to their chosen appetizer in the wild.


Jessica Williams out-topped herself by fictionalizing a Morton Williams WiFi connection at the Art Student's League yesterday, and arranging for a chat rep inhabiting the self of my computer's brand to call himself Martin W. while I was at Morton Williams way too far to show a signal, but reminiscent of the chain's ex presence next door to the Stiglitz"Steerage" "Flatiron building"-O'Keeffe attended League, where the n-word interpreted burial grounds are being built.Tee hee hee. See waht actresses caliming to being anarchist upstarts at the Citizens Upright Brigade venue can do for the Napoleonic campaign? Steinem does do it better: as the Ms Girl, she's accepting applications from fascist, nazi, confederate slavist but women, and upholds Alessandra Mussolini's resentment of the rape of a Hapsburg fascist because of notions of race, justifies mine and my death for being a too violent nothing, and sees Claretta Petacci as a sad casualty that never should have been shot against, along with Benito Mussolini, since eating me after capturing me forcing me to force feed on shit, is my inevitable destiny as a commoner. I'm dying to see what her coat of arms looks like: falloppian tubes twice removed from any conduit, apparent or invisible whatsoever. There's a suggestion box, still not gratuitous after all these years it's come a long way.