Blevins Hall was the Center of it All! And–what do you do with old spies, exactly?

WARNING!!! N-Word usage ahead! Get your therapist, the ADL, or BLM on the phone ASAP!

There was a steady parade of ex-felons who lined the country road #59 through Janesville, Wisconsin, before, during, and after Heraldo Rivera came to town, and arranged to have a Jewish sponsored Nazi snitch sock him in the face on national TV.

And all of them, with few exceptions, headed to Charlie Shenanigans house. Black, white, brown Indian–Charley sucked dicks for free. Race need not apply–he was an equal opportunity cocksucker.

There’s loads of fun discussing those of them who claimed that they were in jail with Dahmer up in Waupun–hell no, any rational mind says, because the dates and times don’t line up! The timeline is off!! Regardless, and even today, those guys still claim it. Odd, a badge of acceptance into a sort-of society is that ” I knew Jeffrey Dahmer!

I shared canteen with him!

I was in the exercise room just before he got his brains beat out! (with a wooden stake/iron bar/ Holy Grail/cross of Jesus shaped, twisted toilet paper roll that had been hardened by burned plastic ramen wrappers, and so on.)

I was his cellie for two days before they moved him. It was definitely a frame job! The guy didn’t even have Vampire teeth like they said–his were just people teeth!

I ate one of his dick shaped Spam and ramen noodle snacks that he left around the block! Honestly, I did it for cred–everyone laughed that I wasn’t poisoned–he smiled at me later in the showers, tried to suck my dick! I beat his face in!

But especially this: I killed Jefferey Dahmer! Here’s why! –we know that prisons are just torture chambers, that use race to manipulate murderers, one against another, no different than the Roman Colliseums did, but with the One Percent, and its perverted private viewers, and subscribers whose dysfunction is that they enjoy torture and death pornography. This is what is spoken of in the gang stalking dialectic as “remote viewing.” Decrepit and deviant, and “deserve to die” motherfuckers in synagogues, churches, and sequestered government halls all literally conspiring to “remotely view, and control” us as if we are their little toy robots–I wonder: did Dahmer also have a handler somewhere who filmed all of his atrocities?


Dahmer killed outside his race! Lets videotape it and share it amongst ourselves as he is beaten to death with (an object yet defined)! lets publish news article after news article about how he lured a young Asian boy–hey–Asian boys are OUR RACKET!__HANDS OFF!!

Then–lets view the footage all by ourselves, hands clasped and ready for oil! –such is the perversity of those who have foisted privatized prisons upon America–a country that holds 25%of the worlds prisoners–Russian Gulags? Have a look at who ran those jails–those gulags!

Jia You!

And so on.

When people are housed like animals, treated worse than dogs, a lot of cult worship starts to happen-the “bad guys” start to worship the worst of the worst–those who have foregone every shred of morality, in favor of immorality. Honestly–there is no real difference: dead babies “over there” are street cred. “Dead babies “over here” are sin.

Its delicate as a kresh in fake snow, more insanely silent and foreboding than a woodchipper, after the switch is thrown off, reminders of the hunters of foreskins past–bags of dicks indeed–and as you are passing out–we look the other way in that moment, and hear nothing, but crickets, as we drift off–drift upwards–maybe, if you are extremely lucky, and called to higher ground–you might one day hear the whispering pines of the Lakota Sioux territory, just by Mount Rushmore–the winds circle above your head, and the trees form a vanguard of mystifying connectivity, as the wind rushes in, and sweeps the air clean, circle by dancing circle–and your head will be cleaned by that, I promise you.

It will not stop, night by night–those trees are ever active givers–ever active relayers of spiritual sounds and even more deeply trancing rhythms that will put you into the world of the dead, whereby you can make your proper apologies to those who….to them, those most beautiful, and deceased, even if by….if by duty, or otherwise deceased….if you need to.

“Hell no,” says one inmate.” My dad whipped me with a brick upside my head. and he nearly killed me!”

“A brick?” says another “Motherfucker, my dad tried to feed me to alligators–he pushed me into the swamp, and left me for dead, because I couldn’t spell “cheese.” Momma was keen on spellin, and daddy knew it.. They were talking about gubmint cheese!”

“Nigger–you stupid as fuck. Take a class. My dad was the guy who saw the bullet holes in the door after the FBI shot Mark Clark, in Chicago. They wasn’t playin. Those holes went INTO the door–and guess what? My daddy whupped me solid a whole week after I told my teacher about it! You just jivin’ know nothin’s about nothin’s. Shit the fuck up. Who deals?”

Cards hit concrete tables, cigarettes and ramen are traded, in an otherwise torturous blank space. Few books. Time goes by. Stories get told, untold, retold. Re-manufactured because the facts do not matter here, Only stories, to keep the walking dead entertained–each detail, a symbol of recognition–a geo-tag of conversations long past, indicating relationships between story tellers–facts simply are not important her–only details,and specious clues of relationships to bygone men whose stories defied conventional narrative explication.

.But nothing changes–and Guantanamo forebodes the future of such a hidden form of society, deep in America’s modern gulags, a hidden form of story telling, no different that Solzhenitsyn’s story of gulags.

Who are these people that on one hand create monsters, and on the other , shame or execute the monster? I think a read on “The Golem of Prague” is necessary, for prisoners to understand why they are who they are. And, who helped create them.

Social responsibility requires that we examine “the other” and he was that, with very little doubt.And, with little doubt, I am sure that monsters father was thus conflicted too.

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