Roman a clef

Comedy intended

I was watch Die Hard “I’m gonna cook you and then I’m gonna eat you motherfucker.”

Bittersweet oxymoron

Pathetic fallacy.

Pejorative, invocation of deity and more gods for veterans.

Comedy of manners.? That there’s two people in America and only one can bullshit and walk like money.

Ex. My families observance of the treatment of American soldiers taken prisoner by the Japanese as unforgivable. Or, the U.S. Army’s policy of scorched-earth after the treatment of Union soldiers in Andersonville being morally right.

Now I’m gonna taboo you, to death’s double ethnic deathly-death, scary-scared as understatements.

The ritualistic prophesy of killing people and it rains somewhere?

No shit Sherlock.

From the looks of it, the Mafia is not loyal to the U.S.A. and people who read too much Puzzo, I think, end up testifying before Congress. Because a zealot can’t separate himself from a work of art and doesn’t maintain a physical distance with its reception. The new personality of art as art. The movie is distanced, but his feeling is about the same in some way as to what he experiences in real life. Detachment. So he fucking freaks out, bullies everyone and joins The Cubs Scouts of America, blah, blah bicycling, etc, etc.

Those are just a few obstacles to DEI from brainless shitheads, this as biological units. Or to membership in the general education classroom (each person a key to class).

So let see, I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood but I’m in a different brotherhood. The kids at district 73 in Vernon Hills, Illinois, didn’t want me saying certain things because they were Jewish and I absolutely couldn’t wear a leather belt. My mother couldn’t buy the right clothes for me, according to the brotherhood of Judea, so from time to time they’d disappear.

Day to day terroristic threats of grieving students in an astral paradigm. The word Jew being said to me repeatedly as some sort of a mantra, in the hallways. On the streets, as cause for concern, the cops, the bloods, the crips and the pukes. Gangs and go funds, for further intimidation, the diaspora would tell me “snitches get stitches” and flash reflective surfaces at me that looked like shitty linked-in knives.

The day they put my lips on a bus exhaust pipe for fun. Having Transavantgarde female students beat my head against a brick wall. A Chinese chair here or there. Gender roll playing with the fucking cross dressers at recess(despite my protestations). The mental, military preparedness drills of children’s makeup at school and my own acknowledgement deep down, that I might have to have sex with a guy, or girl, or whatever, at school or in life, just for survival. Then the teachers would hit me. Or watch me be hit by their kids. Because, according to them us them, my parents were “programming” me to be heterosexual on the super-ego weekends.

Above it all administrators, principals and teachers steadily listing culturally outlawed items, per their race, that don’t communicate the expectations for all that mind reading the pre libidinous, violent eye contact between students. And then alas, no books at home on how to “snitch” after you’ve been assaulted by greaseballs. Although, you do see enough contraband get shoved in your arms by police officers children, then get a fist to your face so fast you wonder if the whole towns in on it.

I’ve been through it. I know how everyone feels. All of it hearsay.

We’re commited to Israel’s defense and Im still heterosexual, thought I.

Assaults and tension of wealth, the comparison of the concrete in writing and the other entity subsists, transformed abstract into thinner.