Writing about writing, and the Russians - what I was attempting to do much in the past six months, but have utterly failed to type a word at all for weeks on end. Yes, it has become disconerting seeing the butcher-ocracy "drop COVID-19" completely, and switch to this new "Russia-Thing" or the "Ukraine Thing". I have no idea what to call this "Ukraine Thing" - but watching the crime-syndicate send its army of liars to promote this rips me up inside because I don't know how to call their lies "lies!" I don't want to follow this tangent at all, because all I will say is that "Net And Yahoo" was the "President of Israel" is about as believable as "Vladimir Putin" is a real powerful person in Moscow. I have no idea, and I know that the only people who would argue with me are members of brain-washed crime-syndicates (formerly known as Corporations and "Corporate Employees") whose only purpose would be to earn more money for themselves by trying to threaten, intimidate or insult me to impress the piece of shit who is hypno-programming them.
Don't deal in lies said the famous poet "Rudyard Kipling" in His Poem "If...", which is, in fact, one of the older 'trains of thought' to which I was subjected in my younger years of being experimented upon.
All I'm trying to say is that talking about Literature and Writing, which during the era of "Tsar Alexander the Great" (The Nineteenth Century) was the form of art that Central European people excelled at. American's had their music, but I'm just not going to even think about "writing a song about sexual assault" because it isn't possible. Instead, today, I want to continue to write about being awoken at 4:00 AM by the electronics inside me and being pressured by "The Voices" to work on a Java Project that wasn't at all what I was trying to pursue. This new American Slavery Movement, is, at its core based on pressuring people to pursue work and daily activities that are usually as far removed from their interests and their skill sets as they can possibly push them. A man who has as dream and a passion is one who would seek to make decisions to pursue his dream - every day of his life. A man who has been pressured, often by internally generated, voiced, death-threats to pursue something he has no interest in whatsoever is somebody whose work will be perfunctory, disengenous and irate - and will be easily controlled because of it.
I wrote my first computer program in the third grade. Because the sick-fucks at the offices of North Dallas Brain Control have the diaries and journals that my parents used to write here in Dallas, "The Powers that Be" (the individuals who run Dallas) know enough about me to bring up personal stories and even the audio and visual imagery from photos when I was a kid - whenever the hell that they want. I went to a little Computer-Camp for kids when I was nine years old at St. Marks Academy here in Dallas. I had a passion for writing software, among many things - all of which I was strictly forbidden from persuing during my entire 20's and 30's.
But let's get to the heart and soul of the Rise of the Dallas Nigger Regime that has butchered the people - especially the black man - into ignorance, sloth and idiocy. At 4:00 A.M. in the morning I hear the voice, and the electrical current sends signals to my muscles. I don't actually how many wires are inside my body, nor do I know exactly how they are connected to which nerves. But you know what? I wanted to write about it. I wanted to tell the world. I wanted to send letters about psychological torture operations to the Beijing Government in hopes that maybe somebody on earth would care about the Great American Attrocity Engine. I mean, if I saw Asian Troops on American Soil I get on my knees and kiss their boots. I know it's not going to happen, the powers of the earth are probably having a blast watching the once spectacularly powerful and destructive American War Machines sit and argue about Homosexual Rights.
But, this morning, I sat at my computer at was force-fed into my skull more Java Code. I like Java, but I hate being ordered to write it by a Homosexual Regime that uses voice-recordings broadcast into my skull to write it. I wanted to write to my blog today. I have to wait for the recordings to allow me to sit in front of a computer and type my thoughts, without being disrupted by their thoughts.
I have had to wait 25 years before the regime would allow me to use my own fingers to type letters at a computer without being put through psychological torture programs - run by a mangy pack of wild-niggers of Dallas who are so blinded by their arrogance and grotesque abuse of power that I have never been able to do so. I guess they felt bad about it today, and have decided to let me type this.
Here is the Original Song (piped into my brain dozens of times a day:
Angel of the Morning There'll be no strings to bind your hands Not if my love can't bind your heart There's no need to take a stand For it was I who chose to start I see no need to take me home I'm old enough to face the dawn Just call me angel of the morning, angel Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby Just call me angel of the morning, angel Then slowly turn away from me Maybe the sun's light will be dim And it won't matter anyhow If morning's echo says we've sinned Well, it was what I wanted now And if we're victims of the night I won't be blinded by the light Just call me angel of the morning, angel Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby Just call me angel of the morning, angel Then slowly turn away I won't beg you to stay with me Through the tears Of the day Of the years Baby Just call me angel of the morning, angel Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby Just call me angel of the morning, angel Just touch my cheek before you leave me, darling Just call me angel of the morning, angel Just touch my cheek before you leave me, darling