15-12-2012, 12:18 AM
At the art school in the fifties the silent film of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse was horrific, the stuff of a child's nightmares.
Could one be isolated; could their devastation be closely defined.
We have John Armstrong devoting years to a meticulous study of two young men helically doubled from 1952 until death did they part.
And we have John Newman in 1995 and later presenting a case for James Jesus Angleton having manipulated the file of Lee Oswald.
And Jesus wasn't privy to who struck John.
Phasers set on Ino, IIoh, alright, a figure-eight on its side will do.
Lee or Harvey at the Queen Bee, in Minsk, through the eye of Albert Schweitzer.
Photographed and taperecorded, impersonated and pro se, Kostikov in DF and fisticuff in NO.
"That's Fair Play for Cuba," said Jack helpfully.
Two bullets on an FBI desk, bullets on gurneys, wonderful bullets, magical.
Bullets a go go at Tippit's séance with Markham.
Transmogrifying bullet dug from Gen Walker's wall, placed there by two men from two cars while Lee didn't drive, had to thumb a ride in a Rambler, per Roger.
The point, and here, the name of the Forum, is that "the truth" is mercuric and becomes ever more disembodied upon examination.
Was it Vince Salandria who said the cover up was designed to fall apart.
The tear-away jersey, the runner returns the kick and the crowd went wild.
We have had from Craig I. Zirbel and Jim Marrs and Noel Twyman a veritable All You Can Eat Buffet of False Sponsors.
Lee has been the lightning rod throughout. The half-inch pointed aluminum spike absorbing the world's white-hot scrutiny and channeling it through the braided loop to the copper rods driven deep into the ground.
We can't know the "mind of the plotters"such a concept may be a primitive attempt to explain a magnificent algorithmic fugue composed by professional regime-changers/tribal-pacifiers.
Consider the role of the facile Hunt: called in by Dulles for writing duties November 1961, the Bay of Pigs trap having publicly marked JFK as the target of mortal venom from the Brigade and its milint sponsors.
Hunt would immortalize that hate in 1973 in Give Us This Day; then bow out leaving a leg in the Ford loge bunting, shunting blame on LBJ, the big, boorish neighbor of Edna.
Sturgis who knew where bodies were piled, labeling Lee as a KGB assassin.
There can't have ever been a single unified field theory of blame. Eliot's Gerontion gave Angleton the wilderness of mirrors metaphor.
The house of mirrors would lead the hounds hither and yon, always ending the refrain with the lone gunman.
The sunstein sets over the Byrdhouse. The nation will never be allowed to rest upon a culprit, only an unlikely self-described patsy with a defective weapon and a live oak trajectory.
Angleton in hell with the world's best liars. Dulles with his book of lone nuts.
Ron in wheelchair handing off secret files to a professional wrestler who played a man in black.
Could one be isolated; could their devastation be closely defined.
We have John Armstrong devoting years to a meticulous study of two young men helically doubled from 1952 until death did they part.
And we have John Newman in 1995 and later presenting a case for James Jesus Angleton having manipulated the file of Lee Oswald.
And Jesus wasn't privy to who struck John.
Phasers set on Ino, IIoh, alright, a figure-eight on its side will do.
Lee or Harvey at the Queen Bee, in Minsk, through the eye of Albert Schweitzer.
Photographed and taperecorded, impersonated and pro se, Kostikov in DF and fisticuff in NO.
"That's Fair Play for Cuba," said Jack helpfully.
Two bullets on an FBI desk, bullets on gurneys, wonderful bullets, magical.
Bullets a go go at Tippit's séance with Markham.
Transmogrifying bullet dug from Gen Walker's wall, placed there by two men from two cars while Lee didn't drive, had to thumb a ride in a Rambler, per Roger.
The point, and here, the name of the Forum, is that "the truth" is mercuric and becomes ever more disembodied upon examination.
Was it Vince Salandria who said the cover up was designed to fall apart.
The tear-away jersey, the runner returns the kick and the crowd went wild.
We have had from Craig I. Zirbel and Jim Marrs and Noel Twyman a veritable All You Can Eat Buffet of False Sponsors.
Lee has been the lightning rod throughout. The half-inch pointed aluminum spike absorbing the world's white-hot scrutiny and channeling it through the braided loop to the copper rods driven deep into the ground.
We can't know the "mind of the plotters"such a concept may be a primitive attempt to explain a magnificent algorithmic fugue composed by professional regime-changers/tribal-pacifiers.
Consider the role of the facile Hunt: called in by Dulles for writing duties November 1961, the Bay of Pigs trap having publicly marked JFK as the target of mortal venom from the Brigade and its milint sponsors.
Hunt would immortalize that hate in 1973 in Give Us This Day; then bow out leaving a leg in the Ford loge bunting, shunting blame on LBJ, the big, boorish neighbor of Edna.
Sturgis who knew where bodies were piled, labeling Lee as a KGB assassin.
There can't have ever been a single unified field theory of blame. Eliot's Gerontion gave Angleton the wilderness of mirrors metaphor.
The house of mirrors would lead the hounds hither and yon, always ending the refrain with the lone gunman.
The sunstein sets over the Byrdhouse. The nation will never be allowed to rest upon a culprit, only an unlikely self-described patsy with a defective weapon and a live oak trajectory.
Angleton in hell with the world's best liars. Dulles with his book of lone nuts.
Ron in wheelchair handing off secret files to a professional wrestler who played a man in black.