THE REICHSTAG FIRE AS METAPHOR for the Year 2022.

The Murders of Geli Raubal & Laurie Fallon
Set to the Tune of the LA RIOTS. Laurie Fallon
had been a captive of Abel and Lilith for 18 days.

April 29, 1992 DAY 1, LA RIOTS. JUDICIAL RIOT.
POLICE FREED. HYPOCRITES. RODNEY KING BEATEN FOR
BEING IN WRONG PLACE AT RIGHT TIME.

Background LA RIOTS

"On March 3, 1991, four Los Angeles police officers, Stacey Koon,
Timothy Wind, Laurence Powell and Theodore Briseno, were
caught by plumber George Holliday's home video camera beating
speeding suspect Rodney King. Holliday delivered the tape to
a local news station and the beating was televised internationally.

"Charges against King were dismissed, but the officers faced felony
assault charges for the beating.

"On April 29, 1992, the officers were found not guilty of crimes
against King. Following the announcement of the verdict, riots
erupt throughout the city of Los Angeles resulting in 53 deaths,
some 10,000 arrests, 2,300 injuries, more than 1,000 buildings
lost to fire, thousands of jobs lost and an estimated cost to the
city of $1 billion in damages. The riots lasted several days,
during which time, Reginald Denny, a white truck driver, was
pulled from his truck and beaten by a mob at the intersection
of Florence and Normandie in South Central Los Angeles, the
heart of the rioting.

"Rodney King is interviewed pleading for a cease to the rioting,
muttering his now infamous phrase, "Can we all just get along?"

"King won a $3.8 million settlement from the city of Los Angeles.

"The LA Riots gained a place in history as the worst riots the U.S.
has seen in modern years.” (from various News Sources)


Back to Deutschland: ARMAGEDDON, DEAR NSDAP-
Tuesday, 27 February 1933, Berlin

Marinus Van Der Lubbe confessed. He did it, he said to protest capitalism? How petty! Impossible. Like poor Rodney King beaten noble, they said, without looking at the time frame (somehow in history sequence is lost).

"The fire engines had arrived just before ten and by then, the Session Chamber of the Reichstag was in flames. After Chancellor Hitler saw the red sky above the Tiergarten, he shouted, "It's the Communists," and later in a secret meeting he told Vice Chancellor Franz von Papen and Goebbels: "if this fire, as I believe, is their work, then."

INTERLUDE:

Future Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, "brown hat turned up in front, was immense in a camel hair coat" emerging from the Reichstag fire as if he were derived from sour smoke, arrived there first at Holocaust after the alarm had sounded, so they have said in Caesar's Commentaries.

...Excerpts from the theater of the absurd: "Consider, Adolf Hitler didn't order the murder of 10,000,000 Jews, gypsies, Russians, Poles, and non-conformist Germans." Zionist hoax! Absurd Right!

Why shed words for blood. What nonsense." Exactly, Just like the damn fire and the guilty fakery inspired divine manifestation. Ghosts had been foreshadowed. The end: more of Armageddon.

Consider how loss of an exact word stains the accidental margin. Searching for the word "Armageddon (now, it is found)," there it was with Agamemnon, King (not condition of war), and a new context, associated network allusion (Good golly dear matrix) for the whole of the work-- not just the part of a part.

Father murdered daughter (Iphigenia) murdered father (Clytemnestra). Herein, Electra, his daughter. Where art thou Oedipus.

Medley of Free Style Ideas by Henry Whitman, lover and friend of Laurie Fallon

Prick or stick. Pubis or Vulva, sweet pear. What colossal waste we "river run" at best the death were last and then first when the ovens repeal nature. What ghost, thy ash and dust will fumigate what passed for loss.

What secrets sexual surprise (no prick or cunt but both at once) we rose up (just as tyrants do) as we place child near heart and then knee. We were sick with distortion as old power was dying the flower losing its heart as pale roses weep petals, as Herr Hitler told the children a mixed lot of boys and girls 6 and 7 years or some times less gathered secretly for service to the Fatherland. He saw the rightful murder and was himself murdered by Stalin in his own leash. That is another day and a less corrupt story.

Lebensraum, dear Pedophile.

What an experimental womb you masked taking ash from the camps the Jews and communists and faggots, as you put it, were burned beside fallen Nazis and some prurient religious folk who had stolen gold from beneath the sacristy. He loved to hobble children with his personal mirror.

Hitler discriminated when he pushed the lock and the railroad of human cried emptied like the slower freight riding across the Siberian hills. Every day was more than just one more murder. Human disposal of history made a mockery of Kant.

"My niece said yes," Shickelgruber cried. What forms we will build from soap and then carving some, Hitler laughed as another needle was cut into his arms. Stalin kept Hitler in a special prison until Stalin died in 1953. In prison Hitler knew that daily torture. Most were amazed the man lived through it. Finally, Hitler was taken out by be burned alive in a local crematorium. A Jew from Moscow made the choice. She had lost all in the war and a good Communist she wanted to kill more than the ideas.


SORORICIDE: THE MURDER OF LAURIE CATHERINE FALLON

FACT: CAN YOU IMAGINE HER NOT ALIVE --
"The Factory": Saturday, July 11, 1992 (3:52 PM)

Herr Abel a.k.a. Antonio Joseph Corvino (affectionately known as Tony) from the future tense brought Laurie to her end or so he would believe.

"No, mother fucker," God shouted. She will not die. You will and God made it so.

First God gave Laurie playing God for the day help Laurie kill Fräulein Death Head SS named Maria-Therese Corvino.

Her head was swollen shut when she died in childbirth. God told Laurie. She may have strong hands and her lovely throat was crushed with hands, wire, or rope. A second set of hands crushed her mind when she felt death suddenly switch between "Goyim" and "yèhûd’y."


Two.

"Heaven takes the corpse and weaves it within flame," Abel sang.

That is what I construct. Just remains and the dear art I surprise hiding underneath the bleachers. Watch them fuck, and you will be late, Edward, Mother shouted. My girl friend wants to give you a bath.

Mother why do you call me away into dreams. I understand the confusion. Many dogs have no hands and then with Matisse the dream had no passageway.

We can never assume that place. I am not sure of you, Fräulein Son. Perhaps, you are a secret communist with your fragrant lust and homophile pursuits.

We are not Jews, you know, nor Gypsies, and could never become as Gods not even for the facts that truth preferred when wisdom sleep. The Nazis are hideous offal.

Herr Himmler satisfied that he was the special undertaker and was in no danger. We wrote the railroad regulations that permitted the trains an efficient entry into the camps.

I stepped down when I was done. I loved the Jews. I fucked them often when in school. I never discriminated; There's danger, as you know, when you report angry history falsely. I stepped down, he lied before we murdered Jews and do not forget the gypsies and Communists to free the evidence and to make all workers free not just the offal, as you stated above. Read it again. No, I did not. I said you were the shit.

"Ignore logic," Christ said, Hitler cried.

There is a reasonable swoon when 20 million die in ten years.

All tales are spatial links between the sediments as one eon twisted in the rip tide and swept under the primal pond emerged where else in this time with Antonio at the head.

Dark murders contrived to feed Hitler his psychopathic art. He said his needs are above ordinary moral space. Hear my hands on your heart. You don't. I only harvest what my sister marks as if death were a sour soup to be drunk with a dear cunt as appetizer and then for lunch.

"Remember, Roosevelt another Jew will be Führer in America in a fortnight," Göring said, spoken out of nowhere.

"Herr Hitler does not appreciate American democratic "disorder" as the pleasure and pain of a great public fire or an election.

As Göring's guilt unraveled so did the ashes for blame was circus and ring master. Göring wore scars and an absurd uniform. The Russians did not pour petrol from his flasks. Why waste it. We may die in the steppe without it. Take him to Stalin. Let him suck Stalin to live. Good cock suckers are easy to find, but hard to keep alive when Stalin fucks their ass every day.

Sparks unsettled the universal drive. Spiral settlement set. Stalin remembered Van Gogh beyond stolen paintings from the Lourve or private hands.

Behold, fighting nausea. When that bloody ear attached itself again and God rewarded the murderer of Hitler with a scarlet scene taken from Rubens.

Blaming the Socialist, the Republic and the Jews was easier for righteous commentary (Zion) than explaining what needed to be done to make the master more than the state or the general body politic.

Unfortunately, Jean Jacques (not Henri) was too much Rousseau and too little Cézanne. After that terrified war, paintings stolen from us, we were lonely and we were the only suitors. Too bad, we had planned the executions before the marriage. The gifts and Priest had been paid; and the bride was over eager perhaps (what she said in the deposition), for consummation, but she was open for the Romans, the Huns, and the Celts before us, as the rivers Oder, Elbe and Rhine raged through the white water migraines and psychotic nightmares assembled from that unconscious longing we have named Electra.

"No one believed in mad red Dutch men in too short long pants, half frozen with contempt; starving for Communism; how could he have given birth to the Holocaust. Good excuse, perhaps, but bad history, most certainly. Another sacred trust for a delicate conspiracy of diplomats to unsettle.

Imagine the future of the past: what if they said that the Arch Duke and his wife had been murdered not by an anarchist. Or what if Herr Hitler, in Mein Kampf, had been a clairvoyant like that sixteenth century French physician and astrologer, Nostradamus, Der Führer could have predicted not only the assassination in 1963 of Diem, Kennedy and Oswald (what lovely Anti-Christ we collected) but the murder by History of all tyrants, sycophants, and poseurs as Herr Lenin had said:

What a fool History would be to make our design so easy an excuse for Pandemonium set in motion by a failed lunatic, artist, and messenger corporal.

Who said, do not kill the messenger"? Who is this empty room, Marinus Van Der Lubbe? Now, we must assign purpose to all who have arrived late from the failed trains. "Mama speaks what is necessary," God asked. "I don't want to know what you cannot use."

Once upon a time, "God knew our hearts were pure that day."

- Hans Frank remembering that January 30th when von Hindenburg named Herr Hitler, Chancellor. "Oh, Hitler, let us applaud. I admire death as the architects and the Doctors of the crematorium."

Man Called Abel -- 11 July 1992 The Murder of an Ancient Child Recalled.

Slouching in wrinkled trench coat, Herr Hitler, whip in hand, abed, stood tall, free forward from the unwrapped ease he bestowed before nodding to his half niece, Angela Maria Raubal (Geli), already dead.

She leaned off the bed, to the left side, half on the floor, bending unnaturally across the blue crocheted blanket, now forever blood stained red, as if it would absorb all her anguish and push her forward living again.

Hitler hid it all, covering the stains as if he had sacrificed a chicken or a dog; what a bloody mess, he had strangled and then shot the young woman with a resilient wire, garroted when she slept naked, curled into her thumb beside the skirt of her cunt.

It was not the first time he had abused her. Once, when she was much, much younger, (barely out of grade school) he came to her bath having heard the running water and her squeals as she stepped into her bath; The Führer remembered the dirt, cold and gas from the trenches, when he was blind, strangled from mustard chant, and he imagined the too hot water surmised from her stumbled pre adolescent shout.

Entering the door snapped shut and was difficult to reopen.

Turning the handle quickly, his sister Paula was not a home, not that she would have stopped him, not then at least, but he knew she was gone for at least the better part of the day, not to return to much, much later. It did not matter.

Alone, the Führer opened the door, walked two steps forward, splashing water on himself to make his skin feel fresh and with less stink.

Geli simply said "Uncle," turning her back, chattering a laugh and then a shriek, and then slowly, opening, chin high, twisting back to show herself, only now, he was gone, and she could not see him, in the next room, doubled up in rage, invisible waiting on his bed for a vision of the Apocalypse.

Hitler answered it, blaming the Jews for his transgression, having led her willing to his bed,

Geli said Uncle again, "du bist" he heard the endearment as a whistle waiting for his hands to stop shaking, he could not cup her legs or swallow the scent of the soap on her skin. The next night He was gone when she returned to his room.

For Angels, nothing eased escape. It was done.

A wire caught her larynx, and crushed it. Breath, even asleep, immediately swollen as the knot in his balls or that gristle above her pee hole, as Geli rubbed it; it was pleasant to finish, roughly before, and that was not all that was done. A coup de gr’ce struck and was his personal gift: a bullet in the heart, for a second death, and not as after-thought, but as a final crease for closure and just maudlin sentiment.

Murder came as a shift of skin or the lack of luster shaking hand aftermath with the stripped body in the morgue, as some specimen, as a turtle might hide its shell and butchered, its patched belly more than a target.

We cannot deny what we are not or yes; I cannot stand it, this resurgence. He believes in German destiny.

On the witness stand in Nuremberg, Geli pointed to Eva, and then SS Director, Himmler as over lords.

Second she told how the SS, my lovely female killers, who run the last sacrifice. We held court as miserable tableaux: blood has its own level, flesh another, intention and the will to power blocked as a social face, see the mirror in that piece of soul.

Antonio's wife and sister, Maria-Therese watched from history as the murders crept out of the train yards becoming a soap factory. Voyeurs watching the Jews die laughed and Laurie cried from her grave. Alive she accepted it all and returned to her privileged seat.

Yes, Hitler said, she was torn by the lush hips of the drunk Jew who took her passion, as a cold swarm, didn't know Geli, as she hunted, as Tony would years later, as his sister Maria did.

My Paula did make me blush. Mother held my mouth to her tit making me suck, feeding me what I couldn't spit back, choking; she would laugh as my stiff wang was appropriately made into glue.

I was in the trenches when the oil and lamp shut down, and that black skin burned without any other notions. I kept that notion in my pocket. What a splendid silver watch.

She rose as a white devil from and inside shadows.

Lifting legs up to expose her cunt she parted heavens, and lifted out all the Jewish girls as undeveloped child. She swallowing her own cauls as a treatise on health that was still birth warm as the blood oozed festering as a blizzard of white pulp resisted falling.

Exposing her belly, opening all of the air and storms, upholding a terrible clamor in the ideal hour made the church bells ring and rang from Munich to Perth.

My belly will tremble and expose the misery, Laurie fantasized.

It is my religious offering Laurie tendered it easily without one thought. I am really a fake witch she confessed.

I was blind when the armistice came. I was hysterical and the peace was too short before the answer: We heard only screams. Ten million trenches. Dig up the gardens let them out as the lathe carves human bones, soft, now covered in Plaster, twiddling.

The bombs will fall on the bunker. Take poison, Hitler said to Fräulein Braun as dream and excuse.

As the particles of cosmic splendor revived when the living white coated hand attached emerged as vocal sign for possible death.

As a force might purgatory became a louder hell. When you live there as a darling scream, some OM ...OM, as exultation is a mask for the world of Oz and a bleached child whore while mouthing pricks dangling from the wires, gagging on the semen of a Prince of a dog so she claimed taken down from the cemetery cross.

She must have been eleven or twelve, they said-- not twenty-three.

Dark thin eyes, flirting and luminous are nourishment; Fräulein Braun had plodded through the ashes. She was our daughter, my prince, she said.

I was jealous and killed her. Wait, Geli, he said, dear niece, thy true sex is within this veiled mouth: peer inside at the aspect of the vulva where the true tongue connects. Thy hair is shaved, be praised. Open the urethra, piss.

Afterwards, nothing was heard, while they played the video and set up the virtual reality desk top CPU a lot of years distant from this first fling, so the man called Tony dreamed, when Hitler visited, and Maria (transposed) fucked so good he told his sister Paula. My, is it not strange what death can do now that we know thy harvest will be done.

Five million more or less. Ten billion light years, a second of flux. Contraction of mass in an instant and a light (convection currents) so bright a billion suns, make Iron crosses dear Nova. Make the heart a deadly wall, dear Sun. Kill German Brown Shirts.

Count the years between 1933 and now (what is it? EVERLASTING), and make the political circus open its doors. I play, dear sister. I play. Where are the arms you left behind? I need them desperately now.

Dead, Geli Raubal: 18 September 1931, age 23:

Behind the liver, dear son, my child, she answered what is Eva like, thy pregnant daughter Geli Raubal has asked from death.

A bullet in the heart, is best, dear lonesome waif, speaking to a photograph, thy legs were open for the Jew artist from Linz, and you played his prick, whore. Hitler cried on the couch over her body.

The weapon was a 6.34 caliber pistol warm in his hands as her dead cunt had been or her mouth.

Yes, her lips parted natural brown and red which Hitler wet with his spit. When thy belongings were thrown as dear Jews you will marched through the walls, as he spoke, Dear Father, as I pray.

Hello Dear Jew, Abel cried. You beat my back until I shook to death. Inside black mustard gas, my curse, more than ten years earlier dear Mother, (Klara Pölzl) dead from Cancer (1907), and that murderous iodoform administered to her by Catholic physician, and my eyes hurt forever.

Hitler said, and I cannot fly, you see, I am trapped; dear wedded Geli, when you suck God now, when you look up watch my eyes and run the theme as the liquid goes.

Tony (dearest Abel) spoke from his window, and said, mesmerized by historical mutation and the possible conversions his morbid sculpture that Hitler had pruned from each corpse, human and mean.

How that propaganda could tempt the masses, mislead the faithful, those nondescript moils who praised God and Hitler to the highest.

The Cardinals lead the worship listening again to the tribunes from Rome.




####