Leaving hotel calafornix

Only one guy didn’t pull the wire. He reached for it though more like he was reaching for his gun and warily turned towards me and staggered back away terrified. You “heard” me, pull the wire punk! He shook his head “no” in reply to my “silent” demand. He’ll wish he had though. He was more in control of his self than the others, not necessarily to his or life’s benefit though. He refused the message. But I and Life’s message can’t be refused or blocked.

I’ve discovered in a larger sense “the more wired town is” the easier it is for me to project force. Every electric countermeasure any thing presents to dam or block “Life’s dam free idea” is just another way to their route. I take advantage of it and recommend the reader do as well for the correct reason. Focus, project the idea, make freely flowing rivers your first goal, the starting point, dams are unlawful.

When I entered the copy shop to pick up my business cards the satellite music was playing Popper’s “New York Runaround”, here we go I thought. A 1/3 of my icon was missing and the resulting misprint was unacceptable. Nearby at the Mexican bagel shop I sat down to a bowl of vegetable soup. A couple entered who appeared like part of the “crew” from the film “Matrix”. Out of nowhere, time slowed down to a crawl. Wow, this was an impressive OGO card. The next person who entered walked toward me, made a fast clockwise sign with his right index finger towards his left wristwatch wrist and sped time up. Woooo Weeee… Thanks for showing me that team, these are two extremely impressive skills to possess, “high cards”.

BLACK SWAN PARK

The Riviera was a bar and restaurant across from Christopher Park. I delivered the idea in the morning and showed up later at night. Above the bar is a painting that pretty much sums up what the state of affairs is currently. Nice work. I ordered a drink and pointed this out to the bartender. J.C. got caught holdin’ the cards, the Indians are off the mark, and the character in the middle… Who does he look like? I appeared in the outfit. It was me. The water bomber, holding what looked like twin desert eagles (50 cal). Time to go the bartender says. Another interpretation could be that I’m here to make sure Emanuel (J.C.) collects.

I wrote my first letter to President Obama from the Au Pain coffee shop a block and a half NE of Washington Square Park, I was steamed. I basically told him it looked like I was gonna have to “save” his wife and daughters from the decisions he was making as our commander. It appears as though he got smacked down on the basket ball court and received some stitches to his face (a baker’s dozen?) the day he got my message. I’d already sent many letters, packages, and postcards to Mrs. Robinson Obama.
THE EMPTY LIT UP FERRIS WHEEL OVER THE HUDSON
Battery Park City is billed as the future home of the Skyscraper Museum and the Museum of Woman-The Leadership Center. At the foot of the 9/11 thing lies the Irish Hunger Memorial welcome center on the Hudson River. The tillted structure is designed by Mr. Tolle a Yale graduate. They were in the process apparently of building it near the front two teath towers that got tossed into the harbor (9/11) when the dust interfeared. Supposedly the groundbreaking ceremony for the famine memorial was held on St. Patty’s Day 2001 (whoops). After 9/11, so the story goes, Mr. Frank Rubinic?, with Cashin Ass.?, a construction management firm?, was there planting a flag at the field stone cottage (this place has a weird story). They say the cottage comes from a place in Ireland that “believes” in God and Mom. The old 6^th generation Slack Family Place, go figure. All the written text at the memorial is Mumbo Jumbo. The meaning is Horrorific. Basically the site, situated across from the ferry and the old immigration port, screamed “So you want a slice of pie for yourself, you stupid %#*^@! Farmer, welcome to AmeriKON, sucker!” It was sick.
THE SEEMINGLY, AND ADMITTED UPON QUESTIONING LATE 50’S AND WHAT SEEMED LIKE EARLY 60’S FEMALE SOULS IN BRAND NEW 22 YEAR OLD CHINESE SKIN SUITS. HOW’D THEY DO THAT?
PENNY PARK AND THE SCHOOL

I was sittin there havin a picnic on the northwest corner of the marina across from the supposed NYPD boat that was circling Manhattan flying a black flag. The tree with the acorns was interesting (it was the only oak tree in Manhattan with acorns during the largest east coast mast crop in 50 to 60 years) and I was watching what looked like the same young Chinese lookin guy ride by for the n^th time. I was just enjoyin some food and beverages when the NYC Park and Recreation Department showed up. They were accompanied by a character I call “agent #9” (Calafornia Blue). When he cuffed me so tight my wrists started bleeding… I commented on his accent and asked where he was from. “Jamaica”, he says. There wasn’t a chance in anywhere that this guy was from Jamaica. I sat in the back of the crusier and hummed a tune inside my head and agent #9 (who looked like he was takin charge of the situation) seemed to uncontrollably tap his feet (dance) in tune with the rythum. He didn’t act like a human. I was still pleading a case of innocence when an actual seemingly aware NYC Park and Rec. officer pulled up in another cruiser. I plead my case and the situation at large to him quickly. He looked like he knew exactly what it was I was talking about but looked too terrorfied to do anything and got back in his cruiser and left. Agent #9 hastily departed.

They took me to Precint #10. I sat there for an hour or so trying to get the Park cops to at least loosen the cuffs, while I watched a bunch of unaware personal shuffle around. I’d been reasonably cooperative the whole time until they pulled up with the private ambulance. They had quite a few cops around, some of them looked like firemen or something. They began to force me against my will, into the ambulance to the Hospital, for nothing. I struggled valiantly no doubt, and almost got underneath the ambulance. As it was I got a hold of the trailer hitch and made it hard for them. I told them there sorry M*&^$*r F*&$@*(g asses were gonna pay for this shit, and without a cloud in the sky, thunder rumbled. I don’t think any of those creeps were aware of this. I pointed it out. Once they got me strapped in the gurney in the back of the ambulance I quit resisting. What was the point? Still, for the entire ride to the Hospital one of the supposed Park dudes (a black guy about 222 lbs) insisted on pushing, with as much constant force as he could, on top of me. My bleeding wrists were behind my back and he was causing me pain for no reason. I told him this and he sneered at me and pushed down harder. I arched my back off the gurney for the rest of the ride to the HOspital as I calmly explained while actually demonstrating the power of an arch to the creep.

I refused the medication at this place but they found it necessary to administer the “shots” for no reason, while I awaited my court date with the judge, or magistrate, to plead my cause and the infinity project. Dr. Kursebaum, my physician, convinced the happy to keep his job judge I was nuts, “He thinks the Pharmisuetokill companies own the food companys”, even though he had no case. Cursebombs final diagnosis to the judge was, “He’s got some kind of weird fear of the water”. ? A lot of weird stuff happened in this place, largely cause of the staff not the inmates. I had all my flyers, envelopes, and stamps and continued to deliver my message as usual, from the 13^th floor of Bellvue. The first thing I did when I got to the place was infiltrate and influence the handymen, that’s how you “bring down a house” from the inside. The staff didn’t want to put my stuff in the mail and tried throwing it away. This is illegal. They were throwing away letters stamped and addressed to people in my family. Creepy people at this place.

At one point they were serving us an extra meal between the regular lunch and dinner. They made it look like a “how fortunate we were” to get more food thing. The food was room temp. I knew exactly what was going on. There was a black guy about 222lbs doing the serving. I told him that I knew that they were serving us a “hot” (with bacteria to give us diarreah) meal. He smiled like the creep he is and said I was correct and that’s exactly what they were doing. I told him what they were doing was horrifying and illegal. I told him that the staff was going to get sicker, and then some, (basically they were gonna pay for this) than the largely healthy, sane inmates. I ate a double portion.

It was about this time that I decided we should blow the shit out of the U.N, too, while we were at it, and walked around Bellview for the next day or so “demanding” it be done. Let’s blow the shit out of the U.N. After all, this was one of the top reasons I came to New York and told the U.N. in a post card with my final offer, that Godzilla was coming to a town near you… soon a week or so before I departed for Manhatten. I least I’m truthful, and give them a reasonable length of time to respond. I couple of days later the paper reported that there was a lunar eclipse, the East River backed up, the sewer backed up under the United Nations and exploded into the building causing an evacuation. This was rich I thought, my best M.O. (so far, at this point).

As a result of the “hot” meal, the inmates all got sick. Some worse than others. Some got diarreah so bad they left a trail of it everywhere they went. The inmates are likely to live “on the streets”, that are filled with sewage, especially in NYC. They are likely to have built up a resistance to the diareah causing bacteria (even if it is just a well exercised, healthy, sphincter). The staff, in there more sterile environment, not. As a result of the bacteria spread everywhere in the West wing of the 13^th floor, the nurses and staff started getting diareeah, bad. I was standing on my head with my back against the wall next to the now constantly being used staff restroom. I had a bad case myself, but knew how to control even the worst diareeah. Stand on your head (upsidedown). The gas easily passes out, and after a period of time when the colon is filled with fluid, carefully go to the restroom and get rid of the fluid. Stand upside down until diareeh passes. This works. It was fun tellin the staff, I told you so. One of the staff members started callin me “Chitty chitty bang bang”, Ian Fleming.

Abdullah al Newman was the guy livin on the matrass next to me. He claimed to be half Banglideshi and half English. He told me he was in Bellview for almost successfully throwing a Port Authority clown under the subway and killin them. He seemed like he was trying to expidite the situation (the infinity project), and related that he was positive the character he’d tried to “help along” was down right evil, and told the judge as much. Mr. Newman said he’d told the judge, “I can’t see why the world is so messed up, I just want to grow some corn”. (potential vegetable producer)

Hmmm… says I, and gave him a copy of the “double dirty dozen” new laws or “Banzia, Bonsia, Bond’s Eye” including the Sgt. Decker laws with a verbal going over of the laws concerning “BANDIT” expedition, in particular the part about how to make sure one has got the actual correct target. A few hours later Abdullah al Newman assaulted Dr. Cursebomb, landing a few mighty blows apparently breaking the doctors glasses. An hour or so after this I was interviewed by the now beat up Dr. Kursebaum, who’d had to tape up his right eye glass to the frame and looked shaken. What happened, did that little dark kid get ya? Culta personality, I basically handed Manhattan (the keys I’d acquired), I run New York, to Mr. Abdullah al Newman. He was a get the “Good” work done type of character. The staff was interested in blood samples in exchange for a $50 check. They only wanted samples from me and Mr. Newman. I gave the Pharmorecutiekill nurse a copy of the new laws pointing out the “no clones” allowed on the surface law.

I ended up havin some problems of the violent kind myself, when the inmate who stayed on the matrass across from me, a black “Frenchman” or so he said, attacked me for no reason. We were by ourselves in the room, nobody else saw what was going on. So I kicked the living shit out of this guy. He thought I was going to “box” or fistfight with him, and I started the foray off with a kick to his solar plexis. Down he went. I just kept kickin him, he stole my shoe, I recovered it and pummeled his face for a while, he deserved it. He was hurting pretty bad. It was just before dinner was served, and I walked in kind of pumped up and hot, and took my two jackets off and said I’d arm wrestle anyone for their dinner.

One cat just gave it up (smart) and I had two meals (I’m always hungry in these places). The black “Frenchman” was conspiring with a big German guy. The German guy, backed up closely by Frenchy, attacked me from behind with his one pound plastic food tray. His dinner, which was on top of the tray, bounced off the top off my head and landed next to my other two meals. Now I had three meals. I hooked the German who was behind me and threw him over my shoulder on to the ground and landed on top of him driving my elbow into his jaw, showing “Frenchy” my soles. I said I was being attacked and requested assistance. The orderlies actually arrived to get me. I hadn’t even done anything but defend myself. I demanded they let me eat my “spoils” before getting the shot. I went to sleep as usual and was robbed of my Delf jacket by the staff. They gave the German and Frenchy a good behavior pass and let them out the next day.

One evening from the Bellview payphone I called up the SUBPACOM (that which lies underneath Pearl Harbor) Rape/Sexual assault hotline and ordered them to scramble 4 superhornets loaded with river skippers for a “test run”, 2 up a Manchurian River and 2 up a river of their choice. A day and half or 2 later it was reported in the paper that the Chinese had launched their super secrete stealth plane to the supposed embarrassment of the U.S. Military Intel, just hours after I called. As I remember in my calculations they could’ve slid up the reviere at the crack of dawn (see the light) the day of and just before the Chinese secret stealth flight. Boy, they’d’ve got a good snicker out of that one, “Know Jesterless”. Of course, my creditabellitty view rose a little more here. One’s gotta know what he’s doing, even when I’m drugged and eating poison food.

While I was in Bellview I continued to deliver my message and collected a few more signatures toward my goal of the Presidency. One of the inmates in Bellvue had the good recommendation for me to claim I was in the pursuit of the presidency, not running for president. I looked this up later and it looked like he was correct, technically I wasn’t running for the Presidency until I got on the ballot, or at least that’s what the law appeared to say. Plus, it sounded better, obviously, considering the situation, to say, I’m in pursuit of the President, see?

They let me out in time to make it back to Asheville, NC for New Years Eve. On the way out of Bellview I stopped at the door just before I left and examined my belongings. I was missing my Delf hoody jacket. Can you imagine stealing a patients winter jacket at a hospital? I carefully went through my stuff and determined the $400 cash I came into the place with was missing. The doctor insinuated I was having mental problems. I countered that it would be nice if they returned the cash they were obviously trying to steal from me. It took them a little while but they recovered and returned it to me. How embarrassing for them. I’d wager they do this to people who are less cognizant than I all the time. Poison dealing thieves.

THE OLD LIBRARY NORTH OF WASHINGTON SQ. PARK

Their names spoke volumes, I think of them as the Persicuted Medusa Slaying Co. The message arrived by U.S. Mail and while intimidating basically was a plea for assistance. In the upper left of the recipient address site I wrote “The Warden” as the message was also to the authorities in control of the present dam system and on the back of the envelope, in addition to the infinityproject address was a note to the warden in reference to the “Cool Hand Luke” film. I wrote that we could increase the penalty for those caught cutting down the parking meters as these discouraged parking and driving in general while providing income for town, and we could cut down the lampposts instead idea.

I wrote the letters, colored in the business cards and stuffed the envelopes at the chess table while collecting signatures in pursuit of the presidency. I explained to the people that I’d been setting up a situation to take advantage of just this kind of opportunity and while the men sitting in MDC Brooklyn were faced with what looked like ruin, if there was anyway to turn it into the best possible case scenario presenting them with an opportunity to have a significant role in the undamming of the rivers and the reappearance of reason was just the way to do it. Apparently they got the letters at night and responded the very next morning. I got an email from Timothy “The Facilitator” Raymond Glass through correctlinks the institutions electronic mail service.

While there was plenty of question marks there was really only one question, “What is the exact responce you are looking for?” and on an otherwise mistake free correspondence “response” was misspelled and they spelled it with a “c”, yes in Italian. I looked it up in a dictionary and one definition of response is that which is delivered by the choir. Good, I thought, exactly what I was looking for. I wrote back to Timothy and told him who to sing to, basically the government who’d sworn to serve and protect us while instead forcing the damming and diking, shed everything that falls from the heavens and flush it all down the tubes rules, while covering up the abortion project.

I sat down at the bar next to a man who looked like a U.S. Senator. His drink which could have been a coke, looked just served, and I ordered the worst cup of coffee in town (stale, bitter, burnt, bad coffee with grounds floating around in it and everything), it’s a “How dare you order a cup of coffee in beer city USA” cup. The bartender had the mannerisms and looked a lot like the “agent” from the film “Matrix” and this along with pool tables in the back ground and stale beer in the air was the surreal scene as the Senator and I entered into conversation. “What do you think of the insurance industry?” asked the Senator. Obviously you’ve read what I wrote, “Death of a Salesman”, poor Willie Lowman. He nodded his head in affirmation. I began to tell a parable about an automobile accident and finished the tale by rationalizing that I could see why we had insurance, somebody’s got to pay for the dam ages. The Senator looked at me with the biggest “Oh Fu(k” look I’ve seen and trepidatiously yet graciously made the quickest departure I’ve seen except for the guy in NYC I accused of being from _____ system of the _____ galaxy.

Keep in mind I “grew up” to be the biggest life insurance salesman ever and the person who gives me more assistance, practically the only person I know who will lift a finger for me (and that’s about all he does) and I appreciate it, is Graham Blenden, my cousin who keeps my message blended together and displayed properly on wordpress. Graham Blenden works for the Florida Farm Bureau Insurance Company. This works out perfect because essentially I and the idea I present am here to insure that you will have food to eat in the future.

Financially speaking many say that 49% of the world is controlled by the pharmaceutical industry and 51% of the world is controlled by the insurance industry. Of course this is not exactly the case and whether the insurance industry controls 51% or the pharmicuticle companies do is not really relevant basically just the idea that these two are the biggest players. I’d certainly wrote enough about the farmoresuetokill industry but only one line about the characters supposedly in control of the other ½ of the financial world. So the U.S. Senators inquiry was a well placed one. It was the best question to ask or the most obvious, how the problem of undamming the planet affects the insurance industry. They’re in an almost intractable situation.

With the Pharmaceutical industry, which basically owns the food industry, the problem is easier to see a way out of. With the complete loss of dam and ditch agriculture, and increased cost of well pumping due to rising energy cost, the “farmers”, the actual characters presently tilling the fields, digging the ditches and maintaining the agricultural dams could easily move into producing vegetative crops nearby people’s domiciles. They know what to plant when in a local area and would likely find themselves suited to continue to oversee or make decisions involving food production. I imagine they’d work well with former plumbers, lawnmower men, gardening aficionados and horticulturists like me on a massive mini corduroy project.

The first thing one realizes with thE manuel fertilizer machine toilet replacement thing is that we can’t eat a bunch of poisonous pills and elixirs that contaminate our fertilizer and thus our gardens. Not all of the pharmaceutical products are like this and those that are bad for the environment are in varying degrees. The note takers or scientists are able to determine this and could easily, through government, ban detrimental product from this surface. I can think of plenty of reasons why one wouldn’t want these types of chemicals on a space ship but no reason why they couldn’t be on a spaceship. The obvious likelihood that they’d be using thE manuel fertilizer machine and recycling their waste product, through plants, into more food. With nearly unlimited power they’ll be able to get around this problem though, the possibilities are endless.

I often tell people not to take the stuff to keep from dying because they might “miss the call”. Something could happen, an idea presented to them near there skin suits expiration date and they’d be so “out of it” doped up on pills they wouldn’t hear “the phone ring” and they’d miss the call. The pharmicutical companies are basically involved in the business of selling life. I think Voltaire really told the story when he said, “Fu(k Jesus Christ, I’ll give ya half my money for 6 more months of life.” Voltaire is known as the biggest satirist ever. It looks like the Pharmicutical industry could just reinvest, take their dirty pill and GMO money and put it into acupuncture, herbal medicine, natural seeds and hospital space ships and thus stay on top of the meat and sex pile. It would seem they’d be the easiest of the two get in the boat.

However, undamming the planet presents the insurance industry with a tremendous obvious initial problem,