Leaving hotel calafornix

As usual the staff included a gorgeous young female nurse who happened to be my personal assistant or something. The hot young nurse would enter the room periodically and try to coax me out to pet the horse, or grow pumpkins, as these were the two things S.W.V.R.M.H. offered as treatment in addition to the devil’s dust pills and GMO food. I always asked if I could butcher the horse and barbecue it in mustard sauce or have it sashimi style, raw with horse radish, as I enjoyed it when served in Japan. Virginians are sensitive about their horses and they should be, as they basically deforested the entire state practically to keep themselves in hay so they could coo and ahhh over “all the pretty horses”. I explained to her this and that the horse was a wonderful and delicious animal, that didn’t seem to mind a symbiotic relationship with man, if the conditions were proper.

For instance one could just about entice a horse to the saddle or harness of a wagon or plow with a teaspoon of salt and a half of an apple. The horse could work 3 or 4 hours and then return to wherever one found it. The horse would take care of itself, find plenty of grass, hay and oats to eat, take a snooze and the next day one could lure the beast back to the saddle or harness again with a teaspoon of salt and a few handfuls of oats or something. Well, nowadays darling, the humans don’t allow them to do anything productive, thus the horse, or show pony, is somewhat complicit in the burning down of the garden for no reason. Humans continue to cut the forest down or mow hay to feed the beast, and it doesn’t get to do any good work.

In addition, it’s my favorite land animal to eat and the animal rights clowns closed down the last horse processing facility in 2006, I think, and it’s basically defacto illegal to eat one. Same thing with Kangaroos from Australia, the sheep destroy the countryside of that continent and we order it done by buying lamb and not kangaroo “cause they’re too cute to eat” as we drive the cute kangaroo to extinction with sheep ranches. As far as growing pumpkins to carve into Jack or Lanterns for Halloween (hallowed or holy ween = to ween from the holy) are we going to eat them or just throw them away? Once again, what a waste, we could make pumpkin pies but you force us to throw them away wasting another agricultural product. On a planet being destroyed by the dams on the rivers, largely for agricultural purposes while most of the food is wasted, I refuse to participate, because I know the laws of the manuels, and I’m not stupid or insane.

This pretty nurse would just about get tears in her eyes. In addition she sat in on the lectures I gave the staff every week, where I spared no one. At the end of my stay this pretty nurse actually thanked me profusely for telling her the truth. Of course it’s up to her to save her own soul, or increase her standing upon her eventual stratification. She won’t be able to without getting off of the dam broad innocent road, but it’s hard to get off if one doesn’t know they’re on it. Of course as soon as they exit the dam innocent road they’re an ally of my idea and life, manually fixing the problem, heading in the correct way and moving towards ending the dam ages.

The thing I learned or became absolutely sure of was that with friends and family such as I have, who needs enemies. I’d basically figured out, for sure, I had no friends or family. This is important for me to know. At S.W.V.R.M.H. one couldn’t get out unless they had a place to go. This was the policy. If one was adhering to the law of thE manuel they wouldn’t stay in a home, thus they wouldn’t be able to get out. Plus, even if one had a home, getting shanghaied periodically into these places would cause one to lose their job and fall behind on their rent or mortgage and have no place to go. They’d set up a system so they could make a fortune on whichever “victims” the cops rounded up, or good people bad family members turned in. Anyone I knew could have claimed I’d be staying at their place, anywhere, and I could have got out, but nobody would, so I just sat in there, well behaved, getting a chemical lobotomy and a limp penis while making a fortune for these creeps.

When I got out I found they’d stored my antique Claiborne suede leather jacket, that I’d got from Grant U., damp and it was covered in mildew. The staff stole (threw away) all my metal gear. I guess so I wouldn’t kill myself or so I’d buy more gear in their town? Including my lantern, cooking pans, skillet (they don’t want me to be able to take care of myself) and my Great Grandfather Earl Lawrence’s 5.98” Forschner knife and another knife. The staff lied about the whole thing, complete denial. They said they’d rent me a hotel room for the night (to get around the no place to go problem), and dropped me off in the middle of town at a hotel without renting me a room like they said. I’m surprised they didn’t call the cops on me and have me brought back. The next day some nazi communist block watchers called the cops on me and I almost got arrested sitting in front of the Greyhound bus station waiting for a bus to jail in North Carolina.

I took the bus to Waynesville, NC and got a room at the Cozy Corner. I immediately called the Maggie Valley PD and declared my intention to turn myself in for failure to appear. They found me the next day at the creek and gave me a ride to Haywood County Jail where I began to wait to appear on DUI charges. Supposedly the judges little girl was killed by a drunk driver about the same time I checked in. After a month and a half they let me out time served. I wanted to argue that it wasn’t the alcohol that caused the accident but the snuff, the jackrabbit, the cave on the side of the road and the airbag that that caused me to lose control of the vehicle but… 1.6 is hard to argue against.

My parents were waiting for me when I got out and I decided to move my stuff and myself to Asheville, NC. I went to the library and found several places to choose from and decided on a studio at #8 in the Maxey Building owned by Mr. Bond. For a guy who’s been handing out a Banzai, Bonsai, Bond’s Eye titled infinity project idea for several years this was the obvious choice, plus it was close to the library and downtown. 13” of snow fell, the water mains froze and broke all over town and the sewers overflowed into the French Broad, par for the course. It took me a while to get over the effects of the SWVRMH drugs and I perused the library’s new books while I attempted to see how low I could keep the power bill, $13. It was the refrigerator. I figured the older man, Dudley who lived below me would keep my studio warm but he didn’t turn the heat on either and his water pipes froze in his room. The landlord had to fix it and he posted a note saying if anyone did this again they’d be responsible for the damages. He had just unhooked all the buildings radiators and installed electric heaters in each room.

One positive benefit of the whole SWVRMH thing was I applied for public assistance in a carefully designed ploy to have the dam nation and its people fund their “rescue”. Plus I’d lost the use of my Chase credit card (I got away with 7,000+) while trying to “recoup” some of the money they made off of “Bernie’s” investment. This was the only mistake Mr. Madoff made as I can determine, he should have hid it in a jar in a hole in the ground underneath the lifeguards statue behind his Palm Beach home. I realize this is literally impossible but still, you get the idea. “Bernie” was “en chase”, he was trying to tell you+ something.

The visit to the psychologist who was to determine whether I got “the check” was interesting. He asked me what was “on my mind” and I told him about the dam shiddy abortion scheme I was witnessing and explained the larger solution to the problem. He wholeheartedly agreed. He asked if I was taking medication for my condition and I explained that I didn’t take “drugs” and mentioned the pharmicuticle/food industry relationship/disaster adding that the pills gave me a “zombie brain” and a limp penis, made my stomach hurt and all kinds of other problems. He said he tried them once as well and that was exactly what he’d found and recommended I not take the drugs.

I made mention of the tiny tabletop simulated waterfall or creek on his waiting room coffee table, pointing out that while I was not for pumping water or “the Marley machine” as it was completely unsustainable and just stupid considering we could easily control enough water flowing over the surfaces we build to feed ourselves while not overly disturbing the planets natural cycle and how I suspected/knew that a great many of the psychological problems exhibited at the time were directly related to the dam still rivers, I knew why he had it there. The psychologist said that it seemed to relax the patients, smiled and leaned back in his chair. I began to get a check for almost $700 and within months it was reduced to nearly $600 with the difference going to the HO’spatel industry. This forced me to try even harder to make up the difference.

I recommend anyone concerned about their welfare or their ability to pay “the dam bills” if they were to set forth with the infinity project idea, attack the dam shiddy problem as timely, intelligently, aggressively, offensively and desperately as they are able. Likely one will end up at a mental hospital eventually. Immediately take “the check”, move out of the house and into a boat. Try to eat as many fish sandwiches fried in olive oil or sashimi even better, turn water into wine/champagne if desired… you know. This simultaneously ceases the funding of the dam shiddy abortion project and reduces or eliminates one’s demand for piped in water, sewerage and dam and ditch food. Continue assault on dam shiddy ecocide attempt. Now you’re “playing” for real and you’re not playing. This will increase your eventual stratification upon expedition and ultimately could be viewed as the most sellfish thing one could do while simultaneously being the most selfless thing (showing concern for life in a larger sense) one could do and you’re doing it for the correct reason. You’re eventual stratification or “points total” while earned in your present “skin suit” will last for all time. Now you realize how insane (harmful to themselves and others) most everyone else is.

When spring arrived I began volunteering at the Botanical Gardens at Asheville located at the confluence of two creeks just below the UNC Asheville. They had a crew here who were knowledgeable in the local plants and the garden was a native plant showcase. I took the opportunity to bone up on my local plant ID in one of the most diverse varied botanical areas of the world. The site was formerly a dairy farm/pasture and if anything proved one could start with a “bare slate” and regrow the forest if seeds were available. I worked at the gift shop, trying not to sell T shirts and knickknacks. I came in disguise. I can’t stand not being me, “The John” that’s expected to show and fix the dam sheddy problem, but if I do come out as the man himself nobody will let me be a part of their team. Even these characters, who you’d think would be extremely sympathetic to the free river cause, are not. Everyone is terrified that the character who would put forth a dam free idea is the devil, or the antichrist, it’s just the way humans are, they’re dammed, they made it that way, we’re supposed to hide it, the most obvious thing, or celebrate it. Wheeee!
I applied for a position as a U.S. Census employee and was asked by the Bureau to explain the Federal Felony Assault Maritime District arrest on Labor Day Weekend (the perfect charge, on the books, for me).

FINDING WORK ON THE RIVER AND BICYCLING THROUGH SUNQUIST TO GET THERE

In order to work as a river guide at “Outdoor Adventures/Wahoo’s On the River” a potential guide needed to pass the week long training course taught by Eddy Rainy Monroe and assistant and current crew member Mr. Parkinson. During the training course everyone kept telling me to step out of my “turtle shell”, or to reveal who I truly was. I just wanted to make a few bucks for the summer not involving any incredibly bad Mo Jo stuff and was undercover “Clark Kent”, trying to get on a Nazi Led Raft Team. These characters, “the Crew”, could see right through this. They were insistent, and for a few seconds I “dropped my shields”, and stepped forward extremely aggressively. Usually when I come into town I come in like a GUNSLINGER and take over. A hush fell over the crowd and they didn’t ask me to explain myself again all summer.

\ When we were practicing tying a raft to the roof of a van Eddy tossed a line up to me on top of the van. I caught what seemed like a deliberate poor toss by the instructor and made toward fastening the line. Eddy had me stop and drew attention to me from everyone, “Pay attention this guy knows how to handle a line”. One of the last things we practiced was righting a capsized raft (climbing back on top and flipping it back over), I won. When all the trainees in one raft deliberately flipped it and tried to see who could get on top first, I never let go of the raft as it flipped upside down, I’d grabbed it near the bow/stern which is the best place to get back on, scissor kick.

The potential guide that made it through the week long course had to complete a check out run with paying passengers and another veteran guide. My paddling skills were unorthodox and suspect. Canoers get a bad rap from rafters (perhaps deservedly), as usual there is unneeded animosity among potential allies. Big Sheely the honoraraly discharged former special forces guy with a National Geographic map of the Smokie’s above his sleeping rack was the veteren checking me out. We had a full, large, overweight crew of “Lilly Dippers” (limp paddlers) and Sheely forced me to sit on the left rear spot knowing that I’d rather had sat in the right rear. I really didn’t care, such is my experience, but I took note that he was trying to make it difficult for me from the get go.

On the Pigeon River section that we run, just under the dam, where we start, is a big rock in the middle of the river, BFR (Big Fu(&!^g Rock). This is the most obvious thing not to run into on the river, and it’s easy to stay away from it. One thing led to another and, WHOOPS, I steered the raft sideways into the middle of it. We got pinned up against it and were in danger of the raft “catchin’ an edge” or havin’ the river grab the upstream tube and flip the raft over. The whole raft was a trembling as the water rushed under. Sheely was sittin’ on the upstream side in the worst spot, such as it was he couldn’t do anything basically cause if he put his paddle in the water it would probably had flipped the boat. I looked over at him, didn’t say anything, but thought, how do like sittin’ over there now, sucker? He looked steamed. I gently pushed forward on BFR with my left hand (mostly my pinkie) and quickly we worked off it. I failed to check out.

The next run my check out guide was a fellow Floridian, “Curley”. The 2^nd (test dummy) crew was less in # but more powerful, a few jocks. As we approached Lost Guide Rapid I called forward two strokes. On the first stroke only one side of the boat responded and the boat rotated, pointing towards an undesirable course. On the second stroke the other side of the crew realized they were to paddle, joined in and off we went in the wrong direction… Just before we crashed into the rocks I called lean in. We went down the whole river spinning almost out of control, went down the toughest rapid on the worst route, backwards, and still checked out.

Rico (rich) was an amateur fighter and a big dude. He was the guy who constantly kept building a small dam (weir) on the Pigeon to try and force more flow towards the raft take out. He constantly tried to enlist others in this dam rock moving exercise but nobody ever assisted him. In addition to a raft guide and dam builder he also was a teacher of “special needs” or retarded children. I’d just worked with these types of kids myself and told Rico that I was amazed at the interesting solutions or ideas they would come up with when presented with a problem. He told me that by definition “special needs” children couldn’t come up with a solution to a problem. I told him that was why I didn’t call them that but retards instead, to avoid the negative stigma. I’d found they often came up with better solutions than the “normal” kids.

One particular rafting trip Rico was assigned the demonstration raft or the supersized raft we called “the demo boat” that had been loaned to us by a company interested in selling us one. The demo boat sat 8 instead of 6. I got a regular sized boat for this trip and a crew of 3 men for 4 total. As we put in as was the custom I asked my crew what kind of trip they wanted. They all replied that they wanted to have the most exciting, best trip ever seen on the river.

We pushed off and down we went. The best trip possible I thought, hmmm… When we got to “Showstopper”, which is a pointy rock that just doesn’t quite break the surface, I ducked the raft in under it in the big eddy and kinda “surfed” a little underneath it, this is exciting as the rest of the convoy files past as they all usually get as close as they can to this rock for the thrill. Here comes Rico with his big fat crew of “lily dippers”. He knows this rapid very well and knows it’s unnavigable at this flow. Plus it’s obvious I’m sitting under the rock “surfing”. The rules are that any raft must give way to a raft going downstream. This rule was made so if one was surfing and got in a collision with a raft heading downstream the surfer was at fault for not pulling out and giving way. At this flow one couldn’t really surf “Showstopper” cause just at the point one would begin to surf the raft would touch the rock, but it’s exciting.

Anyway, here comes Rico. I was “surfing” to the river right of the rock and it looked like Rico was gonna go right so I went to the river left of the rock and “surfed” about the same time Rico decided to go left. Rico was enraged, at what I was doing, plus his crew was failing. He got his raft sideways. I pulled in just downstream of the rock in unnavigable water, giving way. Rico broadsided “Showstopper” dumping most his crew, some in our boat, and pinned his raft. Me and my crew rescued Rico’s crew, this was very exciting, and we pulled over to the river right shore and marveled at Rico as he struggled to unpin his raft. This was really funny and very exciting for my crew. It’s basically the best thing or the most fun one can have out here, to witness close up another’s near doom and clean up the mess unscathed. Boy was Rico pissed off.

My crew was elated “we were heroes” and later they said, “It was the best possible trip they could’ve imagined”. The next morning Rico said, “I’m going to kill you”! You should thank me for saving your crew. Interestingly enough this was the last trip for the “Demo boat”. While there was nothing actually wrong with the big raft we replaced it. I claimed to have been instrumental in the “demolition” of the “Demo boat” with a rich dam builder at the helm. Sheely and I picked up a brand new supersized raft.

“Fat Jesus” got his nickname because he looked like a fat “Jesus”. On this particular raft run he was the trip leader and as such chose which crews went with which guide. He’d already talked the 7 girls from Missouri into shedding the shorts covering the lower half of bikini suits. We were taking the brand new supersized raft (seats 8) for its maiden voyage. I got the call and “Fat Jesus” set me up with the “hottest trip” on the Dirty Bird in 2010 for sure, probably ever. The fresh out of the box blue raft was extra slippery with some kind of factory film or something. As we were putting in I quoted “Fat Jesus” himself when I asked the babes if they wanted a wild ride or a mild ride. This usually got a mixture of “Wild!” screams and “Mild!” pleas that were indistinguishable and resulted in… These girls were too smart for that and gave me a look that said, “Just get us through this without falling out and getting hurt, BUSTER, OR ELSE”. We had a flawless trip, which is of course why “Fat Jesus” gave me this river trip. Quite frankly the blood would drain out of the rest of the guy’s brains and…Doom!

This was the only trip ALL summer that I revealed who I was to the passengers and I did this by carefully explaining the infinity project idea as we descended the rapids. While descending I carefully kept bumping into a rock on the starboard stern in the back where I sit. This puts me at risk of going over, which I avoided, but causes the person sitting across from me if caught by surprise, to fall into me. The first time we smacked a rock she ended up with her face in my lap. This elicited peals of giggling laughter from the rest of the crew when they turned around to look to see “what happened back there”. She and I proceeded through a variety of positions, and the second time they didn’t think it was as funny. By the 3^rd or 4^th time, they all gave me the “looky here buster” eye. I tried one more time but the gal had caught on to it and she didn’t fall for it, nice try.

These girls were pretty sharp. I gave them the deluxe version of my idea and wrapped it around a recommendation to visit the swimming hole/mini water fall on Big Creek in the Smokey Mountain National Park, explaining that the spot was undammed and what they would witness up there, the trees, the bushes, ferns, moss covered rocks and clean potable water is what it used to be like all the way down to the sea. I not so subtly insinuated if they didn’t at least turn their excursion out here into a dam free enlightening experience they were basically just supertramping around destroying everything with the rest of the dam shit head abortionists and encouraged them to take what they learned and make a difference as I and life were counting on them.

Something came of this because they evidently went up to Big Creek and discovered something and went back to Missouri and told some what a “Time” they had found. One of their fathers, the likely theological headman of his area, was so intrigued he came out alone to see for himself. He slipped in on a raft trip with my bus load perhaps leaving it up to “providence” to determine whether he got on my boat, which he didn’t, but he was in the convoy and on the same bus trip for his follow up “note taking”. I sat down in the seat behind him and immediately began recounting the tale of the Missouri girls (hinting my idea) to the person sitting next to me, basically talking over the bus’s diesel engine into his ear. He must have figured his “gig” was up for he confessed to me that he’d come out here to witness myself and see if what his girls had reported to him was true. I confided to him that yes indeed I was the man himself, it was obvious. He agreed. This idea reinforced to me, and ideally the reader, to keep up the dissemination of the idea because something (good) comes of it. You never know how many people this man and his girls will tell, it’s like chain mail with no paper trail. I’m sure the spirit of the “Dirty Bird” likes the method.

A bunch of the “Dirty Bird Crew” headed into Knoxville for “Summer Splash” or some such thing, a street party, with live entertainment. Considering it was free and I might learn something, I went. Most everyone else got drunk on be’er, as usual, I stayed sober sipping a single be’er as camouflage. John Popper the NY singer and harmonica man was the biggest act. After his show he went behind the stage and put himself in a position behind a waist high temporary crowd control fence and met and talked to the people. I waited until the crowd dwindled and it was apparent he was gonna call it a night and approached him. Mr. Popper is a very aware person and I could tell he “knew” who he was about to talk to as I approached. I explained how I saw him perform at a small NY venue just weeks before he became nationally famous about 18 or 19 years before. How’s New York? He slightly, quickly, almost imperceptibly shook his head in the negative as he clenched his jaw tight. That bad, huh? I thought. Through the vacuum of his stare and nothing else to add, I felt the terrific horror that was unfolding.

Back in Hartford there was a band that played most every other week. The lead vocalist/synthesizer piano man, who was basically a one man band with a couple guys backing him up sang an original song with the lyrics “Down in Morristown”. Morristown wasn’t far away from Newport, Tn and the way he said, “Down in Morristown” really let me know, something bad was occurring. The second time I heard him sing this song I went up to the stage after the show, tipped him and asked him specifically what was going on down in Morristown. He said, “The gangs of NY have fled NY. They’d fled Judea and headed for the hills”. It was bad news, a horror show. I’d basically already figured out the M.O.B. had fled NY to Boston and the gangs of NY went the other way, but now they’re writing songs about it, so it’s official.

The chief of the place, Mike, serving up the best smoked pork and chicken sandwiches, and iced tea, anywhere near here was a former nitrous motorcycle drag racing national champion. He was a big man, maybe 6’ 5’’ 250lbs. His wife, who liked to serve healthy food, perhaps a V8 or some vitamin C, worked at the dam, mostly weed wacking (gardner/note taker). I got along well with these two and there delicious food, served in 4^th world sanitary conditions (flooded septic field), made a big difference for me during the summer. I enthusiastically recommended the food to every one of my crews. At the end of the summer Mike was allowed one complimentary (free) descent by our HOst, Ms. Jessica ____ Booth, and he was allowed to pick his guide. I would probably have gotten the nod based on # of sandwiches I consumed alone as well as the folks I sent his way, but Mike said he picked me because my crews always said they had the best trips and this was obvious.

Mike brought a couple of guys with him, and let me know that “Norm”, his FRIend, was to get “the treatment”. I sat “Norm” in the left front, smacked into a big rock right off the bat in the rapid the photographers sit at and had his baptismal recorded. We had a thrilling trip and worked “Norm” pretty hard even though he wisened up and figured out what was going on. When we got to Tombstone I hit it better or worse than I had all year and pulled off a “reverse taco” in which the raft folds in half and dumps the passengers while I the guide stay in the boat. The cool thing was Mike not only grabbed the side of the boat himself but grabbed his other buddy too, which was nice cause I had to get “Norm”. this was the only time all summer that one of the “swimmers” was aware enough and cool enough to grab the strap on the side of the boat, and he grabbed his buddy, too. Usually it was complete panic.

I’d come to work here as a river guide specifically to save up a “lump of change” large enough to assault Manhattan and Chicago. It takes cash to stay alive in these cities, plus the way I row, I gotta be able to go into the finest, best high dollar places, along with the darkest back alleys or I don’t get the whole picture. I spent the summer living in a tent I bought at the pawn shop and didn’t cash any of my paychecks (we got $25 a trip). I ate mostly locally grown watermelons and cantaloupes, and a pork sandwich every day. I didn’t spend my money on pharmicuticle pills and cheap beer like most the clowns did. So I about had all of my tip money at the end of the summer as well and carried it with me on the rafting trips. It was a big roll, over a G, and everybody thought I was crazy to carry that much cash on me while whitewater rafting. What should I do, leave it in my tent?

In addition “The Dirty Bird Crew” had a poker game every Thursday night and we played “Hold em” one of my least favorite versions of poker. River guides are accomplished story tellers, we do it for a living in adverse conditions and people who practice something develop proficiency. These guides were good at telling stories, whether the truth or a lie. Thus, they were very good poker players. I’m not a bluffer and bluffing can be an effective technique in a game of poker. We usually started the game with 10 players (a lot) and the bluff doesn’t work very well against 9 other hands cause somebody’s likely to be holding something and they won’t fold. The buy in for the chips was only $10 so it wasn’t high stakes which could have somewhat alleviated this problem.

My problem is I “telegraph” what it is I’ve got, I’m the best at it in the world, so I’ve been told. If I was to pull 5 cards, look at them and transmit the “picture”, if you were receptive to the idea (usually even if you weren’t), you’d see what it was I had, exactly. So I spent the summer “raising my shields” and practicing “hiding” what it was I had. This can be an effective technique for one in disseminating the infinity project idea. For instance if I was to approach “the target” or place I wanted to put forth the idea or drop off a flyer, in today’s world they’d see this on the security cam and thus wouldn’t even let me in the door. So I’m still practicing disseminating the idea, it just looks like I’m playing poker. The Hartford, Tn Pigeon River rafting site is the biggest rafting place in the world. We run more trips out of this place than anywhere else and as a result it attracts the best high dollar river guides. So it’s a great place to practice. To the poker games I wore a faux snake skin shirt and snake skin motif sunglasses, both I found in the trash. At the end of the summer I was the undisputed champ.

Jessica, the HOst, at “Outdoor Adventures/Wahoo’s on the River” organized an end of the year party to be held at the reservoir below us, lots of be’er, party barge, and jet skis. I was the only one who didn’t go. My absence was noticeable, and I of course let the rest of the crew know why. I’m not interested in partying at a dam reservoir. All summer Paul “Bubbles” the former Army Medic (liked to smoke AK 47 and K2) would say, “He hates dams” as if I was insane. I would calmly point out that I didn’t hate anything, certainly not an inadament object, and I would give him the scientific reasoning behind my insistence on dam fluidification, to avoid the abortion of everything. He thought this was a joke or something, sucker. After the party (which flopped) the Wahoo’s staff had a meeting. Jessica said, “John is the best first year river guide we’ve ever seen”. Her operation had been in business for 30 years. I got a bonus for this as I usually did for having people recommend Wahoo’s on the internet site after going down with me. I accumulated almost $6000 this summer, just low enough to keep from getting my “crazy checks” taken away, perfect.

I decided to stroll back to Asheville through the Smokey’s A.T. and along NC’s Mountains to Sea Trail. I started with about 110 lbs. of gear in my K2 backpack and 2 Samsonite suitcases. I was announcing to the heavens that I was “strapping the load back on” the weight of the world, changing back to “Superman” or Atlas and shedding my “Clark Can’t” persona or alter ego probably for the last time as it’s not nearly as effective in disseminating the idea. Although it can get me into “The Beast’s Chamber” in order to come out, “surprise” and deliver the infinityproject idea. “Bubbles” dropped me off and thought I was nuts to carry such a heavy load into one of the more difficult horse trails of the world (it was mostly food).

Hiking up from the “Dirty Bird” into the Smokey’s is a tough steep trail. My size 13 Chinese boots that Rob “the guy who wired Homeland Security’s new building” gave me desinigrated within hours. When carrying a heavy load, sole protection is paramount. I was left with a pair of Teva’s and plenty of socks and thought about going back to town for new shoes but decided to go with it and step lightly, which is nearly impossible carrying 110 lbs.

I told everybody I was going to live off mostly blueberry cobblers and stinging nettles and they said the blueberries were long past ripe and mostly picked. Not at the top of the mountains. Nobody had gone up there to pick em and while most had ripened sometime before, they’d just dried into blueberry raisons and were perfect, intensely sweet and flavorful. The park rules state #1, hikers must camp at the shelters, #2, no hiking in the dark… Then it basically say’s if one can’t figure out the rules, go back to rule #1. As this applies to the Banzai, Bonsai, Bond’s eye new (same as the old one’s) laws I and Life are putting forth and enforcing, for real, I also recommend if one doesn’t understand, just go back to law #1(no dams allowed on rivers big or small) and stay there until you (we) accomplish that and then you will easily get “the rest of the story”. Just get the dams off the rivers. Don’t move em, just punch a hole in them and stand back.

A big part of this trip for me was to get to the top of Devil’s Courthouse and find out who else was there. Who was at the top of Devil’s Courthouse? I really wanted to know. I figured what I found at the top of the French Broad and the “Dirty Bird” would be revealing, for sure. I got there about noon with good weather when one would expect some, perhaps many, people to be there. It’s one of the “hot spots” of America’s heavily travelled Blue Ridge Parkway, A.K.A. Judiculla. Get it? Guess what? There wasn’t anyone there, not a soul, just me and mine. I waited too, an hour or so, cause I really, really wanted to see somebody else up there if only so I could ask them, what’s your name? What’s your middle name? But… It was just me, Lawrence, covered in laurels, the master of the gridiron, rinsing out the law, go figure. 8

WHAT THE NEARING RETIREMENT PARK RANGER HAD TO SAY ABOUT CHRISTILL

My parents were staying in Highlands and picked me up in Asheville and gave me a ride back to Fl and a WPBFC outing at Boca Grande’s Punta Gorda. Turkey Point’s nuclear reactor shield had a quarter sized hole punched in it as I arrived, they explained this as a mysterious water condensate electrical problem? Interesting Timing. We bought our bait at the Miller’s place and should have boiled and ate em considering the return on the investment. Hard to find smoked mullet dip. I did all this under protest, we even had lunch under the Everglade’s Hoover Dam II. I took a Greyhound back to NC, the bus’s computer “melted down” at God in a new skin suit’s “Indian River Fruit” stand. He’s still got his new message at the front door, “This is God, I don’t want your advice, I’m here to solve all your problems…” I slipped a recommendation through the crack in the door on recycled fruit wrapping paper, “he knows me” and once again reminded him the best citrus genetics can be found in Christmass.

The bus stopped for a few hours in “Hotlanta”. I sat on the “grassy knowl” vacant lot near the Grayhound station and “fished”. I was thinking about when and where to go in NY when a dark character approached. I found one can get a lot more info near one of these bus stations than one can at let’s say an airport. This man walked up to me and said, “