You need to get to 5 points NY, now”!

I canvassed Asheville pretty thoroughly making sure I was noticed at the train yard in particular. I decided to get in touch with SUBPACOM and called “what lies below Pearl Harbor” the rape/sexual assault hot line which I figured was the most appropriate # to call on their phone list considering that’s what the people where doing to the ocean, the rivers and life in general. Then I went for a walk around town. Asheville was apparently experiencing some kind of weird “brown out” in town and the street lights were about 10% of what they usually are, so it was very dim. The red blinking lights of the “Don’t Walk” signs were brighter than usual and the tone “Doo…doo…doo…” was a little slower and louder. As a result the town took on the red light scenario of a subsurface war room complete with sonar echolocation and everything. The streets were vacant, except for me and a few cops cruising nervously around. I gave them my “periscope” impersonation which I do by putting my arm straight up, bending my wrist over at 90 degrees, forming a circle with my 5 finger tips and panning “the scope” around. Live in person, from the bottom of the sea, getting revenge.

I was doing my best impression of Paul Revere and passing out the information. I rolled the Schwinn up to the carpentry supply place on the south side of town. There was a car parked out front with a bumper sticker that read, “What would Jesus bomb?” This may have been in reference to Daniel 11:31, “Armed Forces shall move at his command”. There was an older man standing next to the car. He looked like a Vietnam vet, longish hair and mustache. While not wearing fatigues, he looked fatigued, tired of the dam shit. I told him that “Jesus” would bomb the dams, simultaneously ridding life of its greatest impediment, that which they were fighting for (control of the dam valve), the machine that produces the war rations and the bombs themselves. Four birds with one stone. That’s what “Jesus” would bomb. Seemed like he knew and had no counterpoint to my answer to the question.

The only question for me was when to leave for NY. As I had the location figured, timing is everything. As I cruised around for the last few years with my valise, which worked flawlessly when I found it in the trash, the latches began to malfunction and occasionally one of the latches would open. When and where it did this was noteworthy and insightful. I had set up a situation in my mind whereby if both latches “popped” simultaneously… I’d know, heads up! One night as I pretty much hit the last of places in town, again, both latches popped and the lid case opened up. I always carry the valise with the cover towards my leg or the bike so as not to dump the contents, it only happened once… as I stepped up into Pack Square in the center of Asheville. Time to pack. I filled out the back of 50 or so business cards and raced around town in the wee hours of the morning, putting them on fire hydrants, FLOW, took a nap and started packing.

I was ready to leave my studio and head to the Greyhound station. I tried to close the last open old style sash weight window but the humidity of an Asheville November had caused it to stick shut. I still had pretty much plenty of time and the tools to close the window but after several minutes had come to the conclusion that if I applied any more force to the stuck window it was gonna crack the glass. I thought about the weather (just getting frosty) and the duration of the ideal length of this businessman’s holyday (just a week, maybe 10 days I thought tops) and decided the pipes likely wouldn’t freeze and not to worry about it. See ya.

On 10/10/2010 at 9:10 PM I bought a ticket seat 10, baggage claim #---10, receipt #---10… departure time 10:10 PM to Manhattan via Knoxville and Wytheville. We stopped at the Waynesville Greyhound and I reinforced the “idea” with postings that were observed. The bus pulled into Knoxville and I tried hanging out with Paul, the former army medic that I worked with on the Pigeon River, but it didn’t work out. He wasn’t interested in getting “involved” with anything I was doing, but did agree to hold on to some of my stuff for a time so I could “HIT” Knoxville light, quick, and easily.

I started disseminating my info just around the corner from the bus station at the scrap yard (likely ally) and was sliding the same info into a crack in the millers place across the street (less approachable but still potential ally) when a Knoxville police officer pulled up in his SUV and shed some light on the subject. He was an older officer and explained to me that it was illegal to disseminate information to businesses in Knoxville. I didn’t argue with him. So what you’re saying is that I can only give the info to government organizations and churches. Thanks for the recommendation. He wasn’t so sure about this, but left.

After, hittin the Knoxville warehouse good distribution site or whatever I went to a church with a graveyard that had native trees and bushes and slid the info in the delivery drop slot. Nearby was a graffiti that looked, at first glance, like two smiley faces but upon closer inspection looked a lot more like two skulls and crossbones. From this sign, if one looked, another almost identical graffiti sign could be seen almost out of view. When I walked over to the next one it looked even less like a pair of smiley faces and from this one a block or so away another one could be seen and I followed the increasingly more skull like graffiti to a back alley where if one went back into would find a pair of skull and cross bones across from the back door of an unmarked building that had all appearances of a sewer pump lift station. I was dressed in basically my Manhattan underwear or second from the top layer black burglar outfit, ski mask and black fingertips cut off gloves and black domino with sunglasses. The black night water bomber/Dutch cat burglar. Just as I delivered the flyer into the crack of the door, half a dozen cops/officers come rolling into the dark back alley guns drawn. A “citizen” had seen me alive in town and made the call.

I still had enough “gear” with me or props to create an educational opportunity for this mixture of bad cops and good officers. I took over the pack quickly and shortly was left to my cause with the advice not to wear my sunglasses in Knoxville at night because it was illegal. A few blocks away as I departed one of the officers cruised by and said I could wear my sunglasses if I wanted to. I made my way back towards the Greyhound station. I was hanging out on the corner watching the beginnings of rush hour on an off day when I noticed the second largest building in town (the TVA, my target for the day was the tallest) was on fire. A tremendous volume of black smoke was coming out of the roof as if the whole building was a huge smokestack.

I kinda chuckled a little bit here as I don’t really enjoy watching the existing structures damaged because in today’s world they just fix it and it consumes even more energy and causes more damage to the environment, but it does make an impression. I’d seen this stuff many times upon my “arrival” in town, call it par for the course. Go Go Godzilla. After, a minute or two I realized the rest of Knoxville, those driving around in there insulated containers didn’t see the fire so I called 911, Structure Fire! I was the only one to call so far and this was interesting considering it had been burning for a while and it was a big fire in the middle of town. Anyway, they sent all the hook and ladder trucks out that were available. Every one of them drove past, and the last one pulled up to the stop sign and the driver rolled down his window and told me it wasn’t a structure fire but that the heating and air condition unit suffered, I think, some kind of water related short and technically it wasn’t a structure fire. Oh, well.

As I walked around town largely avoiding the parade but jay walking in front of the ambulances, it began to distinctly smell of raw sewage. It got bad. No one else seemed to complain. That morning I only delivered one flyer to one place, as if I knew exactly where it was. A museum, the old TVA building I think, gave the message to an Air Force Kernal (Colonel) who met me at the door. Later in the day I hit up the #9 fire house and had a picnic across the street in the shady grassy spot in front of the church with a water fountain. From this street, Hillcrest or something I began my “Easter Bunny Trail” of business cards and flyers down to the TVA building. The fire chief met me at the bottom of the stairs when he pulled up in a red truck (melting nice to have backup/witness) as I ascended them into the “courtyard”. I’d already sent the info in the mail a few times. I’d emailed it. Now you suckers are getting it hand delivered, and I told you I was coming. I left the idea on the table with a pack of Virginia Tahoe smokes.

When I met back up with my acquaintance “Bubbles”, he thought I needed “HELLp” and recommended this to some cops, including a gorgeous blonde Knoxville ho with a badge pushin the devil’s dust parmoreCUTIEkill pills (typical scenario). I’m not a threat to myself or others (this is an understatement, in fact quite the opposite). I told them and they eventually gave up trying to give me some HELLp. Also, while in possession of my stuff , Paul, who swore I needed pharmoresuetokill pills for my “condition” stole or misplaced my actual herbal remedy that I was counting on not only for my “senses” but to keep from getting to steamed in NYC, thanks jerk. Other than that, it looked like all systems were go, big.

In the whee hours of the morning when I got off the bus in Whytheville?, VA it was chilly and damp. The fog was super thick as I made my way down to the “New” River and Austinville (the original) whistling the theme song from “The Andy Griffith Show” during the hour the beer drinkers are trying to “can’t find my way home”. A concerned “citizen” made the call and I casually held out my thumb looking to hitch a ride from the shareriff as he responded. After inquiring where I was headed (Jackson Ferry) the officer offered me a lift. Sure as long as I don’t have to get in the trunk and climbed in the back seat. He’s back. We drove past Jackson Ferry and he let me out at a wooden cross along the side of the road. I asked if the schoolhouse was up the hill a ways in the other direction to confirm my whereabouts to myself and the officer even though there was no doubt. He said it was still there and I headed down to the Wood River.

Underneath Jack’s sons ferry house was where I had buried, or stashed, my assault Manhattan outfit along with a basic “escape kit”, including an atlas, a dictionary, a biology book, the sinking of the Titanic, and a history of World War I (including the train car “final” episode). I think, and some cooking gear, along with a blanket, and the ocean blue Delf 3XL/4XL hoody with two crosses on either arm, 2 grim reapers on the lower back, a pair of angel wings on the back shoulders, and a message scrawled in front that said something like “pray and pray and pray and blah blah blah …”. Cool I thought, my gear is still here as I grabbed the jacket and Craftsman hex wrench set and left the rest. I quickly sewed “The Devil Made Me Do It” patch under the left jacket lapel. This I’d scored at a nearby town of Woodlawn yard sale when I was last “at large” in the area approximately a year and a half before. I took a nap after overseeing my “dominion” (part of the Michigan to Florida highway) I-77.

I was up at the crack of dawn and hatched a scheme to further infiltrate the local law enforcement crew, plus, I wanted a ride back to the Greyhound bus station. A summer and a half ago the “citizens” of the local area were obviously on high alert looking to terminate any “de-whorse” the new land idea. They “made the call” all day and night long as I strolled through the area picking up plastic trash, removing exotic plant species, planting fruit vegetable and herb gardens, trying to reestablish native fauna, and delivering my undam the planet message while unsuccessfully “hitchhiking” headed the wrong way along the left lane carrying 120 pounds in a black K2 backpack and two blue Samsonite suitcases, for fun. That was the correct thing to do.

This time I positioned myself just under the bridge spanning the river and “faked” an accident. I splayed out my gear along the roadside and lay down with a foot in the road and pretended to have either been hit by a car or fallen off the overpass. Nobody that drove by would offer any assistance, not even the school bus driver who at least slowed down and opened the door to at least check or something. I waited to see if any “cops” would show. Nobody responded, there was no 911 call. So I reached in my pocket and made the call, several, myself. I told the dispatcher about the suspected injured man along the road and said my name was Bob Simmons, Steve Austin, Austin Powers, Mrs. Sizemore… and recommended they send the sheriff. They showed up and I quickly rose, explained the situation from last year, told em’ about this morning’s scam that exposed the uncaringness of the local “citizen”, gave them the flyer, and asked for a ride into town. Suddenly, they got a worse call, apologized, and extricated themselves from…

I’d warned them about what would happen if I did the right thing and walked towards my destination as they climbed in there cruiser. I walked up the road and they must have started getting a lot of calls cause the Virginia state police met me at the store a ways up the road as I was finishing my biscuit breakfast sandwich with extra tomatoes. They said I had to go. I gave them a piece of my mind and relocated to the fire hydrant in front of the parked school bus a few yards up the road. I used the hydrant as a back rest as I pulled out my address book and got the phone # for the local taxi service. With the officer overseeing the whole affair I blew my orange seahorse whistle at every passing car on the dam road.

I’d gotten a pair of what I call “flip up/down clip on Elvis shades” at the Flying J Store and sat there along the interstate watching a trucking company parade an unusual device in front of me. I was outfitted for Manhattan. Know shit. The One Eyed Jawa Eskimo Penguin.

At night when in Urban or lit settings, especially indoors, I like to have the option to block various or all wavelengths. I prefer blue mirror glass Hobie’s. 4 eyes? Add clip on flip ups, 6 eyes. Get two different clip ons, 8 eyes. Light influences brain activity, not mine if I don’t want it to. Who knows who modulates the lighting in some of these HOuses of HOrrors and Terrorasses (St., Ave.) and for what or to what end? Bright lights at night cause pupils to dilate (get smaller) allowing for less info to enter. One could wear 8 eyes, close one eye and take in light from the pinhole gap between the frame and ones nose into the other eye. Eye protection can be nice sometimes. Others might not be aware what one is focusing on visually. Also if one gets into a confrontation with an entity, individual, or group, the one who is wearing shades appears to be taking in less info, the “shaded ones” pupils are more open though. If “shady” drops the lenses, for a period of time, with the likely more open pupils, former shady takes in more info than others present. This info difference can be valuable. Keep in mind one can always wear shades and tip one’s head up (blocking overhead light) and look under the shades (takin in the info), or vice versa.

I took notes on makes, models and license plate #’s the whole way up, wow what a convoy! I picked up a yellow and green pair of D.C. Lottery “scoretaker style” (short) pencils in the ashtray in front of the D.C. Grayhound and slid them in my “The Devil Made Me Do It” patch/badge/pencil holder under my left lapel.

I pulled into NY’s Port Authority midnight Nov. 13, 2010. I changed my socks and underwear/washed up and took a nap. When I got up I traded a pack of smokes for $15 to $20 worth of Metro cards to somebody who said they were leaving town and didn’t want them. I hit the streets about 4:30 AM, trash pickup time. In the weeks preceding my arrival I’d made repeated attempts at communication through letters and postcards to various New Jersey waste management operations. A man I used to go to High School with, Josh Kessler worked in this operation and his father was way high up in NJ waste management. I addressed the envelopes containing handwritten letters and flyers and postcards with Kessler Sr. and Jr’s names C/O the various operations with a synopsis of the included info on the back of the envelopes with the http://infinityproject.wordpress.com address. I make it intriguing so even if the operations can’t get the message to Sr. or Jr. (for whatever reason) they can still get the info. I deliberately rigged the flyer so as to easily win power and influence within Waste Management, cause I know this is conventionally how to begin “twisting the arm of town” behind their back. #6. Riding a bicycle is an extremely advanced maneuver, I recommend salvaging one from the trash pile. In fact the dump is the new mine, wave to false idol that the ohms who work there taking notes built at the top.

I know they appreciate this idea. I couldn’t find a word about Josh Kessler on the internet, in addition to working for waste management he’s an accomplished guitar player and it’s weird that he’s MIA from a goggle search. Anyway, once again, when pulling the rug out from under the “antigovernment” the likely counter threat or dead end would be for the government to hire the Mob to toss ya in a New Jersey landfill. My countermeasure included starting by winning power and influence with NJWM and working my way through the M.O.B. and towards the antigovernment. I know all the right people for this, life set me up, I’m taking full advantage of my contacts, for life. Anyone could, and you’d better start, doing this. Feel free to send the Banzai… flyer as expressed on wordpress. One could even personalize it, although I don’t recommend changing the main ideas. Be sure to put your full name and address on it and sign it. Why not? You’d be stupid not to. It works better with someone’s or multiple names on the front. Once again the http://infinityproject.wordpress.com address (I arrange mine in the shape of a fish hook) works great on the back along with your personal thoughts on the matter. Feel free to be intimidating, but threatening is illegal. “Dynaflow Dienomo”, works good.

I stepped out of Port Authority as a dump truck was approaching picking up trash, the likely Sicilians saw me, made eye contact, quit picking up the trash and took off. I headed south towards Washington Square Park via Madison Garden handing out the flyer to any waste management trucks continuing to pick up the trash, consolidating my grip. When I got to Madison Garden (bunch of buildings) I released a few mature caterpillars I’d brought in from Asheville, metamorphasize, in front of the U.S. Post Office, along with flyers I’d arranged to some bushes out front kinda like Christmass ornaments. If the humans aren’t interested, I make deals with bugs or at least communicate the idea in a larger sense, it’s an intricate, creative message delivery scheme I operate.

I got the timing down of the crosswalks, it’s cool to step into the traffic as it changes to “walk”, on time. Looks like ya know what you’re doing (keep looking up and all around like a typical tourist in NY this adds to the effect). I stopped at a small green market and tried out the idea. They were nervous, typical of dam and ditch, drain the well dry farmers. Many of the city’s storefronts were decorated with useless pumpkins. I had a Jack O’ Lantern puffy sticker on the brim of my “SEAMIST III” black hat.

As I travelled across town I became aware of what looked like double decker tourist buses emblazed with a vampire movie advertisement, this was extremely fitting as my flyer details this vampire problem, it’s practically one of the main ideas. I headed to the “Rabbit and the Moon” restaurant/bar right off the bat. The “Year of the Rabbit” is just around the corner and its guaranteed to be lunacy. I entered the place with the intention of making a reservation (not needed) at the same time one of the characters workin there was coming out the storage cellar door which is on the floor just inside the front door. He kinda looked like a character out of “Alice and Wonderland”. I caught the “rabbit” coming out of the hole.

I decided to throw my hat in the ring, run for president, or something. I’d pretty much figured out that the only way I could really approach the undam the planet idea with forced water collection and a new shit can was to present the idea under the guise or even actually in pursuit of a political position. There didn’t really seem like there was any other way to do it. Obviously, in this nation, the place to “come out” is Washington Square Park NYC.

I began collecting signatures to the effect at the chess tables on the N.E. side of the park. I offered signatorees, with two current forms of I.D., a single cigarette in exchange for their petition to get me on the ballet. In a town with $13 packs of smokes, I’d brought, fresh from the mountains, several cartons of Pall Mall reds and Pall Mall blues, Riverside reds and Riverside greens. I was smoking the Tahoes. I didn’t bring any Marborrow’s or Newport’s. I encouraged people to get the idea and cautioned or explained to them an idea where potentially one, while not being able to make a deal with a particular person or get them to cooperate/become conscience, may be able to make a deal with the unaware, unreasonable, nonstewardly person’s mitochondria (the separate entity, “engine” inside their cells), and fix the problem easier, quicker and more efficiently, for the best for life.
ROUNDIN UP THE MOB
While collectin signatures to the effect/affect, what looked like the last hustler in Manhattan sat down next to me. I’d told everyone for years I was rounding up the New York Mob for backup on an assault on the untouchables in Chicago. Now, sitting next to me, is a character that looks more like the white linen suitcase carrying character that climbed up the staircase and caused Sean Connery’s Malone to die screaming like a stuck Irish pig, than Billy Drago’s interpretation of Francesco Raffaele Nitto/ Frank ”the Enforcer” Nitti in “The Untouchables”. I had the case and white suit. “The Enforcer” looked like he may have had a little Irish in him. He was selling Newport’s, two for a dollar, one for a dollar, or one for two dollars, depending on who the potential client was, like hotcakes. I of course, didn’t want to move in on his profit, sell him short (with my cigarette for a signature trade), or cut his throat. There was practically no interest in my smokes anyway. No interest in free smokes in Manhattan, not really. Most of the characters who showed interest in my trade had no I.D, so I wouldn’t let em’ sign the petition, no smoke. Most people just wanted Newport’s at any cost.

I was sitting there, fixing my flip up sunglasses with the tools of the trade, an ice pick (clean, relatively painless, quick), a stainless steel braided wire garrotte (silent), a scallop knife (improves separation), and a few other things. I was cutting up a yellow D.C lottery pencil and pushing out the graphite. He asked if I was interested in a chess lesson for $5. I told him not really, but agreed to pay him for a lesson in chess, and told him I was gonna set up, basically the strongest defensive position, a pyramid scheme, pawns in a wedge, castled king at the bottom, hiding behind the church (the bishop), with a horse out front and take note on how he attacked, overwhelmed and toppled the scheme. We played three games, at which point I decided I’d seen how he’d do it. He declared he required payment of $20. I made sure he wanted a Jackson. He did. I slipped him a twenty.

Immediately another character approached me about teaching me how to play a game based around the building, or collection of “boxes”, a box building game. I told him I understood what he was saying but wasn’t interested, really, in building boxes at this time. It looked like I was rounding up the Chicago Mob in Manhattan. I had attracted a great amount of attention leading up to this, and the intelligent characters were certainly taking note, Spooky. “The Enforcer” is intimidating enough without sitting next to me sharing trade skills, my goodness.
THE SCOTTISH AND ENGLISH PHOTOGRAPHERS AT THE WILLAMETTE BRIDGE

For some reason I kept showing up at the East River just as the police boat circling Manhattan flying a black flag motored past. I found a piece of monofilament line and took the opportunity to wash my feet, change my socks and tie the used socks to the line and wash them in the river while pretending to fish, advanced Chinese laundry. I slowly made my way down the ditch washing my socks disguised as a fisherman. Practically the only people fishing were Chinese. They weren’t catching anything, looked like they should have ate the bait. The most interesting character I ran into was using hex nuts he found on the side of the road instead of lead weight.

I figured if couldn’t get herbs in Washington Square Park the next best spot was probably pier 67. I was calling for Mayflower smoking hemp rope, and a huge black guy motioned that I should follow him so I did, back several streets away from the East River but he deliberately sped up and lost me. Back at the water I thought an older bald Chinese guy might hook me up but he just led me to the place I’d envisioned I was going to, where the old sailing ships tie up, and disappeared himself.

There was a small sailboat and a man who said he was a researcher working amidst some dive gear on the deck. I took this to mean he’d been diving the wheel to unfoul the fishing gear that was entangled in it and used this correct assumption to start a conversation with him. I gave him the 2 minute version and he looked at me incredulously trying to make sense of the obvious. There was something wrong with the picture, and I asked him about the out of place dozen bunch of blue balloons and one real buoy lying amidship on his deck. He said a person dressed as a clown, moments before I showed up, came down to the dock and dropped them on his deck. One real buoy (boy) huh? Perhaps life is trying to tell you something. He couldn’t seem to figure out what it was. This kind of stuff, the delivery of my message to a location coinciding with another human presenting a seemingly related idea is one method of the “double chevron”, one two punch attack method I think is very effective. It’s apparent an entity or group is attempting to influence events around me.

I made my way down to Wall St. and the biggest “hit” thus far in my life, with no herbs. When I got to the marina that was flying a black POW/MIA flag at the end of the dock I stopped and waited till it got a little later. A homefree man had left some of his collected valuables at the end of an unused berth’s walkway. I was looking for a place to stash my rubberized Sealine bag and lighten my load for the hit job. The homefree man showed up, an older fellow who looked like he may have once been a suckessful Wall St. Trader who’d fallen from “grace” into better times. I tried to score some herbs from this man but he explained that was basically impossible with “the way things were” in NY nowadays. He confided to me that he had a few “roaches” though but they weren’t the good herbs. He said the brokers on Wall St. were at present smoking rerolled tobacco with a bamboo stick in it and the thing was dipped in horse tranquilizer. The Brokers were getting these from the Chinese in Chinatown and he knew which ashtrays had the “best” ones. He’d collected several and I exchanged a few shots of Gran Mariner de Postial for a toke. I held it in my lungs and everything. There’s only one way to know what’s really going on and I wanted to know what it was like to be a Wall St. broker just weeks before they sold the NYSE to a bunch of Germman led Yourapeeon investors, “the takeover gang”, with assistance (of course) from underground China.

All this took place over a couple of hours and the most obvious thing I observed from the Wall St. East River dock was the claxon that sounded every 10 minutes or so, seemingly on schedule that preceded a garage door opening from above and a black, tinted window, private limo/hearst that exited from Wall St. underground. It was creepy, and I got the feeling the souls in the vehicles were “dead” or actually dead. I asked the homefree man about this, as he surely knew what was going on. His eyes just got big and he tilted his head over 30 degrees while parting his lips and inhaling subtly.

I proceeded to disseminate my flyers and business cards tranquilized. I’m glad I got the thinnest paper copies of the flyer I could find from the Chinese drugstore for 6 cents as just as I suspected, these are the tightest doors I’ve ever found. Tiffany’s is