Leaving hotel calafornix

The ocean themed place was closed down, out of business, and this is what I’ve found with every place of this nature in every town. The ocean is perceived as a “dead end”, and this would be true and then some if this dam shiddy abortion scheme were maintained, but don’t worry (take action) there’s no way it could be maintained and those who try to will be yanked out the gene pool forever. Most the present human souls don’t like the sea or reviere and this is expressed in the out of business for those who put forth and ocean or river themed idea. I hit Chase hard.

When I got to basically the end of Wall St. on the south side is the Japanese Sudoku Bank. They had cordoned off the building with temporary security fences, as if they knew I was coming. I think the façade was getting touched up. I was in the process of tucking my flyer in the corner security fence post when a cop came up and began harassing me, threatening me with arrest as if I was a vagrant (I was wearing $2,000 worth of clothes) or a trip to the “crazy house”. Within a minute a police officer showed up and basically told his “desert storm trooper” “partner” to cool his jets, “He’s just another nut”. Then the officer with a knowing expression and a grin said, “Make sure you hit Trinity at the end of the street as you leave”. Yes officer, I intend to. “I’m sure you do.”

I wacked Trinity, “the father, the son, and the holy ghost”. Guess what ass clowns? Keep mumbo jumboing long enough, fondling the choir boys, leading the flock down the dam broad innocent road for your bread money and… Trinity shows up at your door, to give you “the signal” in case that’s what you were waiting for, perhaps legitalamely, in your encouragement of a head long dive into DOOM! We could have solved this problem decades ago. Just keep clicking the heels of your Rue by red slippers together and see what life has in for you, stained glass blocking out the light from within your perverted structure.

I went across the street to wet my lips and light up a cigar in celebration of a successful hit and when I opened up my red Don Bee case the N.C. Partigras cigar “jumped” out of the box. Which means… give the other NY bought cigar and a shot of Gran Manier to the street sweeper man while sharing the info, then get breakfast and keep charging hard. No time to rest now, we’re on the Southside. I flooded the point of this island all the while taking notes on the creepy “alien to this space” plants and skin suits.

At one point I identified a skin job that, if there are space aliens on this surface, “he” was one for sure. He was giving a “lecture” or leading a talk with what looked like perhaps a half dozen other skin jobs. I just causually walked straight up to this clown and gave him a piece of my mind. I forgot exactly what it was I told him, but I just let “consciousness” stream. You’re from the _________ solar system in the _________ galaxy! What the f*(k are you doing down here? You know the “Star Trek” rules. With that this character “looked” or shined pure terror from within, without really showing it on his face, too much, that I’ve never seen a Homo sapiens able to do and asked as he inhaled deeply, “How do you know?” How the f*(k do you think I know sucker? There’s only one man who would know, you know who, I am. “He” turned and fled in a full speed run, as if he could ever get away from me.

I suspect these types have been anticipating my appearance for a lot longer than people and doubly have given up or quit worrying about me showing up to a greater degree than you all. I’ve never seen anyone flee from my presentation like this one. Bull’s eye, exactimundo, such is the case. I crafted this ability over a long period of time, and even “carried the bucket” for, or studied with “The Reality Thief”, the best man at this particular skill (consuming another’s consciousness and spitting it back out at them verbatim/mindreading) probably in the known universe. Durn it feels good to be a gangster.

I decided to try and hit the United Nations building on this day in broad daylight, which is ballsy even for me (likely pandemonium). I went to the SE ferry terminal with the intention of catching what I’d already determined was a “fishy” ferry to Hunter Point where the U.N. is located. In one of supposedly the most populated, busy cities in the world one would think the brand new looking blue ferries would have some passengers. I mean if they weren’t swinging a lively business, why would they purchase/install new ones? On what grounds? Cause guess what? There was hardly a soul on any of them at any hour and the skin suits going and coming off had a soul free vibe. Yet here I am ready to climb aboard (like a pirate if need be). I took my time, sitting out front of the place, casing the joint and the passengers (or lack of), all the while watching the seemingly busy blue helicopter pad another block to the south.

I bought a ticket on a ferry and seeing how I had several minutes decided to brush my teeth and change my socks and underwear in the restroom. While I was purchasing my ticket all I could think was somebody was outside fooling around/messing with my stuff in particular that somebody was putting fecal material on my toothbrush which was in my case that I left outside. When I went outside there was a vampire/wraith like couple sitting next to my stuff and it appeared I’d interrupted whatever it was they were in the process of doing or thinking of to do. I grabbed what I wanted and went into the restroom where I brushed my teeth. I went into the stall, closed the door and changed my socks and underwear taking what I call a “Puerto Rican shower” which is just a wet handkerchief bath. It feels good, and it’s important to periodically get the largest portion of salt and oil off your skin, or wash, as extreme discomfort and skin related health issues can result without at least some attention to hygiene.

Just as I finished tying my shoes up and began to exit the toilet stall a late middle aged Puerto Rican woman, the janitor I think, charged into the men’s room and then my stall screaming hysterically. She sprayed what I think was a cleaning chemical in my face (I was wearing 2 layers of eye protection and held my breath), then she turned, still screaming hysterically and ran out, locking the men’s room door as she left. I was approached by what appeared to be the “management” as I left the men’s room looking for management. I was like what the? He acted befuddled and said my ticket was cancelled, my purchase price was to be refunded in the mail ($6 or $7) and I was to buy another ticket.

Another new window opened up and I was directed to purchase another ticket from an extremely pleasant, seemingly non-threatening, very aware, intelligence woman who in addition to all that was way, way too professional to be a ferry ticket seller. She said, “We’re not part of, we’re separate from that organization”, meaning the “other” regular blue ferry thing. Not that I couldn’t tell. I bought another ticket, just cause… I knew I wasn’t getting on the next boat anyway, simple misdirection. I’d figured out “something” was going on here for sure. I couldn’t imagine solving the dam shiddy dilemma on a hop to Hunter’s Point on a rigged trip so I decided to head that way on foot, through Chinatown, collecting clues and taking notes.

I didn’t disseminate a lot a flyers and business cards in Chinatown, a few, just not many. The piece “Banzai, Bonsai, Bond’s Eye” isn’t written in Asian (just kidding), the title is to terrifying and intimidating for most Pacific Rim Asians (of course that’s why I wrote it that way). Americans (north and south), West Asians, Europeans, and Africans don’t really get how “scary” it is. These characters do. I don’t want them to panic, humans are dangerous when they do en mass. They’ll trample ya. If they knew Yi in a new skin suit was literally my father in law and that I’m tight with Kato (and some of them do perceive this) it’s just too scary for them in general. Although I certainly don’t hide it, I transmit the idea in a completely different style. I “pantomime” even though it’s not a pantomime at all, it just looks like it or something unrecognizable to non-East Asians, pulling two swords (I don’t need shields) from behind my shoulders like an “immortal warrior” and I “throw” these “swords” or ideas down the street at different speeds in time with a tempo that I visually express by the dancing like action, as I pull invisible swords, daggers and what not out of every conceivable location of myself and sling em in different directions taking note all the while who and which characters among the thousands in the street “pause or “heads up”/interrupt their routine as the idea “passes” by them, acknowledge it, usually by looking at me, on time, and responding with a “I hear you, loud and clear” type signal.

I worked my way through the menagerie of NY’s Chinatown inquiring about a little of this spice or a buying a bunch of fruit (leeches and pomegranates) from the street side vendors, pretty much expressing what I wanted out of them by what I bought in what # and my refusal of the ubiquitous red plastic bag. I’ve got a leather antique red Don Bee case, I don’t want your plastic trash, I want delicious product forever from the “community”. In one place I went in the shop and picked out a ginseng root that was shaped exactly like a headless human. The woman minding the store, trying to pretend she wasn’t watching me like a hawk, quickly slapped it out of my hand and back into the bin sharply saying in Chinese, “You can’t have this one, it’s not for your consumption, not for you”. She was surely a little more than superstitious. She knew who I was though, I’m not allowed to make tea with headless ginseng root. Just teasing, and of course taking note of how aware these people are of who I am.

I went into a Vietnamese restaurant “Sun Garden” (I think) for supper. With the animated film playing on the T.V. there wasn’t much I had to add to complete my idea. Nobody seemed to be watching it though, engaging in meal time conversation with their tablemates, this was about the most normal place I went into in NY, which is still horrifying for me, a “normal dam and destroy” crowd. I began by ordering #23 and working my way through a few items along with a coconut tea beverage while I colored in a few flyers and filled out the hand written backside of my business cards. What looked like a powerful member of the S.E. Asian Mafia (the good ole boys) entered, stood by the front door and watched me. I figured he’d show up, probably wants to be a “door” man, likewise he thought the same.

The overall impression or main idea most the “average” (sharp though) fruit vendors and what not expressed to me was, “What are you, Stupid, Ignorant, Naïve, or just a plain Dam Fool”? Of course typically this is my “line”. I knew the idea, specifically, they were getting at, without saying it. Asian people are more likely to “admit” they can read what’s written on the flyer folded up in my jacket pocket, or know the possibility of this. As a result of this more likely acceptance of this type of info exchange they can read the details instead of wasting their time, and I and Life’s, denying they “heard” or “read” it.

I’d deliberately over the last several years of handing out this flyer, not mentioned genetically modified organisms specifically GMO food, not a word written of it. I talked about it during the course of my operations, often as if I hadn’t determined anything about the GMO’s, and was curious about them. I “shielded” my abhorrence for this, it was the only thing I ever covered up or hid from some. I revealed what thought about GMO’s to some, very few, and goaded the “others” into talking about them, lining up a “group” who was for undamming the planet or wasn’t against it as long as… GMO’s were allowed. It was the only experiment or thing I wasn’t exactly sure about. I mean I knew, I just wanted to observe the traits shared by those for anything just as long as it included GMO’s. I wanted to run the idea past a solid Chinese and Asian crowd to see what the result would be. “Are you Stupid, Naïve, Ignorant, or a Dam Fool?”, is what they thought of a dam free world with GMO’s.

This is of course, why I sat in my Horticultural/Ag. classes asking repeatedly for 2 years did they GMO the rice yet? Thomas Shindelman knows why I asked this specific question, some of the professors as did Raphael kinda got it. The rest of the students in class (especially those sitting in the front right, the knownothings who are “with it”) just wondered why I kept asking this seemingly weird question. First of all there’s a lot of “farmers” growing GMO’s who are “for” GMO’s, but their argument is that, they, as individuals, can’t be competitive without growing them. I get their argument, if they don’t grow GMO’s somebody else will they’ll make more money than them, essentially buying them out, the land, and then they’ll grow GMO’s on it anyway, while the “other” guy is not involved with production anymore “he’s out”. I’m not talking about these characters.

The Chinese are the largest ethnic group of people on the surface with supposedly a billion generally likeminded souls. I don’t care how much money another ethnic group has or how big their place is. A billion souls of generally likeminded people have the biggest say in any new food technology. That’s just the way it is. “Special K” GMO rice was one of the last ones to enter the market. I know a lot of people would point out that it’s because of the production/cultivation conditions present and they don’t spray herbicide on rice paddies, “There’s no weeds”, thus they didn’t GMO it (for herbicide resistance). It’s interesting to me that it looks like they haven’t GMO’d the wheat yet, the bread. Probably for similar production related reasons, some would point out. At this point I’ve determined that any “new” info on this planet is basically a hoax or deliberately false and misleading so I’m not even really trying to figure out what the reality or trueth is at the end of this crack of an idea, I know. I’m just aware/concerned how it pertains to the undamming of the rivers. Without good food one can’t think correctly or optimally, and this affects people’s decisions, making poor ones more likely. Bad food=Bad ideas, you are what you eat.

The results of my GMO investigation culminated here in Chinatown NY. I’d already determined without a shadow of a doubt, that there was a species or type of organism, on the surface, that was “with it”, the infinityproject dam free idea as expressed in early Nov, 2010 (no mention alf GMO’s). They were trying to win power and influence with me and steer my idea, this took place at bars, on the street, and elsewhere through verbal and nonverbal information exchange. Their type the way they “ticked”, was so obvious to me, I came up with a nickname for this, thing, “Calafornia Blue”. The Calafornia Blues were a type who, its kinda hard to describe but if one remembers the scene from the film “Back to the Future II”, I think, when one character starts to fade and “disappear from the picture”, this is basically how they felt about their future or viewed life without GMO’s on the surface of this planet. It’s, of course, interesting what else this Calafornia Blue type is involved with when I find them.

As I strolled north out of Chinatown I felt the extreme impression that the “Chinese” were gonna “get me” for not figuring this all out considering how obvious it was, and walking around like a know it all and not mentioning this problem. For those who realized I’d neglected a key piece of info on my shortlist, I think some (the intelligent one’s) figured out I was “drawing em out”. Come here sucker, let me have a real close look at you. Cause I could prove this whole thing with an X-acto knife and perhaps a powerful microscope or a lab. I know I could, I pick em out of a crowd as I walk down the street. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

I sat down on my Don Bee case as I started to get outside of Chinatown and thoughtfully pulled “The Master Copy” of the new laws out of my inside jacket pocket, withdrew my “Luke 6:45” (Mathew 7:16-18) pencil (I found this on the ground in NYC, how’s that for coinciding?) from under my Delf hoody and double Chicago domino where it was stuck in my dad’s Spanish beret that he got in Spain while off the coast eating tomatoes and diving in a submarine for the U.S. Navy looking for lost hydrogen bombs before the Russians found them. This is really the only thing, of any significance, that I’d written down in 2 or 3 years, cause when I figured out “the power” of my pencil, I stepped back a little and thought to put the writing in “slo mo”. I turned to the second page #22 “the spaceship rules” and banned GMO’s off the surface and into spaceships. Interestingly enough 2 Calafornia Blue characters, a mixed sex couple, looked a few years younger than me, walked out of the building behind me as I completed the new idea.

They were so obviously Calafornia Blue characters, those who expressed the greatest zeal for my idea, those who were “part of my team man, yeah!” as long as I didn’t question GMO’s. They walked past, quite, scared, as I was folding up the idea and putting it back in my pocket. I’d just lost a sizeable chunk of my team, even though I knew they weren’t on it, they thought/made like they were. I was even wearing a California Blue (they seemed partial to this color) hoody. Kinda makes your stomach hurt, don’t it? They had the most miserable expression of doom, hurt and loss on their face and they both nodded their heads, that yes it made their stomach hurt (as does mine eating GMO’s), and even raised their hands to their abdomens as if it really hurt, and it does. For some reason this really kills them, their future, but they’re doomed anyway, over a long period of time. Without that special “zing” (that I get from all natural food, the fruit, vegetable, and herbs in particular, but meat too) one can’t think clearly or correctly, and for instance, we wouldn’t be able to transport the container of product around or through any eventuality, and thus we (Life) wouldn’t live forever. This “Calafornia Blue” type is essentially just trying to “patch” or “hold on” to their dam scheme a little longer. There is no “gizmo” or illuminating thing that’s going to be able to stop me and my team, I and Life, we think better. I mean, I’m perfecting my “Darth Vader” choke hold.

If one goes to the Southside of Greenwitch village or the Coopertown crematorium one could get a visual interpretation of why not to be cremated. It’s a waste of energy and product, check out the “smokestack” across the street. Looks like a bigger version of the ones by the nearly empty appearing housing project buildings. As I walked around NY, while some areas looked like business as usual as far as the #’s go, other areas were like ghost towns. Where’d the people go? I mean the gangs of NY and the M.O.B. were smart enough to flee, but what about the average Joe and Judy? Where’d they go? I haven’t heard any reports as of late about them. Why are ½ the buildings all closed, up to 9/10 in some places, even at 5:30 PM, rush hour? Where’s all the characters I remember from 10, 20 years ago? Poof.

In parts of Manhattan there were large dark tanks on trailers that appeared to be in use as fuel tanks for heating what I call brownstone walkups. I was on a not so busy side street with my note pad and pencil out writing down a description of not only the tank and carriage but every letter and number on the “tag”, or supposed I.D. of contents affixed to the rear of the tank. It didn’t look like fuel one would want to burn near town, I wouldn’t want to huff it in a poorly ventilated building (the Gas Chamber). If one understood the Latin meaning of the chemical root syllables…

A person approached me from behind. I could tell when she came around the corner a block away. Put it this way, if she, or her type weren’t in Minhoptun I’d’ve most likely not come. The Good Witch of Greenwich Village, a few years my senior, healthy, vibrant, and aware. It was comforting to be enveloped in her essence as she stopped and stood close to my right side and observed what I was doing. We didn’t say a word to each other. Not necessary. It seemed she was glad to see me show up at last. She was the type who knew the horror unfolding in town was not one that could be run from. She was like an anchor, engine, rudder, and chart room for me. It’s difficult to describe the “Max Plank” rig I operate, while it flows fine by itself, what really gets it working best is what I call a “Power Pole” or entity that likes to reflect, absorb, magnify, intensify, pinpoint…8, here she was. Thanks for showin’ up to the plate darling.

I woke up on the bench of the north baseball field in East River Park at the end of E 10^th . I decided to go to the NYC Library and told the bus driver as much. I reminded him en route. He let me off and said, “New York Public Library” or something. I questioned the validity of the statement. When I got off the bus I found he’d dropped me off in front of the Rubicon (a shallow red river in NE Italy) building. “Crossing the Rubicon” usually means reaching a point of no return, from the Caesar era. The guard or whoever creep inside was digging vigorously into his right ear with his right pinkie finger. He was looking dierectly at me. He just kept diggin’ “right here pinky”, says he. I’d already delivered the idea to these characters in the U.S. Mail. Soul Free Structure so to speak, I didn’t go in the creep joint. When I finally found the NYC Library it looked so creepy from the outside I didn’t go in it either.

When I was a fisherman and en route while commuting from SO. FLA to Fairhaven, Gluowcstir, or Montauk I’d stop in NYC and often go up in the Empire State Building as a cheap way to get my bearings. It cost a few bucks and the cost slowly increased over the years. I entered the Empire State Building and asked the elevator man how much it cost to go up. He said, “26 bucks”, or something and I replied that it was too rich for my blood.

When I left the building I encountered 7 or so guys dressed up in what I call “California Blue” shirts selling helicopter trips (the blue helicopters) to a 60ish woman who looked like a tourist from England (east side) or possibly Norway. I overheard them say the helicopter trip cost 5. Since anyfool knows “You can’t touch the door handle on a helicopter for $5”, I was intrigued into interrupting there sales pitch. Excuse me, did you say it was five dollars to go up in a helicopter? “Yes”, said the blue leader. How much to return to the surface? “10”, said blue leader. Ten dollars? “Yes”, said blue leader. Does that include (at this point I pantomimed opening a helicopter door and kicking someone out) an autorotate (I pointed my right finger to the ground and circled my arm) to the surface? “Yes”, said blue leader. What if one is too cheap or doesn’t have the ten dollars to return to the surface? “They don’t get to return to the surface”, said blue leader. The tourist looked horrorfied. I left, motioning back to the helicopter diewrecktors with my left thumb, pantomiming pushing an ice pick into ones right ear and singin a remastered version of Bob Marley’s “Stir it up, little starling”

I scored the ass end of a dobie from a couple of what looked like flooring guys having a safety meeting on the second floor balcony of an apartment building. As a barometer of any particular doomville, the near lack of the good herbs in NYC spelled near complete lockdown. Just around the corner I hooked up with a couple of finest egg salad sandwiches and fresh primo hot sauce in town. The “sandwitch nazi” was begrudging with the hot sauce as if…? I tipped him for it. I find variations of this all over the world. They just don’t want to give one what it is they want. They want to be in control of whatever it is, they want to be in control of what’s going on around them. But how to get control of what’s going around one? Most have no control of what’s going on around them, often this causes them to attempt to control how many drops of hot sauce one should get or whether to be able to ingest Cannabis sativa or some such silly thing.

How does one achieve the most force full control? In the damages by making free flowing rivers the goal or target of one’s overall effort. I sat outside the shop and enjoyed my scorching hot egg salad sandwiches. Many New Yorkers are trying to control that which is going on around them for the worst reason (essentially they’re damming and destroying life for themselves) in a situation where it’s almost impossible. In the old days people used to just look down at the sidewalk, avoid eye contact and march around at a steady pace. Nowadays they do that and wear headphones and listen to the digital music of their choice. They don’t want to even hear it (life). The reader might think this would make it difficult for one to disseminate an idea to or communicate with these folks. How are you going to tell them something if they can’t hear you? I’ve been working on getting around this problem for years. One way or another I’m gonna get ya.

In this particular location more than half the skinsuits wore headphones. I was kneeling down with my back to the shop storefront along the sidewalk eating breakfast. Trying to “get in touch” with New Yorkers. I decided to attempt, nonverbal communication with the goal of a subsequent longer verbal “free river idea” to follow. As the mostly headphone wearing crowd marched by I’d not so subtly point at the headphone wearing entity in particular towards their machine or music player which they usually wore on their hip or had in a purse on their side. I would “project in their direction” an idea or “scream” at them without using words. Pull the wire bitch! Pull the wire punk!

Of the dozen or so characters I did this to what was noteworthy was how