Gibbets

3785 is a number you will need. It’s the number of milliliters per gallon. 4/3 (Pi) r (squared) is another one; I don’t know if it is the volume of a sphere or a cylinder—you can look them up.

My title and my first paragraph were preordained. I’m not going to get hung up deciding what sounds good. It’s a come-on thinking you can just get underway writing. I love to get underway, hate to get snagged. I use my memory to hold a very few items and transfer them here. Why? Because I am not a “writer”. None of my posts will ever see any editing. They are for scientific ESP work. As such, they cannot have a history complicating the moment of initial composition with the form you can see written.

They are also for containing the methods as I have promised; in a sense of purity; the honesty. That is so that a superstitious or supernatural “judgement” may allow them to exist. I mean, I do not have to pray God to allow me victory in my struggle. I get victory because I tell the truth. It’s a kind of victory. It is not a measurable thing. It’s actually a delusion; I said superstitious.

I have not posted for a long time, and, I thought about what it is. I decided to go with rain. This morning is rainy. I do not have more time to write, I have less. But, I am doing it. It was 8:42 a.m. I was about seven years old; that would be 1959, and I chucked the crusts from my Dad’s bread, off his sandwiches, out the back patio for the birds to eat. No, I was five. The patio cover was built by him. The patio had redwood dividers, so it was not one slab. The top was redwood, with a red stain. This is popular in Northern California. Redwood comes from there so they have killed it all. For the interim it looks like you are celebrating the life of the redwood by honoring it—silly.

Birds are dumb. The mother bird built a very low nest and I climbed up on my mother’s redwood washing table— where am I?

(I can’t really write. My PC is put away and all I have is a laptop and we don’t understand each other well.)

Aw, okay—here. It is just out of its mind. I have to see the last word I wrote!

I handled the eggs and the bird pushed them out of the nest and I got some praise from my Mom for the “reward” of the bird nesting there but it wasn’t my reward, not for those dead eggs with the little baby birds inside, so I was five and it takes about that many to appreciate that lesson. A bird can smell you; maybe she watched me.

The tumor under my arm is like a sleeping animal. It doesn’t have to be a shrew or a wolverine or a Tasmanian Devil. Even a rabbit or a squirrel, if the squirrel bites or the rabbit peels out on the armpit it can send you screaming. I have nowhere to run. The systemic effects are something else: levels of pain, fatigue, and nausea. That’s the whole cancer; I have tumors I can’t even feel. This is a problem. Even if a tumor is caught early, the fact of its staging renders any localized effort, such as surgery, as a temporary fix. Putting out brush fires like that just eats up the funds. I will burn through a million dollars and then die. Anyway, the intrusive presence of the mass or masses causes me to transfer a personality to them; my second acknowledged delusionary trap I fall into.

The drug abuse situation in my life is no longer as a sober person, and I wrote the blog stone sober for the first year and better. The approximate same thing can be achieved by delaying the taking of the more mind-altering substances. When I am really stoned it doesn’t calculate my head. Included in my new apreciation of addiction is the role of food; I am bad and compulsive that way. Now I am more normal. I hate eating. I really hate having eaten too much and I can throw it all up. I have never been bulemic, so I do not jump on it. Instead, I let the saliva flow and just remain suppine and quiet until it passes. I did last night. It isn’t right to keep on losing after having just dropped fifty pounds. Like Liza Minelli with three sizes of every outfit, and I can’t afford that. I bought one pair of Levis, 501s, and I got them two sizes smaller, which is 40. I usually love those. I can’t wear them out.

That’s enough fucking time. What about meth? well, I have a glossary of law enforcement intelligence terms, and the glossary is part of a whole book. And, there is more. The main question is called “sourcing”, the securing of supplies.F-M 7-8 chapter 4 battle drills is how soldiers in our army kill,…that’s one.

http://www.lawenforcementintelligence.com/glossary.htm

Here.  Okay, that should work.  I can’t remember how I did it before.  Before I wrote this blog I was always wanting to use high-definition photography to show intricate laboratory connections and technique.  That is what somebody should do.

The dumbing-down of the brains of everything in our society is one challenge to returning to good old American know-how as being any sort of real thing.  I have never had a whiff of anyone online having even a fourteen-year old’s skill.  I had to wait five years to take high-school chemistry.   I could have taught the class.

The interface between consciousness and the surroundings outside the mind are the input for why peope should take drugs; and the ability to take a pill and affect the  mind and, in turn, affect the world is one constantly misunderstood subject of the peers.  You are not saying that meth increases ESP.

My dad was a fighter pilot and an engineer.  It wasn’t a BP-style; that’s petroleum.  But, all engineering has some of the same math.  His was computers.  One place he worked was Systron-Donner, the whole other thing, analog, besides digital.  That was in Concord, the site of our redwood erection. 

The peer group is on the cutting edge due to things like salary or survival.  You don’t just go 500 knots.  You do it while being shot at.  The top people in one generation are one-two, but the 500th best practitioner is still possessed of unheard-of skills once a lapse of a couple generations has occurred.  This is why I am okay for meth.  My mental problems began before I ever got to college.  I paid my dues and I never studied.  I got the degree and I never hardly studied.  Why am I going to study when they took and electroshocked the smarts out of the brain I am supposed to work with?

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