I wasn’t successful already, trying to quickly post.  You can’t edit tags.  I am starting to realize what tags are for, I read the tags on other people’s blogs.  I think they are subjects mentioned in the posts.  “I want to read other posts by this author on this subject”, would be a legitimate thought.  But, I can’t get away from the commercial aspect of blogging in order to create a difference here between me and the liars.  The subject’s always methamphetamine anyway, or methamphetamine HCl, or methamphetamine hcl, as some people write it, or methamphetamine lol.

So, once you have started to do something one way, but that way is bankrupt, and you keep on, you can slightly modify yourself to show that a complete understanding of what is going on with that is well in hand.  I’ll never have tags like other writers do, and that’s a shame.  Plus, I also wasted the other thing, let’s see: categories.  I wasted them because, to me, writing is what you say.  It barely has any need for a title, let alone these other things.  It’s Sappho of Lesbos who only exists today in the clay fragments of partial notes.  Well, they’re poems.  She’s the type of writer who celebrated things the church doesn’t, and they wiped her out.  Someone should shoot anyone who announces what they are going to say, before they can get to it, or else we are going to have to hear it and be taxed more time.

“Notice as you go ahead and notice me how my incredible excellence just shines out beaming into your little world how inferior the game of switch is to my fanning of it, because—(Boom!)”

What happened last was I wrote a post and ignored the most extraordinary parts of things I could have included.  I had experienced driving my automobile; I’ll never forget where I was (passing the police station downtown), and a DJ on the radio said, “perfect timing”, when I looked at the dashboard clock and it read, 10:10.  I let it sit there a second, then I thought, well, this is 10-10, October tenth.  Hey, it’s 2010, so, it’s 10:10 on 10-10-10.  I wonder if that’s what he meant.  Well, this kind of congruence is an inverse to the question of coincidences.  This is supplied whenever a clock number system is initiated.  The radio station saw it coming and prepared.  Will they deny it?

“Oh, no.  We had no idea it was 10-10-10-10-10.  In fact, the perfect timing we were talking about was how a comedian does his act.”

Anyway, it starts to emerge how the structures imposed on reality have a zero point number of distracting coincidences.  “Coincidences” can be further expanded to “influences”.  For example, suppose seeing a ten with another ten is not a coincidence to someone else.  I always want to see a nine.  Not a nine with another nine, a nine with a ten.  That doesn’t look like a coincidence, but it’s John Lennon’s birthday, so, to him it does (did), and if you listen to him, especially the time he went on the air and did the weather, he says he loves nines, and he sweeps the other temperatures off the board, leaving only the nines.  This was about 1973, and he wasn’t whacked out of his skull so much as he was persecuted by the Nixon Administration into appearing for free since he could be deported due to an old trumped-up pot bust from England.  IOW, the governement was trying to kill him and played mind games.  He did get killed.  However, I don’t like to say that in case the time he lived is still existing somewhere and he hears me say that, and that’s a downer.  In fact, it became apparent that a life like Lennon’s has different physics to it.  There exists somewhere in time the world with an expansion in your popularity, with a big kick the more voices repeat a fact.  I can easily feel one person thinking about me, and he would have similarly felt millions.  When he touched on a fact with congruence, the energy would change.  You’d wake up in the morning as JWL, and nothing was ever very still.  It was a cacophony of sublimated human impulses.  He wrote a song about it, I’m Only Sleeping.  It’s not that, it’s the common practice in many religions to devote time, as a sacrifice, so, the chants or prayers or repetition of a mantra is devoid of meaning.  My birthday is 4-16-52, so, it could be that numbers followed by their squares is significant.  The first LSD trip took place on April 16, nine years before.  As you go along in the calendar, the day that happens is brought about by a premonition.  Hoffman literally felt a force tugging at his mind that Friday and took another look at the cpd.  It’s in his notes.  That means that no definite mechanism for psychic awareness is dependent upon physically known things.  It was discovered on another day in 1938, but the first trip was on my birthday.  The drug might have sat there forever.  It was sitting there forever, but for fortune.  And then it was taken down from the shelf and the rest is history.  It wasn’t actually taken down, none existed.  It was made according to the recipe in existence; that’s how it was able to be there to be accidentally absorbed.  John is asked in one interview whether the Beatles had taken LSD and he said, “We’re manufacturing it.”  Well, I’m manufacturing it, not the Beatles.  This blog states meth, but I am leaning toward some other things, not things in the mainstream non-serious internet.  Chemistry on the internet suffers from our inability to draw structures as rapidly as we can on a blackboard, and our inability to insert strange characters in the text.  Bill Gates is aware of that, but no matter how many people are for something, it is still never good.  Besides, Bill Gates isn’t everything. I suspect that computer lovers would like to establish their disdain for the real sciences that made computers possible, just like the United States of course crushes all popular revolutions even though, or because of, their start in a popular revolution.  They will definitely co-opt and neutralize you if they can.

“We like revolutions.  Hell, we started this country by revolution.”  THAT’S A LIE

Tutti Frutti, the song, I always heard as, “Tutti Frutti, on Rudy.”  This, “on rudy” formulation stuck with me, this song is out of 1955, and I just looked it up.  It bangs around inside your head and you look for places it may occur.  I was recently deciding to make it, the word “on” as in “bet on”.  “on Rudy”, of course, derives from “On Dasher”, the Christmas song, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  Rock and Roll was novelty music initially, played every day instead of just brought out and dusted off for Christmas and rain.  More money, 365 times more.  It wasn’t a bet, but bets do come in in Star Trek, with a currency called Quatloos.  Bets and coincidences fit into statistics, for deciding the odds against things happening.  In fact, science is less scientific because of the hidden fears and pride people ignore on the influence their subconcious has on what they think must be real, and what must not.  The mind is real, but is not in the brain.  If it was, then mental illness could be real, so it isn’t.  If the liver exists, then lesions on it can cause symptoms, sickness, if it in fact, “lives”.  The brain can exist but is still not the mind.  Otherwise, how could Helen Keller, deaf dumb and blind, only have a mind by having her hands to interpret language?  Her mind was in her hands, and you could tell she was thinking because her hands were moving.  The thinking and the language are in the argument over “mental illness”.  Plus, you can’t argue something doesn’t exist, because you have to use that word.  I put quotes on it.  You also can’t argue that a respected high-up person is a fraud, because of what differentiates things with a mind from things without a mind, and that is that ‘human being’ means something, but what that was wasn’t stated.  It was ‘moral agent’, a right-thinking individual.  Only in discussions of right and wrong will acts devoid of morality be censured; other wise they make people plenty of money and that instead becomes how we decide if it’s good.  A moral argument is distinct.  It seems to me emotional, as if certain parts of the brain are responsible for certain things.  Things happen whether we get all emotional about them or not, things like lobotomy.

Ah, let’s look at rue.  I think it was second-hand, as if first-hand, but we know that bad things inflicted or suffered are first-hand.  They’re just too dangerous to make a study of.  “I rue the day that this happens to you,” is possible.  No, we want you to rue the day you first met me, because that’s the day I put you in the hospital.

This category of words is impossible to resolve into different benefits.  I feel bad because I turned my ankle.  I don’t change to feeling good on a basis of you saying you feel sorry for me.  Not at all.  If we do that, and express dismay at the feeding of another person into a killing machine, it’s suspect.  Friday the Thirteenth is suspect; it comes from the day William Wallace was drawn and quartered.  It is bad luck imposed by the British government.  I was busted on it, in a September, 1996, by the OC Probation Department.  It’s wrong, too.  We revere Wm. Wallace.  You revere me, not the chemist/cop who worked up the phony crime scene.  His name’s Bob Breckenfeld, and he is a bigamist.  The OC District Attorney’s office had a paid-off lawyer working there who was feeding info to the HA so their 14 labs could operate with impunity, sending glass to Hawaii inside motorcycle parts.  My house was not one of theirs, and of course the organized crime includes almost every cop, not just what they say.  It includes them all, actually.  No cops work on busting cops.  The cops will kill those who don’t play along.  Seen Serpico?

I meandered into nerve gas yesterday and forgot all about the resident nerve gas expert in these parts.  All these positions will have to be redone.  This generation is extinct.  Anyhow, his name is Gerhard N. Schrauzer.  He is now 79, but that’s not old.  He is a youth man.  He was 13 when the war ended, so, he was in Germany and is a flavor of Nazi such that “the Nazis” are an active and current political philosophy, always ready with the answers.  These are the world’s chemists.  I never saw a professor of chemistry in the act of chemistry except for him.  The chemistry done by a chemist only occupies 0.000001% of their time.  It was language which did that.  Germans put their words together and don’t care how long they get.  Once we get twelve letters long in English, we have to do something else for awhile.  Plus, they were first.  They are born to it.  So this guy, although not wishing for embarrassment, is now in this blog for what he knows.  My trouble is that people don’t want to read bad things about themselves, not, is the thing true.  This blog is a laughingstock, so, to be included is not prestigious.  They have prestige in their Germanic rituals.  The other Germans were Hans Suess and Kurt Shuler, and, to Gerhard, they were equals.  They were some of my professors.  Kurt Vonnegut had Irving Langmuir.  Vonnegut is another chemist.  Schrauzer, whose talents lie in education, can make nerve gas okay to work on.  Mainly, yes, chemistry is at the source of terrible weapons and it takes some rationality, some calmness, not to fly apart over it.  He has that.  He was the professor who drove a Rolls-Royce.  This type of thing causes you to secretly hate the person.  I asked him about it.  He explained that they are not so expensive used.  The profs, many of them, live on Mt. Soledad.

I was working as a temp at SAIC, and I had put some bandaids in my pocket, and my next “class”, I don’t know what it was, was with Schrauzer.  He said, “Hey, today we are going over to the glassblower and see that, and that is important.”  So, he heated up some glass and cut himself.  I whipped out a bandaid on the spot.  That was funny.

One time I came to Schrauzer, but I had already manufactured a batch of speed and I had it coming out of my ears.  I was way too high, but this kind of thing did not throw him into a tizzy.  He said to pass out some papers.  I was assisting him in a class.  When I first got to UCSD I was 23, so, from the start people would assume that I was a grad student, I felt.  By the time I got kicked out and readmitted, I was as old as students finishing their PhD, or older.  Some profs are 26.  I just didn’t notice that my fly was unzipped, until I had walked all around that room.  I remember knowing that I was late when I took a piss first anyway.  I was just too wasted.  You can see wasted people on Youtube.

That’s it, just the implications of some scientific things once you start from irreproducibility, when science is based on reproducibility.  Oh yeah, to clean up the very first things going on in the news when I started this blog, when I had tags, and I made one tag, “What are my tags?”  Another tag was, “Amber Dubois is missing and presumed fucking”, not “presumed dead”, but she was dead.  That tag split up into two tags somehow, becoming, “is missing and presumed fucking”, which was a truthful tag, not a tag made out of substitutes for the real words.  There is a type of runaway that does it for sex and they go to Mexico, kind of a Romeo and Juliet story.  Many people have gone away to Mexico since San Diego started, and 14 was old enough to do that.  There’s a plaque about one in Old Town. Amber wasn’t a runaway, and after the second murder by this killer name of Gardner, they caught him.  So now, at +22 months, this first week’s idea is wrapped up.  I was writing, but they had flyers, so I felt it important to say something publicly.  I don’t normally use my blog for other purposes, but meth is mind-altering, so the mind is fair game.  Since everything we know is in the mind, I don’t see anything here which is off-topic.   See, you have to stretch, because the intellectual enemy will surprise you in how they reason. 

“Are rockets dangerous?”

“Yeah.  My brother broke his arm climbing a tree to get one.”

“Naw.  Hey.  Look.  All we can do is address the idea of basement bombers by making the engines in a secure facility and building model rockets out of paper, no metal.  Look at this guy’s brother.  He says, ‘We launched a rocket made out of a pipe and matchheads and it tore off my brother’s face, killing him.”

My brother’s eyes always seemed to be getting in the way of rock chips and exploding chemicals.


Any word that you take, like, prisoner, can be subjected to some things no matter what they are.  One of those is an ‘apostrophe double-L”, no matter if it’s a noun or verb.  For nouns alone, you put, ‘a’ or ‘the’ in front of it, adding two or five characters.  This is for not knowing the meaning, as, in learning language, if we say ‘how are you’, ‘I am fine’ some of the same words in the question are fd in the answer (well, not in that expl).  In this phony way, we hide the fact we have no idea what is under discussion.  If you take words, but they are names, and you don’t know.  You can’t see the caiptal letter, it’s verbal, you best watch out because people are sensitive about their names.  Right away, rather than discussing words, you are discussing people, and they don’t like the number of letters in the name added to.  Take Rick, Well, Rick’ll,…hey!  You don’t know anything about Rick.  I know him and he is good people.  They just want to be called, like dogs.  I am looking at that and I can tell that Rick’ll soon be indistinguishable with ‘wrinkle’, won’t it?

This mode leads to a game in which, without having meaning to a word, we can still manipulate it using the rules of language, and only the perceptive listener will fathom that we never heard of it.

I used to get speed for awhile there, say, a run would last 30 months on a connect’s dope, and nine months if I made it.  When I went to get it, ah, I am fond of those days.  I can say Westminster, a city, Westminster the street, Trask the street, Garden Grove the city of any size, with a PD, where a cop gets shot to death, 1994.  Midway City, also there.  I am self-contained in this region, with no need of a car.  My cars stay in the carport, unregistered.  As I go more toward Huntington Beach, I come on foot to my bank, and I get an ATM receipt.  It says, “What’ll sixty dollars buy you?”  The answer’s a half-gram of speed.  But, the way it looks is:

WDL   $60.00

It isn’t “what’ll”, it’s withdrawal, and I thought the bank was being judgemental.  Of course, what I want-a to say (and you can say ‘won’t’, too, for want).  It’s easy, like they have, in All You Need Is Love right now, with E’d zee, the way it artifact in the recording.  E the letter would Z?  Yes, because of the nature of the human mind.  People are writing songs.  The song motif is the talking to oneself taken literally out of the self.  There are only so many selves, like seven basic ones, and songs always sound like you thought of that same thing yourself, but it’s shopworn.  It’s worn out.  people think too  much.  They suffer for their art.  But, this whole thing has to do with how talking to yourself is considered mental illness. No, talking to yourself is your mind.  If you can’t talk to yourself, you have no mind, and plenty of objects don’t.  It’s no criticism.  Objects moving from impulse is the older science.  If they all had minds scurrying around, there would be no need for physics.  We are loving “truth”, but it’s how someone’s inner dialog captures the essence of some human problem.  I think of it as code, like, how could a love song be about love?  If we didn’t have love songs saying ‘I love you’, which we can sing out loud, do you think we’d be saying it once?  By no means.  Astronomical odds against being considered sane are the odds sought out by the declaration that hearing voices is evidence of insanity.  You don’t actually hear voices; hearing voices is more like speaking than hearing, and if you take speed, you’ll be hearing them before you spend the first $500.  The  mind is made out of language.  Having a mind frees you from the prison of the present.  Animals have no past or future for their mind to wander to.  This is the stuff that you just know, as distinct from things invented and given to you, which are false but said to be fact.

“Do you know how to run a backhoe?”

“Yes.  A backhoe’ll …be one of those things…ah, very well-known type of deal, where…what?…You didn’t say anything?…Ah, yes, well, you’re a good boss.  Guy like you…a people person.  As a backhole runner, I’m more than happy…you don’t understand…good thing you  hired me to run it.  Get out of here, I’ll just (all gist)…get right to it.  You won’t regret it.”

“That’s what I won’t (Money)”.

“Give me more.  Gimme mo’.  Gimme mo.”

Down by two, one capital, is the elements.  Any word ending in ‘m’ can take another ‘n’, as we pronounce it, so as to leave it with not the suffix, ‘-man’, but with the opportunity to continue talking as if we just said, “and, …”  Cm is one of them, curium, nasty stuff, going to “Curium and other beta emitters”, with just Curiumn, like the word “damn”. The main word in the English language is “sign”, where you are forbidden to pronounce the ‘g’ and it hurts.  Saigon, thank God for that.  -man comes out -mun when you say it.  Knife-man, then when you eliminate the hyphen, it’s knifeman, and that’s got to be knife-mun, to reach fulfillment.  Oh.  In Yellow Submarine, because, the Beatles are the only people famous enough you’d pay to hear them talk when you paid to hear them sing, but you yelled and drowned them out, so they talk.  It says, “We all live in a yellow submarine.  Full ‘stead ahead, Cap’n.  Full it (is)”, brought us the verb ‘to full’, and by now you can food, not feed, or scene, not see.  Never could see any other way, that’s difficult to hear, you might have to play it backwards, wherever it is.  The real invitation-only song with Timothy Leary present is not the love one, which looks like a TV stuido staged deal.  This one’s Give Peace a Chance.  The artistic thing, brought in by Ono, is that if we choose to alter word meanings, let’s have the new thing be a more real thing that explains it’s okay to do drugs.  You’re stuck in the human condition and you will do drugs, no matter the proscription.  So, on a sub we order a dive, as follows, “Dive, dive, dive!”  We’re not diving.  In fact, we’re born into one body and there we stay, planted.  In order to have a verb betweeen action and being, being that sounds like action, we don’t go ahead full rudder, we don’t go left or right.  We don’t have to go anywhere.  We can stay here and define the hold as full, of bales.

“Full it.”

“It’s already full.”

Full it again!”

“Do you mean ‘fill it’?”

“I said what the fuck I mean, didn’t I?”




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