11:00 to post time = ?
By way of introduction, it is possible that I do not post upon the subject of methamphetamine, and, it is also possible that I do.
It takes 3 1/2 minutes to fire up my computer and post. I have things occurring like, I will go to the drop-down “My Blog”, select ‘new post’, see the form, and then the form disappeqars and i AM TYPING INTO A DEAD KEYBOARD—I am typing into a dead keyboard. I’m scikig, zo! I can hear it. Oh. Not true. That’s the sound of using my in basket for a laptop stand. It has a fierce heat (the computer).
What—-elected usage? All, I want it all, hyphens, parentheses, all of it.
Something is almost what it is not, and that which is not the thing is almost what it is.
This use of ‘is’ is after Bill Clinton’s use of it in the Lewinski scandal. I think that your definition of “is” may apply only to what a thing is called, its name. Of course, Johnny Carson was “The Great”, Bill watched him growing up, so, we are to postulating that Bill got it from John. That is, Carson majors in rhetoric in college.
192 stuck, 200 real. Door.
Oh, I do call doctors doors; if it’s DR, you going to know? No.
It was Ruth’s new guy to fix the bathroom. He got a phone call, and I could hear the other person on the line as I walked upstairs, but that’s because I passed Ruth’s room and she was calling him from within the house. I’m just saying, not that I am not crazy, because I am calling that from within the craze. I don’t care how many books they write. What’s wrong with writing? Am I supposed to know?
Iyad (the dyad, no defn. yet) a plate, Deputy Plate: 5KUK394, whoops. It had an English, “Five sics one”, 5KUK561. It says I am a kook, and that I must not know that five attack one. My five senses can seed that. Maybe I got the “5” wrong, the first one. These are harder to pin. I went out again, like Krouss said, “I’m not doing this for the second time again. Do you understand?’ I said no. He said, “I’m not doing this again. Do you understand?” I said yes, but I said that the frirst time it did not make sense ( he said it different). He wrote the ticket, but he lied and claimed that he was about to get on his motorcycle and ride away. I was on a bike myself. I have cancer. I told him that when he threatened to handcuff me. That is, he had the cuffs in his hand. But, they have a lot of people around here, approximately a generation, who beat these guys all the time. That is, he claimed he was not playing a game, while shaking his finger two inches from my nose. I know, stepping back is how you clear your own gun, but I did it. I also rode out the second time with my fleece on, so he might think twice before re-detaining me.
Although the fuzz murders a lot of people in San Diego—my next door neighbor, for one—they haven’t murdered me, so I compare it with the pigs in Orange County, who have done me over and over on false manufacturing charges. My neighbor was named uh, I can’t think. Travis Bickle, but it’s at 3719 Acacia Grove Way. I’m at 3727, but I trust you. Basically, that means I feel sorry for you, see? It is what you get away with that leads you to become vile scum. I feel more than sorry for human scum like this lying pig. He laughed, uneasy. “Didn’t you see me put my ticket book back?”
No, he said, “You feel sorry for me?” I said yes, that he would do anything to kep his job (he’d mentioned that in passing, that he was almost to the point of sticking his neck out for me when I fucked that off). He ruined my life. It can happen. I got a moving violation on a bicycle. I don’t even know full of a stop to come to, but I guess I’m within my rights to do 35 in a 35. When you’d do that, taking “anybody” and “nobody” as yourself who has done something wrong, attacked, etc. If anyone thinks better about this whore getting married, and so forth, let him step up, otherwise it is all good. I mentioned a “particle (I said grain)” of freedom that he had given up to keep his job. It’s fair warning of a strange attractor.
Actually, back around my plate, as I am signing my death warrant, I had a last statement before reading it. In Zen Buddhism we crawl loose to declaim on voices, utterances, a priori if you are thinking it it is talk, with silence at either end, see “statement”? Whatever that was in spell, it was following an input from the newspaper stand, POT SHOTS ON THE SPOT. My birthday was still percolating in the cop’s brain. We killed 32 at Virginia Tech that day. Krouss had insisted that I came—ran, through the stop sign “like a five-year old”. I told him I had a six-year old. None of what I said helped. I told him that I noticed he used a vacuous truth, like when a child says he ate all the vegetables on his plate, and there wasn’t any on there to begin with. Krouss asked rhetorically what about after I got run over, but the scenario was one involving the intersection. Cars deal with intersections using approximately a third of the escape routes as bicycles. What he said would apply to cars just as well as this reality, with a bike.
On a paramilitary force, you use what you reach for. I could have sworn one had a pistol in his hand on Waco/Branch Davidian Day, but I’d be dead. He pointed it at my face. Then I could guess this was mace, or, “pepper spray,” but that’s another confession.
I guess I’ll just pay it, but I might lose my son—a second child—to the system and the system’s beneficiaries, its opportunists. He is already not living with me, now I get a point on my driving record, increased insurance. See, the ruined life next door was the result of the father being beaten so badly by the police that he could no longer work, and he purposely ran out of insulin. I went ahead and rode on up there again, and spent double the time to leave it where it should end. Nice game you have on a Monday. In fact, “failure to comply with a lawful order” is the lie that fits whenever, aside from hearing what the Man says, he gets to hear a little “fuck you, buddy” from you. They’re trained to check for citizen-held cameras now.
Who are you? “You” is the first thing I hear, as well as the first thing I’m told, when I’m talking to myself. It’s the first thing I say, and it has an error component. It applies to other people, this word. I see it as a column entry, and “I” as a row. They intersect
It says wtr in this set, and wtair in the final set. The intersection is imaginary. No real intersection is possible with charge, but lag in time gives us charge in three dimensions. This is a one-dimensional representation of a mental one-dimensional string of characters. Your brain can use the hyperbola. It calculates a lot of things you can’t formally perform.
The entry on the vacuous truth in WIK says the style is not up to their standards. The paragraph beginning “Who are you?” two paragraphs up, says, wtaw. Yeah, I’m always reading down. If I were flying, I would not land, but I’d be falling.
Science makes predictions about the real world according to theories, like that of evolution or relativity. Math can tell us nothing about the real world. Linguistics is a form of math.
All this because Kunstler came under fire in new book about predictions not coming true, while he wrote about the documentary what won the Academy Award. You can’t read either of them, or watch. Before the financial meltdown, Kunstler joined the group predicting it. In this segment of time, no predictions from before are valid. It’s spent. You know, seeing information in the real world accumulates in my memory much like a slot machine that hasn’t had all the reels stop yet.
In conclusion, “Southwick” is the name of a local weahterman, but this post is named after an intersection. In my fable, I intend to portray it as a dangerous place, and while engaged in fraudulent fear, I saw it as “Olivewood and South Hook”, but they don’t use the word ‘hook’. They use ‘look’. It can’t be spelled, anyway, not as one word, not in data entry with high precision
Olivewood and Southhook
It’s near Ocean View and Thirty-Sixth.
Yeah, your real world doesn’t break down into mathematics, and your computer animation has to pass the final test of inspection by a human to see if it looks real.
The WWI Germans fucked off the use of the word, ‘propaganda’, so, the term is ‘public relations’.
I had entitled a post yesterday, “The Breakdown of Equilibrium”, supposing that a chemical system like electrolysis operated far from equilibrium, and required chaos theory. If not that, we would investigate when gravity, not charge, was broken. No, it was my own personal equilibrium.
I don’t want to tell the doctor that trying to get exercise gave me a ticket. I’d have to remind him that he threatens to turn me over to the psychiatrists. I’m sure that I am over the average life expectancy with what has hurt me, but with the proper weighting on various wonk factors, geeks, nerds, zekes and wazoos, my life span with metastatic melanoma will submit to an exact model. I see a monkey wrench.
I guess it’s a story in the physical newspaper only; seems to be about marijuana. I read it as “Pot shots in spots”. I was still on about this 6’7″ pig, telling me he wasn’t forcing me. All I had in my pocket was a concert flyer-card (has my birthday on it). “Somebody took a pot shot at the president”, was how it was described to do with Kennedy, but it was not that his head was blown off; it was worse. We’ve seen that. This had a moment of being neck-shot finishing with a kill shot exposing the brain. It’s the sunlight off the glistening brain tissue, and the chance that he lives, because it was still a “brain”. Living with that massive a —well, Giffords is doing that. She’s doing a payout to the docs in the millions. This is well. No, but try. Somebody’ll wipe the ass. You get off and I’ll get off.
Nothing for my birthday, I can’t afford it. You, uh, who’s that nigger born on my birthday, the one that went crazy in the street with a gun? You. Appear.