Bow About

This title meme, “to bow about” in the form of a command, is from a dream I have of Japanese in tuxedos such that they look more like penguins.  I imagine the consequences should their orientation to the person they are bowing to gets broken and they all bow everywhere at once, like, in a cocktail party, you know, one’s bowing to a potted plant.  Then they look more like penguins milling about.

In order that I can cover history, I’ll let BB tell it:


As I have noted, the FBI raided my apartment in Dallas on the morning of March 6th. I was not there at the time; I had been given a vague warning that a raid was to take place the next day, so I went to my mom’s place, where she lives with her husband, who is out of town, on the 5th. On the morning of the 6th, three FBI agents came to my mom’s door and asked if I was there. She woke me up and I went down to talk to them. They told me that they’d executed a search warrant at my apartment and that the door had been broken in the process, and then asked me if I had any laptops with me here at my mom’s place that I wanted to give them. I responded in the negative, and they left. At that point I began taking calls and e-mails from the press regarding Sabu, whom I learned was in fact a degenerate pussy traitor who couldn’t face two fucking years in prison, making him the biggest pussy in the history of mankind. There were several people who came to this conclusion early on; I was not wise enough to be one of them. As to the various stunts he pulled in the months since his arrest – including but not limited to the unnecessary release of credit card information for Stratfor customers – we may never know to what extent such things were encouraged by his “Justice Department” handlers in an effort to discredit this movement. But I digress, lol.


My comment is the Constitution, wherein, the FBI is a hazard , rather than a danger.  The word, “constitution” itself reders to constituents, in terms that one talks about what consists, because, we allow for some tangible, and, some intangible assets.  We often associate our physical location with freedom, and, the words come out too rough.  If we leave a word out entirely, we want a record to revisit.  Does ex consist öf (?)…[I don’t know how to make one of those if I correct this typo].  See?  Reality’s full of paradox.  Don’t be alarmed I use Kazinsky style.  I left out, ïf(?!).  Well, that’s my theory of the intangible.  I’ve got reasoning, and, if it’s not all the same to you, I’d best know what chunk you threw out.  Any need to put something in is better than replacing OF.  Öne of us, one of us, …”, as the _______ say to La___ from Futurama.  That line is from Freaks.  “Ï don’t like Mondays”is not from the song, I Don’t Like Mondays.  It came from right here, darnit, likeCaptain Milkshake(CM), to wit, San Diego.

We usually go, “(It) consists in three ways”, not, “consists of three things”; then the consistency with rigor to the conclusion may follow more readily so in order to maintain comprehension.

They now say, “solar storms” this, and, “solar storms” that, and, “solar storms” to come, so, are they going to knock out the Internet and blame it on solar storms?  So, if not, what is the FBI doing?  Are they above lying?  I don’t have access, and, owning equipment, well.  They will say we said some say we wrested the means to production away from them, labelling us Communists, whom they handle daily.  The stories coincide because of an intentional directing of energy into intelligence.

We are more intelligent on the news, with a Dr. Nancy Sneiderman.  Dr. Spiderman was talkin’about, uh, no.  It was Robt Bazell.  What I have, you know?  Melanoma?  They could not get it on and off the news fast enough.  They described exactly what happened to me, the radiation and ipimimulab to get a durable response.  I got twenty months.  It’s great.  Plant these three feet apart (rhubarb).  No, it’s every day talking about April.  My birthday!  It’s in April!  My intials are in April!  No, they really are: 4-16-52.  We know my intials are SEB.  Well, that’s 19-5-2.  B is a two.  A is one.  A is first.  Let first be one, done.  April’s not in there, neither is Wednesday.  Where you gonna find Wednesday?  Is it three?

Going back in my notes, I find that I am going to be spraying points out and quitting when it is enough words that you know me as alive.  STEPHEN, yes, it is HEN, one of ém.  Man!  I got this kb setup to Frog.  That’s loosey-goosey.  How many countries we got to move out the way for Russia to beat the fuck out of France?

B E I L  U O

My identity oracles of letters need to change.  The absent authors want to sign them across the top.  I can’t keep out the last words.  You may not use a famous song about yourself to pass the audition!

3-7-12 ROOT

After the Tuesday night  eight o’çlock cannon accident in Portrero claims a thirty-eighter, like thirty-eight’ll…

Like, are you too gay to leave ém out?

I’m going to show you how gay I am willing to show you I am.  That’s how fuckin’ gay.  Don’t blow yourself up drunk on my bit.  You will get razzed.

I’m so gay that I am looking to internet porn for confort ‘n now all I see is a dark line down everybody’s face where the crack would go.  I got persistence of vision.

I’m putting my name next to Akkiva Von Mendelsohn’s name (Stephen Eric Billinghurst, a third Beatle), and, I want Sir Rees-Mogg’s name in here, for some of the reasons you acquire from going there.  Loose as a papoose is this, where, it was nine seventeen.  See when this posts?  Well, it’s an hour off.  I’m actually early.  If it says twelve, it was eleven, right?  I have ex number of hours total life.  I’m not getting one free.

Oh, I see.  It’s going to do a trick.  I am at ten forty, thus, ten forty is a word’s number.

But ten-seventy-five is not a time.  I know, it’s ten forty-five.  Well, it’s ten forty three, ten hundred

ninety-three words.

Now, I’ll quick publish the rest without going along jokey-jokey with it.  I am not about to improve my writing.  I will write “watched” maybe instead of “saw” a movie.

3-8 Th

“Takin’ it to the Streets” part lyric

help the delp go herp derp


Michael McDonald
You don’t know me but I’m your brother I was raised here in this living hell You don’t know my kind in your world Fairly soon the time will tell You…telling me the things you’re gonna do for me I ain’t blind and I don’t like what I think I see
Takin’ it to the streets


Now you would pause it, come into it from thinking about #OWS and the protests today, along with the protest tenor of Captain Milkshake and Barrett Brown and his crowd, and see whether, “You don’t know me”, necessarily leads to, “Imma take this mutha to the streets”, with no flaw in the reason.

Because, there is a lot of more immediate things.  I have a DVD cued called The Big Fish, see Albert Finney.  It’s not in San Diego, it has stream fishing.  It has dying, but not a kind which breaks reality altogether, like the one about the nothing spot.  You have to have old people to make one about dying.  We may yet have business here, right?

And, I was lying in wait to punish my son; I didn’t feel good about it.  I had the decision vacillating, but the pills—I mean the songs I enjoy, kept arguing like disembodied voices, telling me to go ahead and do it.  I went ahead and decided to quash some of the logic.  I think it was as a song from you young persons, telling me to speak my mind.  Well, my mind has a picture, a list, and an index, mm-kay?  When mine goes Federal, and, yours is left at state, then it is your turn to argue that side with me.  Hitting is how I speak my mind.  You had said it was alright.  It’s a very popular song.

I’m sharing with you

seven twenty-two friday march ninth

Only people other than oneself may observe the sequence of events with one’s death in it, and, people tend to be afraid of more things than actually happen to them.  Therefore, unless physics doesn’t add up, and two is three, the affectation of change is all that is required to satisfy people.  Any affectation which reduces their stress as a node in an inexorable grouping will be reinforced: Take an object, fear it; develop the system (adapted by evolution), to remove said fear.  I “evolved” my own system.  It doesn’t match reality, either.

Epochs are nice.  They’re the first sign.  I did not leave one started I needed to finish.  If  I was out of time, I would not continue to receive elements of a plan showing me where I am supposed to be.  Like, I would not have just gone to Jack FM to observe Eddie Murphy with a piece of tape over his mouth saying, äthousand words”.  I can’t find your-alls songs; all I can find is the fork asking whether I have the time to click on something and let the computer take its sweet time.  I’m at sixteen twenty-seven.  Ask not whether sixteen twenty is when the Mayflower landed.  The only question’s where.

I can’t do that where I think of a better word.  What could this have to do with that?  If it doesn’t make sense than it makes you dizzy, and, being dizzy makes you think of things which make anyone dizzy, then you quit.  Breathe.  Don’t get dizzier.

I’m stressed in my own personal reality, not, a global thing.  That’s not differing between the stars around here and the stars somewhere else, which is like the word, “:hot”, which must mean in a hurry if it doesn’t make sense in its real application, warmth.  It’s different about the humans, the risk, the fear, the facts and their threat, the probability, not to say discernment of reference frames tied in with fictitious forces or any of the other crap on Wikipedia.  And fuck this WQordpress, as well.  This is my seven hundredth thirty eighth post—but it’s been a month.  It’s going hither and thither.  This is the Friday of the Monday with a full moon coming.  Nec month I sicty.

I teach this thing about algorithm to use on fire, the community who love the torch.  I first fell in love with it in Nineteen Eighty-Nine.  Me and your kindliest mob are gonna love you through this, Mike.

You just remove that fear of death in your own soul by seeing how you die, then saying, “I don’t die like this”, on the other times, covering the long-term threat.

I mean, I know that I have not covered what it is like to be sixty with an eight-year old son, so, they do that in a movie with Kevin Costner, called, “Perfect World”.  They also do it in “Big Fish”, where an eight-year old girl reminds an eighteen-year old guy that when she’s eighteen, he’ll be twenty-eight, and so on.  Tens work you across time.  I compare with things the way Godzilla compares with power lines.  Although McCartney’s alive, it’s Lennon who differs from me by twelve.  This is another year of the dragon, like, Godzilla’s one of us.  Paul does the “When I’m Sixty-Four”, see?

Then, muster your alert level appropriately.  You are still a target for epochs grounded on shorter intervals.

I meant as if the expectation of threatening facts not panning out classed as the “not real” is foolish and, “not a time thing(Thing Road is in Potrero)”.  As it runs real mushrooms pop right up in it.  They weren’t, then they are.

I’ve used my name, or others have, for a limited time.  The use of anything is discerened as names apart from objects, with a gray area ending all sense in respect to reality (avoiding the tautologous, ‘with respect to reality’ part again (input tax on output) joints), when the objects are parts, like a brain.

You can’t overuse yourself.  Gee, what is, “ÿourself”?  Isn’t it guys?.  Not to me, and, anyone may use SEB for “self”.  You got a box of names for pluralized people.  Power is grounded in numbers.  They took that away, so the notion of how many are repositioned in the scheme is vague.  We would not be called, “guys” by anybody.

It has a governor.  But, the woman-pit bull system can take the woman end out of control.  This dog bit this postal carrier who proceeded to have a stroke that killed her.  We were fifty-nine.  I mean, me too.  Granted, my pit bull scars are faded.

I’ll be sixty next month.  So, I’ll get this over with.  Some stuff isn’t going in here.  It’s under my hat.

I was born, with

[sorry, a lot of this was lost]

[Hell, I’ll retype it.  Fuck Billy.]

I was born, with Billy West, on April sixteenth nineteen fifty-two, five hundred years (is FUCK Leonardo), and a sham eleven days after fourteen fifty-two.  Cards have fifty-two.  You were discovered as America, meaning I’m sixty when you’re ten.  You sure aren’t a hundred and ten to my sixty.

Queen Elizabeth celebrates xity on the throne.  The Titanic goes down exactly a hundred,  in this

[I think it’s about how come I could not make the ship be anything else.  There’s only one one hundred to its whole story, whether it went down in leagues or fathoms]

swirling, eventful April.  She’s also born on the sixteenth, I believe

{attested to by the loss of my mind} what if she had stayed out longer by being born earlier, or some shit.  I was patently wrong.  Look how she was, though.  Sitting there knowing she would be crowned “for” her birthday MONTH, although explaining days and years to little kids…


2 Responses to “Bow About”

  1. jose Says:

    as always i enjoy reading ur views on things how r u doing as always grand.i love ur stories of actual factual events .good move goin 2 moms cant go past mom hey finaly found an institution where i can study math politics n chemistry’ id like to do biochem but im not what does the guru say n why looking forward to hearing from u steve (mr billinghurst) ur loyal follower jose luis happy birthy 4 wen it comes round.

    • sbillinghurst Says:

      If two mirrors approach the whole world disappears. A mirror will mirror (MLM). What’s ML?
      Clearly, the use of pallindromic info is a lot like that—with brackets. I define conincidences as the bracketting which signifies one or more parts especially. My post starts out with penguins, so, I’d like to close the other penguin bracket with the following video, an, “Ex on a Plane”:
      which came out later the same day on the NBC news. In my professional opinion, this is now something like, PENGUIN 411PENGUIN. I leave you to substitute the action verb.
      2. Peter Atkins book, REACTIONS, I’m reading that. It’s fantastic, like, “Fantastic Voyage (1966)”.
      3. The San Diego READER has a cover story about meth called, “The Bad House”, from that week.
      4. I tried to post chemistry: a) Hoffman by way of acetamide and hypochlorite methylamine (1937), b) Use of the above in (Reike metal) Grignard with benzyl grignard, forming a carbon-carbon bond affording racemic methamphetamine, with acetaldehyde/methylamine reagent, an imine you must use immediately type deal. That’s your daily rag. I know what it is to rag.
      5. Then you got a transorbital lobotomy candidate flight attendant rumor, where my factual event is approximately the system with mind disease massing you out of your skull, tossing a nut around in my control, where she reveals her sourcing and isn’t it immediately tasked?

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