Anything could happen here.  I am well-disposed to put anything down which has to provide a kick when it’s looked at, because, I’m capable of it, and, it better; it’s my birthday.  I get things I like, and, it’s right around Easter, so, there’s a period where typical sunny days have piles of chocolate and Easter eggs and jelly beans making us sick, alike to Halloween’s opposition.

For instance, I drug that.  I was thinking of how, in the Himalayas a Sherpa guy can look down a thousand feet and see an eagle looking down another thousand feet to the ground.  This perspective imaginary mogul sets up the steepest angle; leading in the vertical to the printed page as if a beast in a zoo from a safe height.  If letters looked like teeth the reader is looking down the teeth.  If there are no Vs, I guess it’s toothless.

I can’t have it toothless.  I’m a predator and that is sad for my kind.  Let us eventually introduce death.  I talk to Death; it’s a guy.  We had better introduce the phenomenology in the form of the word, “deaths”; these provinces of the letter ‘S’ place a reality on the tip of your tongue in the form of a limit.  You know how many there are, I’m an Aries, my masters see everyone’s expendable.  Our species consists in seven billion targets, each unerringly nearing its fate.  That’s ten to the ninth and counting, …times seven, times 7.000 000 001, whenever one is born.


I broke the symmetry of no numerals already.  Now I see I have eight comments, the bullet looking like an eight-ball; the expression is, “behind the 8-ball”, meant being in trouble.  I was just thinking about the babe just born; the number two-fifty-one tossed out there echoes the one for the person, “to fit the one”.  It’s an error.  My season is Jesus’ season.  It’s rigged, Him not getting docked for dying.   We’re still saving deasth for Jesus.

Now we come to rising from the dead.  That’s what the harpless is for.  Most people rise from a car crash dead but all thin and vapory, towards heaven, playing a harp.  I value euphoria such that I “rise” when I get high to a “heaven”; doesn’t involve dying, not sure I need a harp.

It’s not funny, though.  To get your brain to falter and supply dialog whether you are listening or not is a catastrophe for its ability to tell reality from imagination.  I may only bring aspects of physical reality so far into my imagination.  Objects in there stay serious,  They don’t conveniently sink or float away.  when I decided to keep “harpless”, it was after “ruthlessly’s” failure to thrive bounced Ruth out of the convertible in a 1970s joke, going over railroad tracks.  I’m left with relentless.  I’m also a renegade chemist.  I’m hung up right now on my own failure to form the word, “hopeless”.  That’s what I was aiming for when it happened in the 1990s.  My brain’s pulled long duty taking drugs.  The event of taking it has created an alternate history where nothing seemed to be occurring on the outside, while my imaginarium took on a spherical arena with Rockettes in jet packs crossing it with arms linked, kicking, and seeing as if it is possible to see what you’d see embedded in the picture from a kaleidoscope.

It changed from right now to permanent.  Don’t you understand that backing away from a ticking bomb is dumb?  What if it’s an imaginary bomb and you back into a busy street?  Shee-it!  Slow down the ticks.   That’s true, although backing away in time even more causes you to back straight into another event.  Time isn’t holey like space.

Anyway, the hero of the most unhero-like bums is still ourselves.  I have a lot of problems.  I was born at 9:31; it’s only 9:20.  That wasd p.m.  Therefore, in ten minutes I will still be fifty-nine, but I’ll only have a half-day to go.  Won’t I be 59 x 2 – 1 = 117 something?  Well, yeah, the 117 will be a robotic factor in there s0mewhere, but the nice round number, the integer sixty, that’ll be like crossing the ring plane at Saturn, with the match to the seconds-per-minute, the minutes-per-hour, the 720 degrees in a spin, the 360 degrees in a circle, the 365 days in a year, and, the thing of the number of elements being the same as the years we live.

When I turn sixty, I’ll have been eye-to-eye with dysprosium and become such with neodymium.

I have not ordered an element sample just to have, being that age.  I guess it’d be a talisman you’d carry with.  I met a cat last week getting gas who was filling ATMs.  Said he had a dangerous job, couldn’t talk; but, I’d guessed his age, sixty.  I guessed it because of getting sixty dollars worth of gas.  Before going to sea the ancient sailors carried stuff for luck, like aquamarine.

A child fell twenty-five feet in our town yesterday, was all bloody, had to be helicoptered to Rady Children’s.  We usually have, “to the burn unit”, with our face, you know: poker face.  That’s because this blog is extending the “it cannot be excluded that-” into the space of “plausible deniability”, whose latest turn is from the bugs of Presidential junkets, Cartegena, Secret Service.  Notice these agencies (FBI, NSA, CIA, …), never have an R in their acronym, so, it can’t stand for what it really is, which is as retarded as it is possible to be while still capable of bipedal locomotion.

Because President Kennedy was shot, they don’t say the Secret Service has “never” fucked up, because what they say is all they did about it.  Thus, when you dot an ‘i’, you dotted it, but, you did not ‘eye’.  Quickly, the assassination turned on a long series of events, planned out in advance.  Regular deaths also have such series, and, the dates of the inevitable steps are agreed-upon not to be mentioned.  I am posting because my mother is saying she’s not well.  I am on the cusp both ways now.  I can say I have an eighty-nine year old mother (and father), I have the youngerst Billinghurst, Nicholas, seven, I have other dragons spread around (Mom was born on the Fourth of July), I’m fifty-nine, etc.  But, I hear it as I fifty-nined.  I eyed, then I dotted the i.

I hear the creaks of my chair.  At first, in the springs, it made a “oogly-oogly” sound, I was thinking of something bad.  “Deaths” is clearly not as bad a sound as the meaning proposed; you can make the ‘s’ sound into ‘th’; it then sounds silly.  What about terrible sounds?  As a leather-creaking sound, it said, ‘people’.  I then thought of where I had left the people.  We know you are seven; I am the one who said the word seven, so, I sevenned.  In my camp the army travels on its stomach.  At night we play chess.  My opponent reaches from gorilla to T. Rex, and, those people are stupid, and violent.  This is a spiritual army, so, I muse phenomes and time cases.  Since we have the infinitive, “to seven” is possible, and, we may have sevenned, by X matrix construction.  Once the truth is plausibly ESP, we may change the equation that claims individuals are responsible for everything.  Start to free your spirit as you die, or, you can just be thirty.

My buddy uranium-235 is only … what, it was seven when I was born?  Now it’s what, senile?  A sdimple example is that gold requires ytou to be seventy-nine.  You can also own some, but, dig it: we shot down that North Korean missile down with a space laser.  Y ou’d have to be ninety-two to be level with uranium.  I have always thought fondly of these Koreans dedicating themselves to 239-Pu.  You have to be 94.  My brother and I were born in 1952 and 1954.  If you make it to 47, you are silver.  Do you think there’s something so much better at 79 to compare with how much better gold is than silver?  It’s got to be the inner life of the mind.

I can’t think, so, it’s time for the pictures, and, the blue frog is here to show a problem with Panama.  We will lose this.


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