Nuthouse Notes. I Can See Them From My Stomach’s High Sign

Give me a trank. I’ll roll it into my mouth. I’ll roll a truck? Gray matter straight… the other straight. Nothing works; my Luxor is opting, my lucks are running blind physics.


w/o Karen that I can set my blog to publish backward and forward in time. Nobody could make up the power of the answering times to my comments, IN A ROW (Think about which goes Sergio, you had me going in custody)
. Hey are any of the fancy numbers thought up by Jews, Black 23 in roullette, I mean “in the Bible”, so to speak? I know Arabian has the requisite math, ah-choo 2x, I know you… I don’t know what for. I do not like you. And If I …were less, I think into rubber…bigs’ll go.

****** it’s not geting published, maybe drafted. You didn’t scare anything in there.
“Ten good years ago Santana was on speed”…
Division Bell “Full
Pick-Up Truck”
I hit antimatter. Am I
right? Then there is no right
then vative cande Nore adel-


4 Responses to “Nuthouse Notes. I Can See Them From My Stomach’s High Sign”

  1. sbillinghurst Says:

    “You reached for the secret too soon”
    I almost Shine On Like I Do Animals now.
    What I wish to share is the subjects I covered
    before meeting Barrett Brown by the time he goes on CBS
    in 2011, because of my belief in the ability of psychics
    To leave clues to their presence by invading the writing of others.
    It was LOL incorporated by BB which lent his blogs the Fear, Incorporated, pilot-mental.

    I went in order from the soon-to-be-revealed…
    “Nobody knows where you are
    How near or how far”
    Cirque… said

    Christianity is rank faggotry from stem to stern. Priests child molesting is no reason to take Protestants out of the sphere of suspicion.

    Steve, what about the odor where there’s chastity? You smelling any coercion? In Hell as it is in NSA, Protestants have no moral intentions to predate children’s sexual experience, any more than a Protestant dentist does you messed up grabbin’ his fat penis while coming out of the gas, or somebody messed up
    and any more that I know I’m not sayin’ how to have a simultaneous sexual grunting glancing from my prostate and ricochetting into my bowels’ discrete gotta-go-to-the-bathroom feeling. Doctor, no. I can tell that it’s good. Wait. Yeah, that would be all right.

    Blend into 2013, Albert. Think about it. You have to be queer to be psychic. That’s the law. Learn2 faggot by the foot of Molokai, or drop out of the Party.

  2. sbillinghurst Says:

    I got it wrong since the lyric isn’t “BURST — on the scene”

    “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”

    Remember when you were young You shone like the sun Shine on you crazy diamond Now there’s a look in your eyes Like black holes in the skyShine on you crazy diamondYou were caught in the crossfireOf childhood and stardomBlown on the steel breezeCome on you target for faraway laughterCome on you strangerYou legendYou martyrAnd shine
    You reached for the secret too soonYou cried for the moonShine on you crazy diamondThreatened by shadows at nightAnd exposed in the lightShine on you crazy diamondWell, you wore out your welcomeWith random precision[ From: ]Rode on the steel breezeCome on you raver You seer of visionsCome on you painterYou piperYou prisonerAnd shine
    Nobody knows where you areHow near or how farShine on you crazy diamondPile on many more yearsAnd I’ll be joining you thereShine on you crazy diamondAnd we’ll bask in the shadowOf yesterday’s triumphSail on the steel breezeCome on you boy child You winner and loserCome on you miner for truth and delusionAnd shine


  3. sbillinghurst Says:

    It is not all the time
    It’s all the time I’m actually writing
    I can lose the computer for five minutes
    just by trying to look up a word.
    Five minutes per character is like a mini-atomic bomb
    kind of a little
    T-shirt for the Corporation

  4. sbillinghurst Says:

    In 2013, a number of deaths will be charged to the mighty.
    Uhh, can you widen it? I can tell that’s dead-nigger

    To the lowly!
    To the past!
    friends, Q.

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