addiction 4

I can outdo anyone on truth.  I am not saying I can outlie you.  I can outtruth you, though.  In order to do this I have to entitle ALL my nonrecipe posts under the banner of ‘addiction’.  I can’t affect the greater truth value of physics and math, but, they don’t contain as many lies as chem.  It is harder to tell the truth across chem; it’s much larger in volume than either of those.  For example, chemists Pons and Fleischmann exposed themselves to the physicists and were beaten down by them, in 1989.

Methamphetamine chemistry is chemistry.  Is all the truth of the best way to  make clean product found in the literature?  No.

The alternate titles for this post are Cobbestone, How to Live in Vegas, Chemistry and Ass Side Notes, . . . so far.

Breckenfeld was revealed in my first addiction post.  I Googled him; he was said to be a Santa Ana police officer; that jibes with what I know.  It said he was a bigamist with three wives, so maybe he is not a cop anymore.  The entry was 1997.  He was called in to go through my lab in 1996.  He questioned me, but still recommended a charge of manufacturing, even though the evidence wasn’t there.  It wasn’t anywhere.  All the evidence, such as it was, was there at my residence, since I’d had to close out my storage due to one of those things where your ATM card gives you money even though there’s no money in your account.  Actually, perhaps I didn’t give the storage check time to clear.  Nowadays the other situation prevails, so the situation’s worse.

Right now Bruce Springsteen’s on the Super Bowl.  Someone is saying, “There are office pools and the blogosphere’s buzzin'”.  Hmm.

Journey was on, too.  It looks like a Chinese is their singer.  A horrific bus crash happens here in Vegas Friday night, with 6 Chinese tourists killed.  I wonder scientifically how a bus can sever spines and smash brains.  That was a fatality rate of 6/17 = 35.29%.  I have a calculator.  As I mentioned (in ABOUT), I am a surveyor.  I am what is called a surveyor by itself, a journeyman union member, an infamous “white construction worker”.

I wrote a couple of letters to Bruce.  He sent a private eye to my house to confront me.  My letters were in the 1992 era.  My house was on Bestel.  That is ‘let seb’ backward.  My initials are SEB.  That means “sex eyeball” on the internet chat rooms.

As you can see, the topics are leading into each other and closing back around.  I am hitting my catchphrases as I go.  I have to work the discussion around to my sebsbians; they rhyme with lesbians; that’s all I have on lesbians.

My catchphrases are a number of made-up words and sentence fragments with meaning only to me.  As much as the life of Michelle Pfeifer, no, Michelle Phillips, McKenzie Phillips, a yes, her.  She said she liked to do cocaine and be at home with her “kitties”; things like that are extremely addictive.  Having your parents do the drug, extremely addictive.  ‘Shut shut’, I once wrote, like, “Try to divide by zero”.  “Vamp three squared and bust a nut”.

Bruce has long since talked about melanoma, saying in effect to contribute in the name of his (is deceased okay?) band member.  I am saying have an uncle you resemble die from it at age 42 with brain cancer.  I survived it, see?  I’m 56.

Maybe me and Bruce are aligned at this time.  Maybe it was only his spouse who had me tracked and leaned on by a dick.  Naw.  The haters of “The Boss”, like Robert Crumb, are the side to be on.  For one thing, Springsteen fans felt he betrayed his roots of “Born to Run” when he went ahead and divorced his barren first wife and married his backup singer, Patty Scialfa.  Presumably he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as so many phonies are today, with the incredible size of his fortune combining with the not-wanting-anyone-to-know-the-size, and wearing blue jeans to seem common.

Many of my catchphrases are apportioned to another realm; other realms and unreal realities require writings or other media to give them substance.  The Beatles’ songs have this.  You have to listen to all of them constantly and your occupancy in another world will take off.  It helps to be high.

The other realm might have a different map in it than the true map.  It could divide up the world into another set of countries; it would be geographically true and ________ untrue.  I like the equator for what it is; we don’t use it enough, not since the Panama Canal.

It never helps you to be high.  It helps your art, let’s say.  We could even say it doesn’t help one’s art.  They were saying that it did back in the day, though.  “Tune in, turn on, drop out” –Timothy Leary.

Let me take time to diagram my catchphrases and favorite quotes.  This is a transparent form of “cryptography”.  What I did was to take something somebody says and limit all their words to whatever words are made up of the same letters, adding back spaces if needed, if a word appears, using the “minimum column length” of three characters:

T        O                                        second iteration               U N T N D O

UNE NDR                                                                                         I N E O P R

IN T O P O                                                                                        U R T U T O

URN U T                                                                                                    N        T

What does it say?  What it says is arrived at by not having any preconceived notions.  If you look at 10,000

wow, I deleted what I was writing.  I am married with a young son.  It all highlighted and disappeared.  I must have hit ‘control’.

10,000 of these you’ll judge better how the one you’re looking at stacks up.  This one’s good.  It has, like, you are a nut and so forth; it’s short so it fits.  I would have to categorize it (upper right to lower left to lower right to upper left.  They all go like that) as OU_ _.  To me, that says “owe you”, because I am very phonetic.  “I am very(anal)” is a Lenny Bruce phrasing, as is, “I never bargained for this”.  To get high and go into Bruce or Garland or Burroughs is very good.  Along with being high their mood is a “let’s not get busted” thing.  That is, the more you get high the more you are fairly safe right now, but the worse the consequences.  The opposite types to that are a Wm Safire, Gore Vidal, Mort Sahl, Dick Gregory, and a few others are abominable.  Anyway, they are with you but they’re dead.  Figure that one out.  Tim Leary dies of a prostate issue.  Still unknown is whether whacking off kills you.  Does a prostate give out after so many miles?  I have a bad one myself.  Speed doesn’t help any of the cancers, but smoking, my God.  You smoke?  Look, I don’t do anything.  That’s how I can even write.

My bust is under the URL what?  have you tried this?  do they use dashes?  This thing’s underlined.  I didn’t copy it very well.  What you do is go to the Orange County Register , to the archives, and search billinghurst, from 1987, methamphetamine.  I got busted.  The ID is OCR20846.  It is strange that you can search back to 1987, and this happens in 1987.  But, check it out.  1987 only goes halfway back in my drug history.  My drug history looks macroscopically like this:


it is in here


l                                       l                                                     l(busted)       l                                  l(now)

I quit for a year inside there, but I couldn’t make drugs and not take them.

2 Responses to “addiction 4”

  1. Leb Says:

    Everything is true and untrue a perpetual mystery 100010110101110 23 the matrix is

    • sbillinghurst Says:

      Thank you for leaving these comments that don’t make me feel bad. I looked at my e-mail first thing in the morning, but, I woke up the first time just after five, and, the second time at 7:48. In between, I had a dream with a lot of fast motion and sudden forgetting of how I got there type of deal. Actually, I sat down on a picnic bench in the dream and when I got up, I didn’t have my flip-flops on anymore. I had to walk on cinders of a railroad to get out of Whittier, but I couldn’t think of how to ask these guys who had seemed sympathetic just a moment before exactly where they were. I thought my voice would not come out casual. I was sitting back down and one asks me if I have a memory card. I picked up my old cell phone and an adapter came out when I pushed the button, followed by a memory card. I could not get it back together. I wrapped the pieces in a rag to take home (I was ten or fifteen miles from home. I began by following a woman, probably representing my wife, who was taking a train with some dude. I thought her boyfriend was black before, but this dude was white. The whole dream follows a pattern of increasing self-generated attempts to wake up, coming out of pain I have when I sleep on my side, and, having to urinate, I guess. It’s not “noise”, it’s not somebody saying, “Wake up!”, it’s the logical plot elements your brain can come up with, like, the parts trying to get a global response to let you know of a larger reality, but, it does not have anything external at its disposal, so, it comes out a simulated sound when it would need to be loud to work. One element of this was the beginning on the ricketty stairs winding up the outside of a tenement hotel, trying to catch the conversation while buffeted by winds. Then the decision to board the train because there was unfinished business, a train which magically appeared, being pulled along by your own unease that everything wasn’t right. I knew of trains that went through buildings, so, we did not go down to the street, we went from the stairs to the train. It ran for two minutes, but, it was the world’s fastest train and that translated to a long walk back. It was only a “two minutes” declared as if. The elements of a hotel, a train, a sprawling ranch house, are settings, I think created from relations between large structures, one responsible for the body position, one for the environment, one for the passage of time, one for puttting one into another one, in the brain), and, once the exploded cell phone and a few greasy ralroad parts were added to the rag, which was a type of metal mesh, along with a rotor from an electric motor with the copper windings tossed in on top, and, I wrapped it all up, I stood up, and, I woke up.

      So, yeah, you don’t want a world as complicated as this for cross-checking what is true and false. The first simplification to make is to establish that the irrefutable is that a person is dead, if you want to do right. On another level, how can, “irrefutable” escape having originated at, “Simply Irresistable”? That’s just a dumb song. Consider the source. Algorithms for solving problems must not be lifted chronologically from fictional game strategies as laid-out in songs and movies, or, it will feed back. “Irrefutable” is one-third of the way into the song. One you throw it out in argument, you have marked a spot in real time. After the fuse delay, the counterargument can be further convoluted by introducing another word from further down in the song. You don’t win any, but neither does your opponent. Creedence doesn’t require justification, since we have a right to listen to what’s good. But, the Eagles somehow are held to a higher standard. Why, man? Because they made more money? It was CSNY who hated the Eagles, not John Fogarty.

      The truth about truth apart from some ideal, nonexistent world is that only the current moment exists in which to test veracity, an idea I got from the Wikipedia. “Eternal truth” is an ideal. You can’t be in two places at once, neither in space nor in time. The Venn diagrams aren’t static. I generally plan out the individual learning the truth I have stated previous to it becoming true, before it becomes false again, when I am not present, so they don’t have to consider me insensitive. They’re worth something if they apply to large numbers of trials, so, I am linguistically challenged to produce the statistical ambiguity. Consider indices from a set C = {2,3,5}. First, why is A = {1,3,5,7,9}, and B = {0,2,4,6,8}? Because the first one has a one in it and is called by the first letter, see? However, these sets are fatuous due to problems with the ends which are coming up mnemonically such that either you don’t let time or statstics intrude, or it loses truth over half at a time (time as in once). They don’t have a shadow of the other one in them. Any statistical intervals based on them will rob the discreteness of its cardinality. How many threes do you see: 333? I see four. There are three threes. You can’t leave 333 out of a sequence and say you are counting 330, 331, 332, 334, 335…, nor can you just give an explanation why “the one before 334” happens to be the right answer as 332. With “235” the way it is, strongly anthropic, where we live in a world that goes up in a flash any time we believe “U-235” must be detonated, and this junk suckered in people to deploy it. “The Dude abides” is inaccurate. “The Dude is swept away”, is better.

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