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Mathematical Proof That the Cosmos Could Have Formed Spontaneously From Nothing

HomelessInLaJolla Mm (612 comments)

Classic slashdot type story. These were the golden years...

about 6 months ago
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Leonard Nimoy: Smoking Is Illogical

HomelessInLaJolla bullroar (401 comments)

Maybe you just don't know how to breathe. Smoking is the primary method for continuing to dry out and tighten up from the inside.

Frontal lobes. The needs of the voting outweigh the needs of the runtling. Catch the plague if you don't know how to breathe.

That thing that spock is changing, that's the same as teh shower water font in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". That's the law of Tor and the brain canopy that you will never remove.

about 8 months ago
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Most run piece of code. Ever

HomelessInLaJolla Spiders (9 comments)

Web crawling spiders. Point them to mapfortu.wikidot.com, include slashdot and wikispaces, and let it ride. Set the depth to whatever you want. The links are spaced just well enough for the spider to iterate itself to death. If you #include a BASIC interpreter in your spider (for whatever reason you may wish to do such a thing), when the spider hits this program, go ahead and unremark 127998. It doesn't do much on its own unless you give it some pools to work on and caches to dump to (DATA and PRINT), but it will keep the spider internals busy.

about 8 months ago
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What Makes a Genius?

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Who are the real producers? (190 comments)

Take a human brain. Clog it up with boogers. See how the neural impulses get blocked, like in vivo bio-resistors? Notice how you kick out boogers, and sometimes they're dark little strands, and you think "the worms ate into his brain"? But you make the excuse: you smoked too much last night, you had that cigar, you spent the day working in the garden or hauling dirt and using the leaf blower, and the dust collected there, and that's what makes it dark. Maybe you see the little strings in it, but you press it on the kleenex and it smears, so obviously it wasn't ever any cohesive structure.

Nawww, that's a sea-p-honie (seahorse). The neural impulses help it electrify and loosen up.

More info on seaponies and other such neural retardations:

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

What makes a genius? Clear the boogers out. Until you drop your voice you do nothing but make up crazy excuses.

about 8 months ago
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131015 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.077)

HomelessInLaJolla Re:amusing (3 comments)

why don't you go off and

In related news. You suck dog dick and eat farm shit for money. Your sex is all f*cked up.

beat off furiously

What, exactly, is "normal use" for a male? "Religious" is "daily". Are you recommending that you tie your ass together and sh*t once monthly, too? How about breathing? You breathe once a week? Talking? You vomit sh*t out of your mouth only when absolutely necessary, like Japheth? Leave it to the eunuch to blanket everything with "furiously". Stupid f*ckin' faggitts callin' the police every time the sun rises.

about a year ago
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GNU Make 4.0 Released

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Me gusta! (179 comments)

GNU make is great!

War in La Jolla, seventh year, seventy-third entry (http://slashdot.org/journal.pl?op=display&uid=1026842)

The new national standard stupidity test. How many new random tourist single day stay dogs, daily, would "they" need to bring to you for you to figure out what their power trip is and what they do for their money? Ten dogs, daily? Background noise. Twenty dogs daily? There's an excuse here, for the money, that more people with dogs are moving in. New dogs, single day stay? Don't pay much attention. Good excuse (laugh at this and then walk down that ramp). Thirty dogs? More people moving in. New dogs? Don't care. For weeks now? Too busy. Forty dogs? Would you be able to figure it out at forty new dogs daily? Don't pay much attention. Move the dogs that they surprise you at significant frames in time; at cash register transactions, when you cross through a doorway, in particular when you leave the lavatory or just as you begin eating. Would that help you pay more attention? How stupid are you? Fifty dogs, up to months? Would you be able to figure out what they do for their money, what their power trip is, that their game is to play the passive aggressive pranks on unsuspecting workers (and each other)? Sixty dogs? What's your IQ?

If they were all wearing K-mart t-shirts, would you be able to figure it out? What if they all wore arm bands? Do you need a new witness for every dog or do you need seven different signatures in red ink for every dog every day? When are you required by law to be smarter than the telephone? When are you required by law to be more intelligent than the fork you dropped while eating? When are you absolutely required by law to be more intelligent than the video game controller? When, watching football, are you required by law to be smarter than the remote control? When do you figure out what their power trip is and what they do for their money?

Once you figure out what they do for their money, what are they doing with all those children? Those are all the super hammer chldren, the disposable heroes. They eat the ham that the contracted "they" are not required. Travel agencies worldwide are offering vacation pacakages including a complimentary one-to-three day stay in La Jolla, if you qualify with dog and super hammer child. Then they bring the hammer children, with dog, to see the homeless man.

Jesus. You're supposed to go for a long walk. Moses and Elijah told you so. It's a food chain. The difference between wood alcohol and grain alcohol. Farm sh*t reduces to methanol. They know exactly how super that super hammer child must be to go blind. Jesus, when you go for your forty day walk, they ramp the kid up to be a superstar futures investor, and then you walk back into town and the Sadduccees claim some space-time continuum thing makes you responsible for the blindness. Not just one. They probably have a few dozen super farm sh*t eating disposable heroes lined up for somebody like Jesus. There are entire scary movie subdivisions completely stocked, like SimCity, to hide rings of super hammer children. Then, when appropriate, the hammer children are brought into contact with an eligible target. When the super hammer child goes blind then all hell breaks loose on the target's life and the background gossip is that they deserve it. They control the horizontal and the vertical, they control all contact you have and everything you see and what else goes on around you all day long, but when that super hammer farm sh*t eating proxy child ("WE LET YOU WATCH AND NOW YOU MUST EAT IT! IT'S YOUR PART! WE LET YOU WATCH!" barking of machine gun fire, does nothing to me now) goes blind, then YOU'RE TO BLAME, YOU'RE AT FAULT, IT WAS YOU, YOU DESERVE WHATEVER WOE YOU'RE GETTING, WE HOPE IT HAPPENS TO YOU, WAAH WAAH WAAH.

Sure. Show me another farm shit eating pedophilia doll with a dog. We're up to a hundred daily, for ten months and running. Would you be able to figure out that they f*ck dogs for their money and make the child eat the sh*t to cover for them? Their idea of a normal family appears to be man, woman, dog, and child to eat the sh*t for them.

Seven years in this area and all I am able to say about these people, over the course of time appearing to be "the millionaires", is that they get to fiddle their dogs and faddle their children about a hundred times every day. I really don't know anything else about them.

Some space-time continuum thing. Like the excuse for the animals all having big black dark receded eyes. Like little boys bedwetting after visits to grandma's house.

Had Jesus gone for a longer walk then, when the super hammer child went blind, he'd be not-so-happily stumbling his way to Cairo and, by the time he got back, the disposable hero would have recovered, gone to the drowning pool, or been checked into a storied career in the pornography industry. I have always posited that porn people were all dead; three or four months away from dead when they began shooting porn for money. Of course. That's a handout for all the super hammer children that have gone blind; until they meet the drowning pool or some other convenient route to hell.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

about a year ago
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Comcast May Put Wi-Fi Transceivers On Cars, Buses, Humans

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Expanded coverage (85 comments)

In related news, what is really happening is that Comcast may sublicense already existing wifi transceivers on cars, buses, and humans.

about a year ago
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130410 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.014)

HomelessInLaJolla Re:lolz (3 comments)

I want you to DIE you fucking bastard cunt. You shit-faggitts have been stalking me on the network and in real life. DIE YOU FUCKING CUNT. Go the fuck away and DIE. I will kill you myself. Come here you little coward sh_t-faggitt. *grabs AC by the neck and beats the fucking tar out of him* This is a death threat. This is a one hundred percent complete death threat. If you ever have the fucking balls to stop playing your secret spy game, hiding behind the corners, and playing you fucking game on the 'net. I will fucking KILL YOU. This is a 100% death threat. Call your fucking attorney. Call the FBI. Tell everybody you know. Tell me where you live faggitt and I will show up to kill you!

NOW FUCKING DIE.

about a year and a half ago
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130409 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.013a)

HomelessInLaJolla Re:when are you supposed to do this (5 comments)

Hey stupid. You're not supposed to be pushing grudges in public. Party rules for you millionaire shit-fag animal pedo faggitts. You show up being stupid and acting like nobody knows, you get called, you go fuck your dog and eat dog shit.

Stop being stupid, faggitt. Go fuck your dog, go eat more animal shit, and, when you lose your little grudge fight, you will do it again.

about a year and a half ago
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130409 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.013a)

HomelessInLaJolla Re:when are you supposed to do this (5 comments)

Go fuck your dog and eat more animal shit. You don't have enough money to win the fight you're trying to pick. You're going to hell anyway. Are you wasting time playing with the money, your dog, and your little girl? We both know you're one of the zoo-fucker rainbowtards, as is half this entire area by now.

Are you done crying to the police yet? They know that, when it comes to pedodogsex, you're the shitbags.

about a year and a half ago
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Is $100 Million Per Year Too Little For The Brain Map Initiative?

HomelessInLaJolla a joke? (190 comments)

The world is a four hundred year carnival; the wheel of technology. 1820-1900, the dark ages and water plumbing, people kill each other for a can of beans and blanket in deserted urban slums or remote urban wildernesses while the supermanagers use them for ridiculous animalsex entertainment rituals. 1900-2020, wars and politics and the development of digital technology. 2020-2120, internet exploration into the neural synapses of sex, wearing them all out. 2120-2180, the unveiling and revelation of all of the needle and thread surgical technology of the sphinx, eunuchs, abominations, seven layers of human algae salad in denial (from the Nile), culminating in the final revelation that green eggs and ham has been a million dollars since the beginning, dog fellatio and ingestion of dog feces. 2180-2220, "WAH WAH WAH! I had to do it and now I want to see somebody else do it!", push-button performance review popularity contest, chicken glove carrot on a stick, everybody wears a backpack and signs into various kingdoms of push-button tallying and scheduled updates, medical dental prosthetic (an offer you can't refuse, conscientious objectors) is part of the package. Butcher chop finale pushes the remainder onto space ship furnaces (fired up to hell) trying to escape or through screening lines for limited space in hidden cellars. Two generations in the cellars and the lemmings are stupid as dirt and the carnval reopens with a subsegment of the population, using their secret wire communications technologies, as the supermanagers.

The global neural net has been in place in the sphinx since long before that stupid lawn troll was put out in front of the pyramid.

More information @ http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

about a year and a half ago
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130221 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v6.129)

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Wow. (3 comments)

Look, I told you before, I'll tell you again. I WANT YOU TO DIE. DIE NOW. You have been trolling my journal with your idiocy and your faggot mob, on the internet and on the streets, for seven fucking years. DIE. GO TO HELL. You and all of your friends, all of you green eggs and ham faggits. I want you dead. I want you in hell. I want you to stop stalking me on the internet and on the streets. DIE YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.

Either that or, as you've made a seven year game out of spying on me on the streets, step up you pussy face piece of shit. I will chicken kick your jaw to the next gender you stupid fucking beastie queer. You wouldn't be here trolling my journal unless you eat the green eggs and ham.

about a year and a half ago
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Millionaire Plans Mission To Mars In 2018

HomelessInLaJolla Millionaire to Mars (97 comments)

Reality calling the world:

Millionaire: green eggs and ham.
Mars: the sky has a dome.

Result? You are all going to hell.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

about a year and a half ago
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Dutch DigiNotar Servers Were Fully Hacked

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Nothing to see here... (83 comments)

Well, of course not, because with all eight of any servers at the level of certificate authority were hacked then you may as well consider everything else in the world to be fully hacked, too. Really, that's not an exaggeration. All eight? Do you know what an 8250 drive is? It's a security testing device. It has a stack of steel plates around the power supply to suppress any potential flux in the magnetic field which could be used to overload the r/w heads. They deliberately match each drive against each other with race competitions of algorithms on the disks just to try to get one to burn. Now, take that kind of matched security testing premise and apply it to an octogon of hacked certificate authorities.

You're fucked. And you likely suck dog dick for money.

about 2 years ago
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What number taken to the root of itself yields the highest value?

HomelessInLaJolla Interesting... (3 comments)

Similar numerical contraptions:

1/9, .11111, 2/9, .222222, 3/9, .333333, etc. 9/9, .999999?

Has anyone proven that, for a given number, only the integers up to the square root of the number are required to be checked for factoring? Great simplification, logical hypothesis, has it ever been proven by the formal proof method we learn in geometry?

about 2 years ago
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Increasing Wireless Network Speed By 1000% By Replacing Packets With Algebra

HomelessInLaJolla Re:Congratulations, Baldrick (357 comments)

Right? I saw "replace packets with algebra" and I thought of the rotating spindle of the kernel, or even the rotating spindle of the core processor. Why do processors not single step very well in modern day? The packets have been replaced with algebra. The rotating spindles assist to feed the proper segments to the proper areas, actually querying for the result of any particular exact memory location is an ever-changing game of "guess what number I'm thinking of, lower, higher" which often changes while guessing a number.

about 2 years ago
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Advice Wanted: Celebrity Stepping on the Little Guy

HomelessInLaJolla Tough (6 comments)

Not much to do about it. They exist in a system of sucking dog cock for a million a pop and you exist in a system of slaving to make rent and pay taxes with a take-home around $2k monthly. If you fight they'll just go suck another dog dick and pay the people to f*ck your life up.

More information...

I am homeless. I live in an area populated by such dog dick slaves. This is basically how it runs.

about 2 years ago
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What Should Start-Ups Do With the Brilliant Jerk?

HomelessInLaJolla Well, DUH! (480 comments)

The "brilliant jerk", if he or she exists in your workplace, is the stand-in-mummy elected for that area.

You don't know stand in mummy?

The great sphinx and the great wall of china both architecturally model a set of cues known collectively as "the facts". You were born in them, you are raised and taught and trained in them, and you will probably die in them. "The facts" describe a system of rituals which serve as complete anchors for every second of every day of the lives of the people in them. "The facts" include, as an operational subsystem, a financial system of accounting and tracking which is matched and calibrated against other methods of numerical accounting. One of the numerical accounting systems is a mummified baby, known in bible scripture as Ham Isaac Jesus Christ. The precursor to the mummified baby was Cain, a branding system. The numerical accounting is matched by cutting down and regimenting all food and fruit bearing life on the planet.

The mummy baby, eventually allowed to crack the case of cinderella's carriage, provides a human walkaround pivot point to schedule and coordinate all of the other sets of "facts" which will describe the ritual performance of the lives of the other humans around them. If your area does not actually have a mummified individual then one of you will be picked to be "it" and the system of the "facts", all of the mosque temple synagogue church rituals and then all of the people working for jobs, will be wrapped around the "stand in mummy".

The brilliant jerk at work is the assigned stand in mummy.

about 2 years ago

Submissions

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WWW Cathedral and File Bazaar

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  more than 2 years ago

HomelessInLaJolla writes "Online shell hosting has become plagued with focus on irc bots. Online content management is focused on automated layout and design. Online file sharing is plagued with script kiddies and warez. Online file storage and embedded sharing often includes conversion to pdf or surrounding junk reminiscent of geocities. How may I find the equivalent of telehack (a shell within a web browser) with a directory accessible by http from public hosts? Translated,"Cloud hosting at the shell level accessible from a web browser behind swiss cheesed firewall and permissions?""
Link to Original Source
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HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  more than 7 years ago

HomelessInLaJolla writes "
Create debt. Maintain debt. Keep people in debt. Work them until they die of debt.

Courtesy of the "This day in history" service part of the NYTimes daily e-mail delivery.

In 1941, President Roosevelt chose to saddle the American population with an increased debt that, as a nation, they had not truly acquiesced to. The 14th Amendment (specifically section 4), conveniently for those brokering power and money to the rest of us, stops citizens, or even states, from contesting the validity of that debt.

Some politicians (in particular, then Senator Wheeler of Montana) attempted to point out the ulterior motivation behind the Lend-Lease bill:

"The American taxpayer must make up his mind now that we have given the President power to carry on undeclared wars all over the world. He is probably going to have his taxes doubled and the national debt will be $100,000,000,000 instead of $65,000,000,000 if the war lasts for any length of time.

"This is what the Morgans and the other international bankers asked for and I hope they like it.

"As far as I am concerned I will make no effort to tie the hands of the President regarding the appropriations. It is up to the conservative majority in the Senate to the money. They supported the bill."
And it continues today. Inescapable debt is slavery.
"
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HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  more than 7 years ago

HomelessInLaJolla writes "From the this-is-how-we-do-it department:

"An antiterrorist database used by the Defense Department in an effort to prevent attacks against military installations included intelligence tips about antiwar planning meetings held at churches, libraries, college campuses and other locations, newly disclosed documents show."

Reading the article further finds that many of the antiwar planning meetings are common church services, church sponsored discussion meetings, or student organized events on college campuses to distribute educational literature promoting peace and well-rounded understanding of the situations and circumstances surrounding modern day conflicts. There's no mention in the article if any of the meetings were disrupted due to action taken by local authorities prompted by contact from the defense department or from the defense department directly as a result of the entries inclusion in the military database named Talon.

When questioned about the entries, Daniel J. Baur, the acting director of the counterintelligence field activity unit responded,"I don't want it, we shouldn't have had it, not interested in it...I don't want to deal with it." That summarizes the common response all of government presents when faced with a situation in which it is responsible for a grave error or a gross overextension of its proper authority."

Journals

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140930 (go)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  yesterday

Today is Tuesday the thirtieth day of September in 2014 A.D.

They beat me up enough last night to make me lose some voice as if I had been yelling. I'll take a week clearing that out. Fella returned with his friend. Adolf Frenchie and Super-happy Grinnie (with diamond stud earring). Kicked me awake at 3 AM and then beat me out in animal style, kicking and punching. I walked to make my report and, upon returning through the area for sleep, they arrived in a white SUV. Exiting the SUV with a beast they began taunting,"You like the pit bull? You like the pit bull?" It wasn't like they were going to attack me with it. No, he was taunting as he led the beast toward me. Because they f* their beasts for their money. A good portion of this is the eighth year of the sphinx. They're mad that I won't get a job or f* the dog. Many of them, growing up, were assaulted and beaten and raped by their parents until they would give and go f* the dog.

Managed to duck around enough corners to escape them and the beast, I heard them call "get the SUV" one to the other as I took off. Then I made as much noise as possible, ringing doorbell and rapping on window, to get one call to the police (hopefully), and I ran to the pay phone to make another 911 call. Hopefully to bring as many squads from as many directions as possible to catch them before they left the scene. The police did indeed arrive, did indeed drive around the corner in time (I kept going off near like a teapot in my head,"could you please just drive around the corner and apprehend their vehicle before they leave") but outwardly kept my patience and allowed the officers to handle the situation, I hardly said a word. The officers did meet the two, did tow their vehicle, did take them to jail. Is only a misdemeanor ticket, though, so they likely post bail in the morning and then that's that for people like them. If they don't bother to show up to court the green eggs and ham lawyer for their particular collective group will.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

The wiki website has a good breakdown for the various levels of financial control and the associated ages at which they were brought into the dark side of life. That material is in Template Timeline. Plenty of associated material and references are in the Reader's Guide and here in the journal history.

Perhaps we could say I was beaten two nights in a row. The first night I ate the green eggs and the second night they ate the ham when their attack boys were taken away by the police. I could even pay them as the subcontractor for the ham; that's a common transaction in their culture.

They like to run their secret parade in attack mode on me. One of the officers commented in last night's incident,"They don't seem to beat up the other homeless people. You're the only one that gets it." Later, in a discussion about the number of incidents upon which I had been blindly beaten in the middle of the night, he said,"But it wasn't the same person that beat you up the last time." That's why it is called a hate group. Different people from different walks of life are able to give that excuse,"it wasn't the same person that beat you" while "they don't seem to bother any of the other homeless people." All the other homeless people are chipped and wired paid and financed, on assignment in the green eggs and ham and worse animal prostitution ship, largely. They like to run their secret parade in attack mode, but they don't like to hear about it, even if I am talking at a barely audible whisper. Social isolation, such as homelessness such as I have documented, with a daily life of prayer and two walking pilgrimages, results the individual talks largely to themselves. In my discussions of hell I have noted that, until they beat you to silly putty at the bottom by mining you inside out for the hundred milliliter daily soaking and sponging to produce lipid bilayer for the bugs, until the entire process beats you to silly putty, then you will not stop moving or making noise. That is top of the food chain meat. We have eunuchs, we have torsos, we have roosters, we have three hands on roosters, in the kingdom of heaven they put together the big asmodeus clusterscrew by turning the paschal lamb into shiva plus as many other hands as they have these days. It's an atrocious world. Terrible.

The police counseled, the ticket was only a misdemeanor, the fellows would likely post bail at the earliest possible A.M. Their explanation to the police was that I had "assaulted them first", I suppose that means that they report that I initiated the event. Without impact I implored the officer,"Notice that, over all of these years, near everybody that beats me in the middle of the night claims that same excuse."

And where else to go? Morro Bay police likely had a call that all of the goodies out walking their dogs were zeroing in on something. Atascadero saw fewer goodies with dogs, but the police noticed the homeless people waiting at the area dinner for the new guy. Lompoc police put on a half-block show to encourage me to keep moving as quickly as possible, that they had received warnings that the goodies were on the chase on something. Rinaldi, the police were in the parade line. Orcutt! DEPUTY! The deputy told me to keep moving that day because his office had received indications that the goodies were talking about doing something terrible to that new homeless guy that does nothing but pray with _that book_ all day long.

So where else to go? Everywhere I go the goodies are always hot on the chase with their dogs, except the places where whispers of "there are too many people working" means that there are too many jobbies to start running the dogs and kids in bikinis everywhere over the homeless man all night long. Near every town I came to saw signs in the block or two away of the usual clouds of possible fight scenes beginning to form. I never stayed anywhere very long on this summer's vacation walk (earlier journal entries, maybe five or ten back, maybe more by now).

They're all chipped and wired. They're all the goodies, with animals with dogs, dead eye reanimated carnival sewing monstrosities. That's their way, that's how they do, that's what they do, that's the way it is.

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140929 (cyborg)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  2 days ago

Today is Friday the twenty-ninth day of September in 2014 A.D.

I know what this is all about. They are all chipped and wired, and they are unhappy because, since returning from the summer vacation walk, I have been muttering all day long "they ate, they ee-tered it, that ate-er-ated it, they ate it" and "you ate? you ate it! you ate it... oh no! you're going to hell" and other segments from earlier journal entries. This happened back at the beginning of the http://daypage.wikispaces.com/ material when I first postulated that they were all chipped and wired on remote control, and began talking to the "secret microphone" by telling them to go f* their dog; as I had recently deduced that they did indeed spork their hoagie for their money, do the freaknastery with the dagnabbery for the blingdiddery, and then they all get chipped and wired. This "game" is all they have.

So when enough of them begin pouting about what you're saying, whether or not you're yelling it or muttering it, then they get to hire somebody to come and beat you up. Because that is how they do their children. I have earlier written about the scene with Method Man, good upstanding fella, standing off in a corner with a shovel. He managed to smack the first one in the rush, and they probably ended up looking like me, but he was inside, and the rush with the doctors and the dental prosthetic to teach him how to make his million dollars. Good Meth, standing at the ready in the corner with a shovel, his brain unraveling the reality in front of him,"You're all faggitts! You're all faggitts! *step step whack*" and then the rush.

While I was on summer vacation enough new ones rotated around the general shuffle that they have been unhappy about me taunting them on their own secret microphone system, following quite well with the incident following my initial exploration into the possibility that they were indeed all chipped and wired and on a system which they did not administer.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

http://daypage.wikispaces.com/

According to the way the sphinx works, and the way the languages are constructed, and the way real nature works, I'm helping you to hell anyway. You're performance of the situation, the six hours you spent practicing with a dummy in advance to ensure that you could *set set set snap* *set set set pop* The fellow didn't really dance around much, he had spent time practicing for the entire situation. I thought, early on,"should I raise my hands to block", but decided that may only encourage him to become excited. C'mon, s*itbag, do what you're gonna do, take your shots, get the hell oughtta here. Cameras everywhere, drone spy seagulls probably have the whole thing with audio.

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140929 (blood2)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  2 days ago

Today is Friday the twenty-ninth day of September in 2014 A.D.

Pharauh had friends. They were neuroseurgeons. They loved to take him apart and put him back together and take him apart again, and they became very good in the taking apart and the putting back together. They were very interested in the brain, both for revolver and flipping purposes. They learned exactly which channel, which crevice, which pocket was related to which sound. The established which crevice and pocket was tied to which muscle, and which exact range of motion. In the days of the original humans there were variations in the matching. In the early steam pressed humans there were variations in the matching. The line of steam pressed new humans achieved a level of scientific perfection to ensure that, within quality limits, the exact crevasse, trench, channel, and pocket of the brain would be matched to an acceptable range of sound and muscular motion. They also discovered that the brain, if plugged down to the brain stem, produced a yet very functional human. The standardization of the steam press line allowed them to develop very predictable methods for plugging very particular sections of the brain through injury, and economized the process to establish full ventilatory blockage between the stem and the lobes, using the channels, pockets, crevasses, and trenches. Pharaoh's friends, the doctors, established very predictable methods of making pharoah do this, or do that, or perform tasks which were designed to facilitate disuse of ranges of motion which could be predictably plugged up with other methods. Physical injuries settle in the muscles and the brain becomes lax about them and, if he doesn't stretch those out or sing through those notes, there is a higher chance that he will not recover those areas. Larger injuries work even better. Have him stay on the couch all day long, sit exactly like this, ride along on wheels, maybe use turnip carts to gimp the ankles and knees. Pharaoh's friends became very good at this. They choreographed years and decades long sequences to assist with position just the exact injury or the correct sounds to culminate with regions which had been softened up along the way.

Now, pharaoh's doctors have it all set up for you.

There is a real neurological and physiological reason why you cannot walk with your heels above the ground. That is a memory space in your brain stem which is blocked off from you. The result is: faggitt. Another one in the line of steam press ones in the world full of them going to hell.

There is a real neuro and physio reason why your voice hasn't dropped. There is a real neuro and physio reason why you cannot move your tongue inside the back of your nose. Those regions for those muscular positions are boogered up and blocked off. The result is: faggitt.

And they tore your wings off your butt the moment they steam pressed you. That wasn't quite enough to completely knock the lobes off the stem and kick Adam out of the garden, but close.

Other reliable methods are having sex with an eunuch. That will creep your brain out and lock you down to the stem the first, if not the second, time. Eating green eggs and ham, similarly. Eating the green eggs is bad enough, but why the ham? They're going to hell anyway, the ham ensures they'll make it the first, if not definitely by the second, offense.

On the green eggs and ham, nowadays they're all dead reanimated parts anyway. What is this "under the earth"? The bible is a catalogue of everything real, maybe the words are out of sequence on occasion, or maybe the scene needs to be analyzed with the surrounding tapestry on occasion, but it's all real. There are never "eyes of a beast" in the bible, nor are there "eyes of an animal", because those are not real concepts. Either the eyes were alive or they weren't. But, recently, there is this "under the earth". What is this "under the earth"? They speak of it highly, as if there are many tongues there to proclaim that Jesus is Lord, as if it could be a consideration that some of the tongues may not proclaim, so they need to write it down.

What is this "under the earth" of which they speak? It's real, it's in the bible.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Heaven, and hell under that.

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140929 (blood)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  2 days ago

Today is Monday the twenty-ninth day of September in 2014 A.D.

Woke up at 3 AM with some fag punching me in the face. I now look like I finished a title bout with Tyson, literally. I have the customary twelve-round gash at the corner of the eye and the classic twelve-round gash on the top of the cheekbone, in addition to the shiner on the inside of the eye--not the entire eye, just the inside is blackened. Classic. That's because my face is so hard. Has nothing to do with how the fag hit me; has to do with where the bones are, like stretching a balloon over a carved bust and watching it tear on the edges. My fingertips aren't bruised, my fingernails aren't broken, my knockles aren't scraped, my clothes aren't torn: I had no part of the fight. As usual, as I have written about in the past, when the faggitt couldn't get into a full contact full grappling fight (I wasn't going to abandon my belongings so I just stood there while he punched at me) then, obviously, he started reaching for and tearing at my belongings--picking up this bag and that bag and whatever he could get his hands on and throwing it around the area. Nothing but faggitts.

Hit me again. Did it make your voice drop? No. Your voice didn't drop. You aren't any bigger man, you are still the faggitt.

Hit me again, faggitt. C'mon, get mad about it. Did I say something to make you mad? Do you feel angry and bad about f*cking animals and eating excremental feces for your money? Get mad about it, hit me again. There, are you able to keep your heels up when you walk? No? See, you're still the faggitt.

C'mon faggitt. Hit me again. Are you going to go f*ck another beast for your money? See. You're still the faggitt.

I wake up in a sense of "What the hell?" Oh, I know... I get it. I know what this is about. This is about you people f*cking your animals for your money, isn't it? Well, hit me again. See. You're still the faggitt.

Oh, I know. This is about your "right" to follow people around, to profile them, to stalk them, to wait in timed gangs around all the corners to come marching out on somebody. Two by two, one by one, three by three, to take your shots, shout at their head, step in their way, cut them off. This is your "game", isn't it? This is the way you make people "mad", the way you get them to yell and holler, so that you can call the police and say you don't know anything? This is your "right", your "way", isn't it? Well, hit me again faggitt. Get mad about it. See, you're the one getting mad, you're still the faggitt.

I've been telling the police for years that the problem is the faggitts and their animals. What happened at the beginning of the summer? The police took *me* to jail, booking me for "illegal lodging" and then settling me for "disturbing the peace". What happened last night? I got jumped in my sleep and beat up by one of the faggitts again. No credible threat to make it a stalking? Well, hit me again faggitt.

Too bad. Too many of the police, especially here in California, are themselves members of the doggie-f*cking faggitt club.

This is your way, huh? This is the way you beat your kids up and make them go "do it"? When you beat one of your little kids up like this then they give in and go f*ck the dog like you do for your money? You must feel really big beating up little kids less than half your height and making them have sex with animals and eat dogsh*t like you do for your money. Well, hit me again faggitt. See, you're still the faggitt. I guess your "way" doesn't work on a full-sized adult. Which you're not, because you're the faggitt.

Did your voice drop? It doesn't work like that. You don't make your voice drop by punching me. Punch me in the face all you like, faggitt, you're still going to hell. You are still the faggitt.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Chase me around the town. Follow me all night long. Sing your opposition to my dick. Pound your fist and insist that everybody "get nothing!!!" until they "go do it!". Get you and all your people together. Hide in the condos, hide in your cars, hide in the parking lots and around all the corners. Flood the area and case me around the block. Make people mad, get people upset, point the finger and blame at me.

See this blood on my face? This is your game. You're still the faggitt. Hit me again, faggitt. Get some more of your health club boys to stake me out all night long and come up and start punching me at 3 AM. You're still the faggitts. You're all big and bad f*cking animals and beating your children into it, but you can't even walk a few miles to save your own ass from getting pounded out by a reanimated set of cast-off sewing parts.

_YOU_ are still the faggitt.

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140925 (movie)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  5 days ago

Today is Thursday the twenty-fifth day of September in 2014 A.D.

Thinking about a movie, or a video game. BRICKS. The sphinx walks up and down the great wall of China and reads whatever is written there. For every brick in the sphinx, up to and including the actual fellow physically placing the brick in coordinate position, all of the laundry, all of the grocery, all of the after work hours entertainment, all of the plumbing, all of the lights, all of the adminstration, the executives, the managerial, the paperwork and offices and contractors, up to and including the single fellow placing the brick in physical coordinate position, for every brick in the sphinx, as the sphinx walks up and down the great wall of China and reads what is written there. All of the finances for each brick, and each community over time associated with each individual brick, how the money is portioned out, how it is divided and distributed, how it is all counted and numbered ahead of time, to facilitate the operation of the community, as it functions associated with the individual fellow placing the brick in physical position, over time as the sphinx walks up and down the great wall of China and reads what is written there. How the lives of all of those people interoperate, how they share road space, how they share lunch room space, how they share restaurant space after hours, how their lives change over time, the stages they go through. How the finances are all counted ahead of time and kept track of in bread boxes along the way. A movie, or a video game. BRICKS. As the sphinx walks up and down the great wall of China and reads what is written there, for each brick in the sphinx, up to and including the single individual fellow placing the physical brick in coordinate position, all of the lives and times and situations and operations associated with all of the people in the resulting community, for each brick in the sphinx. How quickly does the sphinx read? How quickly does it walk? What is the lifespan of the people in the brick system? What do they do for their money? What are their injuries, their faults, their failings? How do they break down? How do they notice? What excuses do they make? For each brick in the sphinx.

The movie included several fortune cookies, points where the entire audience was roaring in laughter. For each brick in the sphinx there are many people. Sometimes there are tricks between the bricks, little known nuances which cause comedy and entertainment for everybody involved. If it is known that there are present people associated with the sphinx brick system, and that is many people, then there are ways to make them go googly, or make them choose poorly, or inspire them to aspire to greatness but, like the seed thrown on rocky ground, they have no root and they go back to EATING IT. And those eating it manage various sized teams or corporations or even nations of people that don't eat it but are hopelessly locked into little money games.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

The video game could allow the player to enter the role of any of the people in any of the systems in any of the bricks, up to and including the priests and doctors working on the mummified baby in the middle of the financial accounting system. Or the player could play an outside eunuch, as in the temple eunuchs of old, and put the game into frame by frame and make games out of profiling workers, all in line performing a similar and like task, by poking them in various particular muscles with various points and pressures, and taking note of which sounds they make, if they notice at all, if they go completely bonkers. The possibilities for testing and manipulating teams of workers in known brick operational teams, as in working on the sphinx or the pyramids or the great wall itself or any of the major projects, are beyond endless. The ancient temple eunuchs did a remarkable job of profiling the available testing space and the results are recorded in an archive known as "the law". The law is, in modern days, broken down into religions and nationalities in a compressive manner because the entirety of the law is far too large to record or carry out in singular or linear format.

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140924 (cookbook)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about a week ago

Today is Wednesday the twenty-fourth day of September in 2014 A.D.

Here's one for the recipe book.

White-Brain Human

Save the poo from several different humans for a few days. Mix it in a large bowl. Allow to dry. Continue to mix and dry but retain consistency. Do not overdry.

Obtain a skin sack from somewhere. Epidermis. Enough for a sack. Like a haggis.

Obtain tissue samples from major organs. Maybe Fisher or Aldrich will sell to you a few cell lines and a dish could be cultured for each. Cardiac, spleen, liver, brain, a section of tripe, name a few more.

Surgical gauze. Lots of it. A turkey pan. Two or three gallons of water.

Pump the skin sack full of the conglomerate poo. Insert the organ bits in the approximate locations. Use bone fragments of significant length at the arms, legs, spin, skull, ribs, and hips. Seal the skin sack. Wrap the skin sack to about three-quarters inch thick surgical gauze. Place the wrapped skin sack in the turkey pan and fill with water to half the level of the wrapped sack.

Pre-heat your oven to 500 degrees. If you have a ceramic kiln, so much the better.

Toss the turkey pan into the oven and replenish the water as necessary. Conventional oven may take a few hours, ceramic kiln could be done is as little as ten minutes, depending upon kiln power and proper poo to organ tissue ratios.

When you hear a sound from the oven, you have your very own nephilim. The sons of heaven, the baby with the bathwater, wrapped up in the pressed paper, because the old bathwater is used to soak the leaves..

The white-brained human will have wings. If you are following the kingdom of heaven script then you will promptly tear those off. The white-brained human will also take some time before it actually does anything. The newly steam-pressed brain will be somewhat confused and it may spend several months or even years sitting on your couch assimilating information and figuring out what the #$%& is going on. If you are following the kingdom of heaven script then you will promptly beat the ever loving #$% beejeezus out of the newly pressed white-brain in carefully choreographed training sequences to give it some experience and guidance in the architecture of the running society.

The resulting human will be male. There is no possible way to press a new female. The brain inside the new male is capable of unraveling, unfolding, unrolling, turning inside out to pop up to a female. The quest to coax the brain to unroll before the male is a capable and mature partner has been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, if not longer, on this planet alone. It cannot be done. The newly pressed human could, conceivably, unroll within a few years. If significant damage is done to the new human, as in the kingdom of heaven script, there is a point known as "being kicked out of the garden", past which the resulting human will be required to endeavor at least 2500 miles of hard walking to enter recovery mode. Further abuse following the kicked out of the garden threshold is irrelevant to the hard walking distance from the recovery mode.

One advantage of your home-cooked nephilim is that it will not have the rumplestilskin and, when it does figure out what is going on, its brain will not be all distorted, contorted, clogged, and scuttled down to the brain stem (kicked out of the garden). Perhaps you could teach it to sing.

Is possible to use poo from only one human. The resulting nephilim will act like a real human baby and will be intent on improving you (a la the path of the Lord). You will probably think the "baby" is destroying your life and you will have it killed. It is possible to press a new human without bone fragments but the product will require extra-sensitive care in the first six months else it will be extremely distorted, miserable and unhappy; a wading pool is ideal.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140920 (maponhat)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about two weeks ago

Today is Saturday the twentieth day of September in 2014 A.D.

Do you need directions? Do you know which way to walk? Would you like for me to show you which way it is to go? You are going to hell. You need to walk the other way. You need to use the other door. And not to eat the green eggs and ham. The world is a farm, it is not your fault, you've been on your way to hell since they ripped the wings off of your butt, long before you began eating it for your money. All of the dogs were convicted to the phairies and the bugs boarded up down below under a system of plumbing drains long ago. The plumbing drains keep the dogs and the bugs in the basement and the world is a carnival terraced on mezzannines above. You are going to hell. Didn't they tell you? Don't you know?

I have this great new hat, and it has a number of different ornaments on it. Follow the map on the hat. When walking the stick pattern on the new hat, remember that this is the second rendering of the stick pattern, and the stick pattern was developed on the hat. The map directions for the first walk are, so to speak, bzip2'd on the new hat, and when tar -j is applied to the stick pattern on the new hat, then the directions for the first hat pop up. No worries, adds only a few miles. The important part is to stop EATING IT for your money and start walking to save your ass from hell.

More detailed explanations of why this is, how this is, how it came to be, how it could be so terrible, and how the running record is right there in front of you if you really want to know how to find it, are given on the site.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140914 (heat)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about two weeks ago

Today is Sunday the fourteenth day of September in 2014.

The upside and the downside. The good side and the bad side. The upsidedown-insideoutside.

The up side. You are top of the food chain. Top, up. You were created as a divine being, eternal life. The up side.
The down side. You are on the down side. A little more down every year. Hell is that way. Call it aging or make up whatever crazy excuse you like: you are taking on way too many boogers in the brain and around the body to match. The down side.
The good side. We can fix that. We are human, we have a healing, a recuperative, a regenerative mode. It does not matter how much damage you have sustained, what your ailments and hurts and injuries have been. Humans are top of the food chain, they are created as divine beings, and they have a regenerative mode. That's the good side. We can fix that.
There is a bad side. There is a 2500 straight mile requirement to amp up the human metabolism and make it to the recuperative, regenerative, healing mode. Adam was kicked out of the garden, Adam became involved in too many damaging ventures in the interest of profit, want, gain, money. Adam no longer makes it to the healing mode, the regenerative mode, the recuperative mode. Adam, kicking your butt out of the garden, you need to go for a walk, about 2500 straight miles, and amp yourself back up to get over all of those ills and evils. 2500 straight miles, that's the bad side.

We call it the "path of the Lord", and that brings us to the insideout upsidedown side. What is "the path of the Lord"? (wrong scene, movie Braveheart, where Stephen the Irishman jumps into a trench with William and his friend and counsels, pph.,"God has me covered, but you're f#$%k'd!") "HAHA! You'll never make it!" That's the upsidedown insideoutside.

The up side. Humans are divine beings, top of the food chain.
The down side. You are on the down side. Too much perversion, brain scuttled the ship, locked you up in the stem, no more frontal lobes for you.
The good side. We can fix that.
The bad side. Takes 2500 miles to kickstart into gear--keep on going. I am working over 4000.
The insideout upsidedown side. The path of the Lord. Sh'yeah-HA! You'll never make it!

As Peter counsels in the Acts,"Save yourself from this corrupt generation."

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140911 (thursday)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about three weeks ago

Today is Thursday, the eleventh day of September in... you know the rest?

coffee in La Jolla. $2.45. What else were you doing with the change, anyway? Waking up for coffee and donut at Von's Hollywood was nice, but it was $2.45. Bay-bee! You cannot live in La Jolla unless you are dedicated to losing money in as many different ways as possible. If you obsess over the small change, this town will relieve you of the burden.

C'ho M'Ama's cartridge and ink repair. Gotch'yo mama's butt in a mayonnaise jar. C'ho M'ama's cartridge and ink repair. 617 H-Cheung street, Beijing. 617 Hi-Cheung street, Tokyo. 617 Hi-Cheung street, Singapore. Then walking from Cal Poly Pomona west into LA, there around St. Thomas Aquinas. Other locations of interest. San Luis Obispo clearly has the same babylonian furnace and three large Eucalyptus trees bonsia'd to look exactly as the Ham, Isaac, and Jesus Christ trees here in 92037 in back of Everett-Stunz. As described in the site materials (http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/). The Ham, Isaac, and Jesus Christ trees, at whatever level of volume or amplification (obvious, size of trees, number of other key architectural elements in the surrounding area), were present in plenty of places along the summer vacation. St. Patrick's, in Arroyo Grande, stand to the left of the morning mass chapel (where the properly trained travelling pilgrim may stand for book prayer when they arrive), and there, in front of you, are the Ham, Isaac, and Jesus Christ trees. The place where the properly trained travelling pilgrim may stand for prayer after mass at Our Lady of Sorrows, downtown Santa Baraba, includes a beautiful view of the chicken witch pole against the great wall of Jonathan's. At the downtown Santa Barbara location the chicken witch pole itself is not near as grandiose as the 92037 design, but the next pole along the line, the Lt. Dan pole (when the remote control green eggs and ham crowd jericho parade turns up the storm and drives the target into a raging madman) has some particular attention shone on it by the surrounding elements. The viewing location also contains a strong relief for the rainbowtard business tree in the mid background, not so much of the grim reaper tree.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140909 (walking2)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about three weeks ago

My summer vacation (cont.)

"It is a _town_, it is called Riverside. It is a place, it is called the RIVERSIDE TRANSIT CENTER. It is a transit center, busses go there, that is why it is a transit center. Where is the bus to go there?!!!!"

Yes, there in San Bernardino, there is a way to board the 215. Then there's the twenty-two to Elsinore. Exit to the AM/PM. I had a drink card from AM/PM with all necessary stamps and had been saving it since Carpenteria. In Carpenteria I had a few dollars and I knew that coffee or drink at will, given an appropriate AM/PM, would be useful later when there were no available dollars. That and a late morning prayer concluded a number of hours on the bus. Walk through Elsinore, walk through the downtown, say a few more prayers. On to the Wal-Mart center... and they have a Von's, too! I was thinking about staying the night but the seven arrived twice in a row and I decided not to miss it. Closer to the inland center I was out of bus money and the night was growing late, the light was running out. I passed the evening walking from one side of the freeway, by the McDonald's, to the other side with the filling station and taco drive-thru. Great time, nice people, by the morning I had a few dollars for the bus and the walk along the 23 route to find the next available Starbucks, about two or three miles. And a Ralph's with fabulous snicker's torte. Wonderful morning to arrive at Promenade. My bus book said there was no weekend service on the 202, and I didn't look very close by the time I walked around to find the parking structure transit center. I could have read the posted schedule to see three or four departures on Sunday but I had mostly planned to stand around Promenade for the day, anyway. Mojo supreme potatoes from Shakey's for dinner and the 76 station had fountain Dw and the peanuts. Wake up and on the 202, on the 101, no the 30, and back for morning mass. Reading the schedules in Oceanside I had not planned to return until closer to 7:30, and was only seven. Not much sleep but a great day.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

--

This is my description of my summer vacation. Two weeks in Encinitas to eat plenty of cheeseburgers and tighten up the threads on the vehicle. Then walk for Temecula. Temecula up and down and around through Murrieta and to Elsinore. Bus to Riverside. Leave Riverside for a long walk of mixed uban fare, mostly peanuts and mixed bags of doritos. Walk through Beverly Hills, UCLA, Hollywood. Breakfast at Von's Hollywood. Hollywood to Milton, prayer at St. Sebastian's. Sepulveda to RInaldi, Rinaldi to Hampstead and Devonshire. Santa Susanna pass to Simi Valley. Nice place. Through Simi Valley to sleep next to a Cosmetology schoolon the way outside. Nice area, Simi Valley. Only one dog yammering all night long. Somewhere along the outside of Moorpark, never really saw that town. Long walk through plantation fields to an area of Oxnard where the 1 begins. That promptly diverges or ends and I walked near exactly the same route I drove when I remember having that problem eight years ago in a vehicle, attempting to find and follow the 1. Oxnard to a place on Victoria where there was a large open warehouse commercial space empty for lease. Spent a day or two sewing there, hoping to find a new pair of shoes. My shoes were wearing to the socks, at the top of the feet. If I could deteriorate to walking like a clodhopper (that's, umm, all of you) then the shoes have a good three or four weeks walking remaining at the ankle.

Oxnard up to Ventura, missed the exit to the bicycle path by about 100 yards, turned around to try and walk some way through Ventura, ended up in Ojai. New hat!

North of Ventura is a nice place known as Capenteria. The police advised me to keep walking for Santa Barbara. The police in Santa Barbara quickly informed me that they didn't like homeless people. Keep walking. Goleta, pick up a bell ornament for the hat. Goleta to Orcutt, that's good exercise. Orcutt for a few days, nice church, St. Louis de Montefort. The deputy himself arrived to counsel me that he didn't like me sitting around sewing ("Am I doing anything wrong yet?" after watching the cruisers circling for a morning "No, you're not doing anything wrong yet."). No sense arguing with the fellow that has handcuffs. Difficult to leave that situation. On to Santa Maria. I could stay here or keep walking. I'm more accustomed to leaving tonight rather than sticking around for morning. On from there, across a few fields, next to big power lines to sleep, then coffee in Nipomo. Never managed to find the church in Nipomo, wasn;t looking real hard. Stopped for a few hours to sew a repair or two then on to Arroyo Grande via Pomorroy. That was a fun walk. Arroyo Grande, Pismo Beach, pick up the peacock feather for the hat in Shell Beach. Shell Beach trolley driiver arrives at the moment morning prayer ended to ask if I would like a ride. I didn't see much of PIsmo Beach when I walked through, my kind of area, bowling alley, billiards and pool, and plenty of local and tourist name coffee houses for the tourists, good luck finding Starbucks. Shell Beach trolley driver takes me to Pismo Premium. Oh, now, here's an area. Shell Beach trolley driver hints that the bus north goes all the way to San Luis Obispo, and there's a mission there. A day thinking about it and then up to San Luis Obispo. The bishop is having lunch next week Sunday. Nice area, stay and sew for a week, have lunch with the bishop on Sunday, and then back to St. Patrick's and St. Paul's for a week. Everything in the Arroyo Grande area is another 2 miles just to pick up and walk somewhere else. Very different from 92037 around-the-block routine. Added another hundred miles waking up in the morning, walking to mass, and then to a grocery store area. Walk north through San Luis Obispo. Another nice walk. Walk north to, what, Morro Bay? I wasn't there for ten minutes to fix a few sticks on my hat while talking to a fella showing me where this and that (grocery, laundry, post office, library, the Arroyo Rock), then the whole place turned into a festival of dead reanimated carnival beasts (that's no dog, it's four fishing poles and a couch cushin, the skull is some old dog from the bottom of hell, it's dead, jim, but how do we know it? how do we know it? he's dead jim. The eyes are dead, those are not living eyes. He's dead jim. We know it's the truth but how do we know it?). I decided to walk for the 101. The map and the guide and the fella next to me confirmed that the next three anything through there weren't much larger than the filling station. Long walk up the 41 to Atascadero. Stay for two days and become inspired by a ten dollar bill and catch the bus returning to Santa Maria through San Luis Obispo. Santa Maria to Lompoco, another dead reanimated carnival beast festival as I passed through the town. Leave Lompoc on the 1, fun walk, but the walk up to Atascadero really wore me out. Why am I still walking 12-15-20 miles between towns and never seeing more than a day or two of rest?

If you leave everything behind you may walk further and longer, but it is only worth freezing to death once over. I did that one thousands of miles ago. When carrying everything, maybe a person may go three months, but there's a point where there's just no more point in wandering between towns like this.

The 1 back to Goleta is a nice walk, and I was helped by a fella, Mark. Arrive in Goleta on Friday night with a $15 card for Little Caesar's and extra dollars for coffee at McDonald's. Saturday morning prayer with St. Rafael (see the statue out front? he has wings... why yo' ass hurt so much, from having the wings tore off out of the steam press, that's why yo' ass so fat) and then on the bus to Santa Barbara. Spend Saturday vigil and Sunday with Fr. Raf at Our Lady of Sorrows and then on the bus on Monday, oh, shoot, Labor Day, well, back to morning mass and then catch the bus to Oxnard on Tuesday. Oxnard, walk around through Huanome to Camarillo.

A day in Camarillo, a small position in a jazz cafe washing dishes for two hours, twenty-five bucks, and bus money south to Simi Valley, then the Metrolink train to downtown LA Union. "Hello, I am going to Elsinore via Riverside. How do I go there?" "Red Line, 12:40 pm" "Is this MetroLink ticket good for transfer?" "No" (transfer passes usually lose a grade level at transfer points, no more riding the premium rails, trolley and bus only) "How many dollars to Riverside?" "$13" I don't have, $13. "How do I take the bus to Riverside" "You can't", then the equivalent of the THANK YOU and the window closing. I walk to the other customer service, ask same questions. "What you need to do is call this number."

I know there's a bus to Riverside, I've seen the book, I should have saved that bus book, the bus goes there, I know it does. I need the 68, 70, or 76 out of this place. Then I began remembering the walk around the days of Von's Hollywood, and it seemed if I could just make it back there (HAHAHA!) then I could remember the road back (that much longer). The police arrive to interrogate me. "I need to go to Riverside" I squeak, they begin giving the hard muscle stares, so I begin spouting bus numbers "10, 18, 30". The police are now upset. "There is no 10 or 30 from here!" he barks, and he's right. "What you need to do is go downstairs and get on the red line trolley to north Hollywood, that's where you want to go right?" I just want the officer to quit barking at me, and I had just been thinking that if I could just make it back to Von's Hollywood (HAHAHAHAHA!) then I could remember the road back.

So I arrive in north Hollywood and promptly decide that I should not have taken this line this direction. But there had been so much trouble at LA Union, the guards had to escort me through the pass checker point, because my ticket wasn't good as that transfer, or something, I don't know. I was perfectly blind after the encounter with the police, hardly knew which direction to go to ask for directions. So I walked back to downtown by following the signs (didn't intend to make it right back downtown at that exact point again, I was following the signs and reading directions on the way). Was advised by a passerby "Your pass is fine, good for all of today, just get on the gold rail going east"

Now if only I knew what bus to find after that. It wasn't until another night, after I spent the final remaining dollars on Starbucks and cookies (SUGAR, need SUGAR to keep knockin' down these miles), that, hey! look, right there in front of you, all the time. The 68. Walk through the Korean and Vietnamese districts watching the 68 go past me every twenty minutes or so, wishing I had bus fare. I yet didn't know how the 68 would make it to Riverside, only that such a feat was possible, and I had no excuse to ask the bus driver if I didn't yet have any fare in my pocket, so I kept walking on by general direction. Turns out that neat any of the transit centers from Fontana on will have some service-or-other to Riverside. Would have been nice to know that some select stations will see a bus from places, like, oh, PROMENADE in Temecula. At Baldwin Park I take the rail again (10:57, leaving, the hell with it, money or not I am on this rail). Then I knew, somehow or other, maybe I talked with somebody, but I knew the 215 goes to Riverside.

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140908 (walking)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about three weeks ago

This is my description of my summer vacation. Two weeks in Encinitas to eat plenty of cheeseburgers and tighten up the threads on the vehicle. Then walk for Temecula. Temecula up and down and around through Murrieta and to Elsinore. Bus to Riverside. Leave Riverside for a long walk of mixed uban fare, mostly peanuts and mixed bags of doritos. Walk through Beverly Hills, UCLA, Hollywood. Breakfast at Von's Hollywood. Hollywood to Milton, prayer at St. Sebastian's. Sepulveda to RInaldi, Rinaldi to Hampstead and Devonshire. Santa Susanna pass to Simi Valley. Nice place. Through Simi Valley to sleep next to a Cosmetology schoolon the way outside. Nice area, Simi Valley. Only one dog yammering all night long. Somewhere along the outside of Moorpark, never really saw that town. Long walk through plantation fields to an area of Oxnard where the 1 begins. That promptly diverges or ends and I walked near exactly the same route I drove when I remember having that problem eight years ago in a vehicle, attempting to find and follow the 1. Oxnard to a place on Victoria where there was a large open warehouse commercial space empty for lease. Spent a day or two sewing there, hoping to find a new pair of shoes. My shoes were wearing to the socks, at the top of the feet. If I could deteriorate to walking like a clodhopper (that's, umm, all of you) then the shoes have a good three or four weeks walking remaining at the ankle.

Oxnard up to Ventura, missed the exit to the bicycle path by about 100 yards, turned around to try and walk some way through Ventura, ended up in Ojai. New hat!

North of Ventura is a nice place known as Capenteria. The police advised me to keep walking for Santa Barbara. The police in Santa Barbara quickly informed me that they didn't like homeless people. Keep walking. Goleta, pick up a bell ornament for the hat. Goleta to Orcutt, that's good exercise. Orcutt for a few days, nice church, St. Louis de Montefort. The deputy himself arrived to counsel me that he didn't like me sitting around sewing ("Am I doing anything wrong yet?" after watching the cruisers circling for a morning "No, you're not doing anything wrong yet."). No sense arguing with the fellow that has handcuffs. Difficult to leave that situation. On to Santa Maria. I could stay here or keep walking. I'm more accustomed to leaving tonight rather than sticking around for morning. On from there, across a few fields, next to big power lines to sleep, then coffee in Nipomo. Never managed to find the church in Nipomo, wasn;t looking real hard. Stopped for a few hours to sew a repair or two then on to Arroyo Grande via Pomorroy. That was a fun walk. Arroyo Grande, Pismo Beach, pick up the peacock feather for the hat in Shell Beach. Shell Beach trolley driiver arrives at the moment morning prayer ended to ask if I would like a ride. I didn't see much of PIsmo Beach when I walked through, my kind of area, bowling alley, billiards and pool, and plenty of local and tourist name coffee houses for the tourists, good luck finding Starbucks. Shell Beach trolley driver takes me to Pismo Premium. Oh, now, here's an area. Shell Beach trolley driver hints that the bus north goes all the way to San Luis Obispo, and there's a mission there. A day thinking about it and then up to San Luis Obispo. The bishop is having lunch next week Sunday. Nice area, stay and sew for a week, have lunch with the bishop on Sunday, and then back to St. Patrick's and St. Paul's for a week. Everything in the Arroyo Grande area is another 2 miles just to pick up and walk somewhere else. Very different from 92037 around-the-block routine. Added another hundred miles waking up in the morning, walking to mass, and then to a grocery store area. Walk north through San Luis Obispo. Another nice walk. Walk north to, what, Morro Bay? I wasn't there for ten minutes to fix a few sticks on my hat while talking to a fella showing me where this and that (grocery, laundry, post office, library, the Arroyo Rock), then the whole place turned into a festival of dead reanimated carnival beasts (that's no dog, it's four fishing poles and a couch cushin, the skull is some old dog from the bottom of hell, it's dead, jim, but how do we know it? how do we know it? he's dead jim. The eyes are dead, those are not living eyes. He's dead jim. We know it's the truth but how do we know it?). I decided to walk for the 101. The map and the guide and the fella next to me confirmed that the next three anything through there weren't much larger than the filling station. Long walk up the 41 to Atascadero. Stay for two days and become inspired by a ten dollar bill and catch the bus returning to Santa Maria through San Luis Obispo. Santa Maria to Lompoco, another dead reanimated carnival beast festival as I passed through the town. Leave Lompoc on the 1, fun walk, but the walk up to Atascadero really wore me out. Why am I still walking 12-15-20 miles between towns and never seeing more than a day or two of rest?

If you leave everything behind you may walk further and longer, but it is only worth freezing to death once over. I did that one thousands of miles ago. When carrying everything, maybe a person may go three months, but there's a point where there's just no more point in wandering between towns like this.

The 1 back to Goleta is a nice walk, and I was helped by a fella, Mark. Arrive in Goleta on Friday night with a $15 card for Little Caesar's and extra dollars for coffee at McDonald's. Saturday morning prayer with St. Rafael (see the statue out front? he has wings... why yo' ass hurt so much, from having the wings tore off out of the steam press, that's why yo' ass so fat) and then on the bus to Santa Barbara. Spend Saturday vigil and Sunday with Fr. Raf at Our Lady of Sorrows and then on the bus on Monday, oh, shoot, Labor Day, well, back to morning mass and then catch the bus to Oxnard on Tuesday. Oxnard, walk around through Huanome to Camarillo.

A day in Camarillo, a small position in a jazz cafe washing dishes for two hours, twenty-five bucks, and bus money south to Simi Valley, then the Metrolink train to downtown LA Union. "Hello, I am going to Elsinore via Riverside. How do I go there?" "Red Line, 12:40 pm" "Is this MetroLink ticket good for transfer?" "No" (transfer passes usually lose a grade level at transfer points, no more riding the premium rails, trolley and bus only) "How many dollars to Riverside?" "$13" I don't have, $13. "How do I take the bus to Riverside" "You can't", then the equivalent of the THANK YOU and the window closing. I walk to the other customer service, ask same questions. "What you need to do is call this number."

I know there's a bus to Riverside, I've seen the book, I should have saved that bus book, the bus goes there, I know it does. I need the 68, 70, or 76 out of this place. Then I began remembering the walk around the days of Von's Hollywood, and it seemed if I could just make it back there (HAHAHA!) then I could remember the road back (that much longer). The police arrive to interrogate me. "I need to go to Riverside" I squeak, they begin giving the hard muscle stares, so I begin spouting bus numbers "10, 18, 30". The police are now upset. "There is no 10 or 30 from here!" he barks, and he's right. "What you need to do is go downstairs and get on the red line trolley to north Hollywood, that's where you want to go right?" I just want the officer to quit barking at me, and I had just been thinking that if I could just make it back to Von's Hollywood (HAHAHAHAHA!) then I could remember the road back.

So I arrive in north Hollywood and promptly decide that I should not have taken this line this direction. But there had been so much trouble at LA Union, the guards had to escort me through the pass checker point, because my ticket wasn't good as that transfer, or something, I don't know. I was perfectly blind after the encounter with the police, hardly knew which direction to go to ask for directions. So I walked back to downtown by following the signs (didn't intend to make it right back downtown at that exact point again, I was following the signs and reading directions on the way). Was advised by a passerby "Your pass is fine, good for all of today, just get on the gold rail going east"

Now if only I knew what bus to find after that. It wasn't until another night, after I spent the final remaining dollars on Starbucks and cookies (SUGAR, need SUGAR to keep knockin' down these miles), that, hey! look, right there in front of you, all the time. The 68. Walk through the Korean and Vietnamese districts watching the 68 go past me every twenty minutes or so, wishing I had bus fare. I yet didn't know how the 68 would make it to Riverside, only that such a feat was possible, and I had no excuse to ask the bus driver if I didn't yet have any fare in my pocket, so I kept walking on by general direction. Turns out that neat any of the transit centers from Fontana on will have some service-or-other to Riverside. Would have been nice to know that some select stations will see a bus from places, like, oh, PROMENADE in Temecula. At Baldwin Park I take the rail again (10:57, leaving, the hell with it, money or not I am on this rail). Then I knew, somehow or other, maybe I talked with somebody, but I knew the 215 goes to Riverside.

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140623 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.013)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 3 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, thirteenth entry

Eternal life. You think of eternal life as something of a pie in the sky legend, a joke, maybe, something to laugh at. Nobody has eternal life. The book of Psalms lists you at seventy or eighty years. Noah's covenent limited man to one hundred and twenty years. Earlier lifespans are recorded in the bible near a thousand, and ancient Egyptian tombs claim tens of thousands of years. Is that a descending curve? Is there a mathematical trend to that? Perhaps that bears some looking into, but maybe for other people. It does not now nor has ever really mattered to you. You want to grow up, make money, maybe get in the club, be somebody, do something, then get old, retire, and, what? Well, who cares what? That's like the possible mathematical trend in the recorded lifespans; that's for somebody else to figure out. Heaven, hell, who cares? That is all the things that matter only after death.

Gunshots. When you first learned of a gun, as a child, oh my, that was something big and powerful. You could shoot somebody, and that would be the end of them. Bang, boom, done. But then, as a child, you learned something new in the next week or two after learning of the gun. You could shoot somebody, and they wouldn't die. You could shoot them in the hand, or the arm, or even in special places in the gut, and they wouldn't die. They would bleed, they would hurt, but not die. So, now you know, if you wish to shoot somebody and make the end of them, you must hit a "vital" organ, you must make a "mortal" wound. Otherwise they don't quite die. Perhaps they are maimed, maybe they need an amputation, but they don't die unless you hit one of those magic sweet spots.

Then the maiming, and the amputation. What portion of your voice would you lose? Oh, sure, that's for somebody else to figure out. You don't really care. It is eternal life, maybe, maybe not, but not really important to growing up and making money and getting to do things. For a moment, though, because this is _my_ presentation and _my_ journal, what portion of your voice do you lose with that amputation? Divide the entirety of your voice up, your arm makes this portion of the sound, your other arm makes that portion of the sound, these toes for these pitches, those toes for those tones, your heard, your ears, your shoulder... YOUR NUTS. What portion of your voice would you lose if somebody shot you with a gun, and you didn't die, they didn't hit one of the vital mortal things, but you did require a maiming amputation. What portion of your voice would go with that? What portion of your voice, suppose, goes with YOUR NUTS?

While nobody's voice ever drops, while the entire world is made of nothing but faggitts, I suppose you will never know or care. Like eternal life.

Eternal life is somewhat of a joke. Your voice is related to various amputate-able portions of your body. You are actually top of the food chain. Top of the food chain meat is special, because it doesn't quit moving and making noise until you beat it to death bit by bit and piece by piece. The bugs and dogs down in hell have a very carefully planned process to ensure that nothing of that moving and noise is wasted. Eternal life, itself, is easy. IF YOU MAKE IT. If you actually make the three thousand miles, if you actually make the seven years, if you actually make your voice drop and get into the real frontal lobes, if you actually become the top of the food chain meat which you are supposed to be, then making another day and another day and another day is really easy. Eternal life is nothing. You are actually _SO_ top of the food chain that you are really hard to kill, like a gunshot that never hits the vital organ or the mortal wound. You would need to apply yourself to dying, you would need to box yourself down and train yourself into completely disasterous situations over and over and over again to actually make it to dying. You are actually really really really hard to kill. The phairies and dogs down in hell have that box system set up for you, and you have that box system set up for yourself up on the surface. You are really hard to kill, you would need to spend thousands and thousands of years training and ramming yourself into completely stupid scenarios to get that job done. Then the mathematical trend cutting down the number of years it takes to get the job done enough to turn the remainder over to the phairies and the dogs down in hell.

Do not be surprised by hell. The same people responsible for the coverup of your voice, and the coverup for "where do babies come from?", are the same people responsible for the coverup for hell.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140620 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.012a)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 3 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, twelfth(a) entry

It would just never occur to you...

You would just never expect...

You had just never even seen anything like that before...

Waco, TX. The local sherriff had just never heard anything like that before. Some lady showing up out of the blue, like Texas Chainsaw Massacre, telling horrifying tales of eating green eggs for money distribution and holding breakfast devouring contests with eggo and dogs in the back room. So they show up at the door to the little apartment and to ask, umm, maybe you could tell us a little more about the teachings here in your church, just help us figure out how maybe we could help you with the rest of the town, and HOLY SH*T the whole place goes up like 4th of July.

You spend twelve years finding better graphics for Pac-Man, from Atari through the arcades up to all the different Mario Nintendos and into the 2k millenium with carts and 3-D sonic racing, trying to impress somebody for a first kiss with your high score. It would just nevet occur to you that they do their kids up with their dogs near right away and they're all chipped and wired. Would just never occur to you.

And, lately...

You would just never expect that the chipped and wired crew is lining up with children, waiting around the corner to brutally rectally rape the young child and then bring the screaming toddler or pre-ado to face-off with the homeless man at just the right moments, at just the exact right time, at some meaningful and purposeful window frame of events. Because they thought you liked it. You would just never expect that sort of directed hate and spite weapon, would just never occur to you.

Obviously, if I ever mentioned to the police that, on all four occasions that I have ever seen a particular woman, the three year old blond boy with her looks as if he's been recently broomsticked, and on the three previous occasions you heard the little boy screaming in the women's toilet for minutes beforehand. Obviously, if I ever mentioned to the police that I was concerned for abuse, I would be then be considered a risk and threat to the people around me and I would need to be evaluated by the doctors.

On the previous meeting with the police, the first words from ofc. Reinhold upon exiting his vehicle and approaching me,"There is no conspiracy of people waiting with dogs to make you mad". Just like my pretend street friends going into immediate flaming mode over the $10 sack of herbage they owe me, not even thinking to talk of the weather or the current state of sidewalk and traffic. So, what you're telling me is that there is a conspiracy of people waiting around the corner to make me mad? Then, later, during the handcuffed interview, ofc. Reinhold asks of me,"Do you know what a cabal is?" I immediately and completely spaced the question and returned nothing but a stupid blank look, so ofc. Reinhold glossed the question and continued on as if he hadn't asked. He's willing to testify in court that I admitted to sleeping on the walkway...

I'm willing to testify in court that the little blond boy will likely never speak any real language, having been abused so often for this vendetta that he sounds like Superman's Non.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

ofc. Reinhold also, during the in-cruiser assessment and interview, offered to joke,"Your race, you're black, aren't you?" There is no cabal, and to say anything of conspiracy requires psychological evaluation.

In jail, along with mapfortu's recent discussion of characteristic traits of jail time, was also amusing to me that the soap never really turned hot. I could whip the soap for an hour, two three times daily, allow it to dry open air (to take on oxygen and bleach the surface), and whip it again in the morning, and the soap never really turned hot. Sure, I am whipping this with a spoon in a milk carton without any rocks for the press: I know what hot soap is. Whatever the scale is, full percentage or tenth or even hundredth percentage point, whatever the scale is the atmosphere is totally low oxygen. Settle quickly with your opponent on your way to court, take the plea bargain, you'll suffocate if you wish to feel you have grounds to argue with the attorney about your race.

Continuing entertainment when the cow-stick (caustic, mummy baby in the bread box, the cash cow delivery to hell and back again) began pulling the wax from the inside of the milk carton. I have had waxy soap before (led me to contemplate the joke down to hell, we've tried pressing them to bricks, tried rolling them to dogs, tried taking them apart and putting them back together in every which way, Melchizedek is going to sew you into horses and poke you into soap! that's Elmer on the glue bottle, but nowadays they so fat and blubbery that they don't even make good wax, greasy dirty wax, and then not even wax at all, but maybe fatty oil if you wick the bottle, and then the fatty oil is so greasy that it's midnight black to the ceiling... these people so far gone, and all the progressions of the levels to the bottom where they pit now, the same three thousand miles and seven bible years away as any other. I have had waxy soap before, it may not lather as much, but it continues to be hot. The soap I poked in jail never managed to achieve any semblance of hot.

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140620 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.012)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 3 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, twelfth entry

I yet do not really have much time to spend on the accounts, and the wikispaces material cannot be modified without moving it to an entirely new provider. Oh to have a real interface, like ssh and local shells.

Samson's riddle, nerve agent and seahorses, a result of ploughing with the heifers. Do not in particular blame the models, they are doing you a favor, at least half your own fault for never dropping your voice, just the way things must be. If anything, you could argue with them about the sheer amount of nerve agent which they are slinging around like beer batter; but that's how far down the world has sunk. There was, at one time, a particular numerical individual method to the madness for each and every single point, but that was so long ago, and now is mostly a flat-out mudslinging contest for fun and games, and it all works out the same in the end by the time the numbers are counted up and resolved down in hell anyway.

From the readings earlier this week to today's gospel, in particular. If you have the light of the world, if you have actually made it, then how great will the light be; you never really stop improving until you grow your wings back and suck your butt to the dome to feel the sun again. If you do not have the light, then how great will the darkness be, like, in particular, exactly how many micro-injuries, in particular, exactly how far out of joint for each member of the spine, in particular, exactly how many points of nerve agent and seahorses have you accumulated? There was, at one time, an exact numerical count and an exact reason and purpose for each and every single one, but now the whole operates as a blender and the map for the passover lamb is really the only near logarithmic chart to the mountain of numbers running today. Naboth and his vineyard, that's similar to Naaman from Syria, the last of the maharajas at the time when the Hebrew doctors were beginning to perfect the uses of nerve agent by adding to his cobra bite. Naboth's vineyard is the well of nerve agent just up from Aladdin's lamp on the thumb. Ahaz's castle, on the other hand, is a descendant of Jacob's well, the woman at the well, greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well?, what's wrong with your hand? So Jezebel takes care of the issue one way or another and the money counted up by the specific exact placement and conviction for each and every point of nerve agent on the shoulder by the wrist becomes part of the kingdom managed by Israel. "Oh, Maharaja, you look so sad and tired, let me check your pulse and temperature, and Jezebel over there will start working on your elbow... now how in the world did the cobra bite you so far up your arm? You'll never make it..."

The bigs oppressed the small, the gumbies coming in from the fields from the real women, and then the bigs became so good at oppressing the small that they set up a production line to generate new smalls, all with delicately designed injuries and ladders keeping them as smalls, and then all the bigs got knocked out and went to hell from their own idiocies, den-up and lair-n-get-us or get drunk chasing chickens knocked out by a tree picked up by the phairie or, later, this isn't the stupidest thing you'll ever do in your life it's a great way to make money! Now the world is full of nothing but the model town smalls, and in the model town, they've all been models to begin with anyway.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140618 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.011)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 3 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, eleventh entry

The pretend street friends have become extraordinarily easy to identify and work over. In normal life there are many interests and hobbies, paths of conversation and paths of "did that one get ya?" innuendos over the course of daily chatter. Once the idolatries have been stripped away then the remaining important items of conversation are sugar and herbage, mainly. Fifo2ed includes a discussion about "air moved in prayer" and the legitimacy of other topics of conversation. The pretend street friends have left to them only the hooks of sugar and herbage, and my diet is mainly my own and carefully protected. A long-running play on herbage has been to gain my association as a possible convenience store (supplier of herbage), then wait for a pre-pay, and then balk, for weeks on end. The most reliable method for me to glean the excuses out of the entire town is to pre-pay a $10 bag of herb. Has nearly never failed. They pre-spend the $10 and, as usual, I wait for weeks to see so much as a flake while the convenience store individual continues to make up whatever irrational excuses. No big deal to me. Perfect opportunity to exercise my preferences.

For example, when dealing with my convenience store, I do not prefer to announce to the entire world in large conversations that I am buying a $10 sack of herbage. I am not hiding my affinity for marijuana, but it is not a flaming component of my topical personality. I walk into convenience store, I buy a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of soda, and a $10 sack of herb. I do not stand and go flaming conversationalist about my bottle of Mt. Dew. I do not turn into hours long flaming conversationalist about my pack of cigarettes. Why would I go flaming conversation about my $10 sack of herbage? I don't. They do. Every time. It's pathetic. In the past I have attempted to assist them, by beginning with the usual topics of converatiion, weather, lunch, how's things?, etc., with all of the appropriate opportunity for the convenience store clerk to indicate whether supply is up or down, in or out, open or closed.

The pretend friends, however, make enormous grandeuristic displays about such minor technicalities as the size of the stock on the shelf, or the delivery schedule of the truck at the back door. I am the _CUSTOMER_. I do not give a sh_t about the delivery schedule of the truck at the back door. No customer ever does. Sure, maybe if the clerk and I spend time over weeks talking about weather and how's things? then perhaps some day it may be a passing news item that the delivery schedule of the truck at the back door is on or off. The pretend street friends, however, having only herbage remaining to them as their hook, have absolutely no concept of normal conversation. They have always been dead zeroed in on using every $5, $10, or even pinch of herb as a hook and line to try and create the kill scene. They have been, to each individual one, completely incapable of maintaining any pretends of normal personality or interests aside from flogging me over bud every time they see me.

Stupid. Just stupid.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Be sure to check mapfortu's journal here on Slashdot for running current updates to the material. Similar to commercial slots to present the episode of books.

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140617 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.010)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 3 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, tenth entry

The MRI cannon is reading the words to some, the keyboard sniffer is relaying the words to others. The constant framing and mapping complex inside the sphinx. Box dropping on every event. Give another BEEP. BEEP could be anything as described in the Jericho and System sections of BSM. The games section of FIfo2ed was created to move away from the daily grind of the mob and describe their operation on the society in general.

When I give to you all the plague, when the tower of babel is finished, when we move from the ninth to the tenth Egyptian plague, the gemstones and pearls will likely not be anywhere near the top of my list of items to recover. I began the mine cart service only incidentally.

In the audio world there are the front mains, then surround and THX. In the neuro world there are the frontal lobes, then there is all of this world. The world did not begin as a farm for the bugs and dogs in hell. The world began as a terrarium with vegetative life, meat life, griffons, and bugs. The meat life developed an inferiority complex someplace. The world went to hell in a handbasket several times over, flipped upside down on its hands, tore of its own wings, resolved itself as drunks, and then began hacking and stripping on all of the trees. Then the world went to the dogs, then the dogs got kicked outside, then the dogs got convicted to the fortresses of the bugs. Then things got ugly and the motor-powered chainsaw came to be. Then the trees got blamed for the dogs, the bugs got boarded up down in the sub-basement, then the last of the real ladies ran out. The monkey chain gangs pressing paper taught you not to throw things out with the bathwater a long time ago, and now those are all the new sons of heaven you have; notice you do not make daughters of heaven in a similar fashion until after the drunks have taught to you all of the idiot games to be played around the firepit; good things the monkeys taught you how to wrap things up and heat them up a long time ago, now those are all the new ones you have left, and the older ones boil like an egg if you try to fix them that way. The pharaohs and neurosurgeons working on sequential neurorevolvers already know this, games to be played after missing, skipping, and dropping over completely rival anything the drunks have done in the juice pits next to the fire, and all of the sewing games, training games, make him walk and talk while knocked out games, those are all old tricks by the time, which time?, the time when the ladies ran out and the bathwater new ones are the only new ones you have. The end of Ninevah on the top-side of the trees, because now it's the motor-powered chainsaw and blaming the trees for the long lost dogs, all the bugs boarded up in hell, and the world moves only according to the money earned from the bugs in the basement using the bread box delivery system, like a push-button washer-dryer with Cinder-El-la's carriage inside. Mummy baby gets to go to hell, if he's a good prophet he'll tell you about it, if not he'll go with the rest of you. Motor-powered chainsaw cuts the trees down to the sand in less than a heartbeat, the book of Genesis ends as an attempt to end the madness and send everybody to hell once and for all. Gad wakes up a few thousand later. The Reader's Guide to the Sphinx.

By the time the motor-powered chainsaw cuts through the trees there already exist seven layers of human algae salad in denial, the entirety of the population is already walking paper routes between boxes, doing it the wrong way, making up excuses, going to hell. Particularly distasteful but very true Hollywood analogy: the end of the movie "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", where the possible escaping prophet is squeezing out nerve agent and seahorses, wounds in all the key locations, half-crazy from the idiot mobs (as Abram and Mel looked out from Sodom and Gomorrah with the Lord, nothing but Amorites and Perrizites covered the plain... ahem. ahem, ahem), and the mad massacre-er with the chainsaw continues to play on the background, unstoppable, incurable.

Consider the technological progression of paper, soap, thread, baklava, sewing combinations with human and sub-human body parts, mummified babies, cover-ups, scripts, scams, schemes, shell games, lies, all of that's so completely explored and exhausted and beaten to death by then, and that's before the trees hit the sand. Consider the movie Mary Poppins. Look, stupid, there is a remote control stage bird in that movie. That one is not a computer animation on the film. That is a real living moving remote control bird right there in that movie Mary Poppins. That was then. This is now. That bird right there would be enough excuse for anybody in the world from more than twenty feet and you know very well that it is a remote control bird right there in that movie. THEY HAVE ALL OF THE REMOTE CONTROL BIRDS, STUPID. Real life feathers are more like griffons. Your spouse is your interface to the remainder of the universe, not always entirely useful, but takes care of even those smallest of tasks that you just cannot perform. That is your spouse. Trees espouse birds with feathers. Real bird brains lay eggs. Real bird brains. When the tree espouses well enough then you have a self-packaging bird man, more than a simple layer of eggs. Then the bird-men get bored, stupid, lazy, and it all goes to hell from there. A long long long long long long time ago.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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140613 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.009)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 4 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, ninth entry

Subsequent events provide a fine opportunity for analysis of the level of complexity of the sphinx as it maps the predestination through life to hell. In the past I have discussed the arrangement of the Eiffel Tower of scripts. An eiffel tower is one law of moses, 144,000k people in all, wandering between six hundred some boxes either waiting for the master's voice to drop or shipping all of the witches to hell; a pyramid is a community of witches known to born, live, perform function, wither, get knocked out and shipped to hell reliably on time every time. An eiffel tower is 600 or so movie scripts arranged such that all members of all scripts time share and walk between them so as not to become too bored too long or stop drinking long enough to figure anything out and know too much; nobody knows anything, everybody goes to hell. Your local rainbowtard is your closest liaison to the last known person to be ever close to knowing anything way back in Sodom or Gomorrah. If they knew anything their job was terminated and the next person in that career path was delicately groomed to not know anything next time. Rainbowtards hate life in this fashion: they are locked in a lifetime of accidentally giving the best possible advice to their best possible friend or the nicest person they ever just met and within a few days or weeks that person ends up with a piano on their head. Life sucks like that. They are the closest last known person to ever have not known anything about it, don't ask, don't bother, please, it's not worth the time to explain that it happens to them all the time and you would never believe it anyway. 600 scripts of two or three hundred people each, 1200 to fifteen hundred core people, managing thirty or forty jobbies that _really_ don't know anything at all. Expand to make the whole set a full law of moses, one hundred and forty four thousand people, and that's the core runaround jericho mob circling any given major metro center in the united states. San Diego for example. Chutes and ladders up the I-5 and down the Torrey Pines then into the metro beast all day long, then back up the I-5, stop have lunch around Del Mar or UTC, take the scenic drive down the 52, kill homeless people and random targets (like me, for example) on the filter path down to Old Town, pick up the standard daily assignment in the usual daily practice of monitoring the usual areas and people, two shifts a day, wake up and do it tomorrow when the alarm goes off on the secret wire in the back of the head. Everybody goes to hell.

Anyway...

As the sphinx goes, there are key elements set up by the four real jokes, the babylonian kings which choreographed the whole thing and set the kernel to continue to rearrange and enforce nobody knows anything. I noted recently the core group of characters which was present in my visits to San Diego central jail. Most people end up getting "killed" long before they make it to the core center of the kernel of scripts and come anywhere close to knowing anything of what's really going on. When the gypsy could read the tarot cards the game was an interpretation of ali baba and the forty thieves to you, which card are you, which cards are around you, which way are the cards moving. Are you Christian? Are you Jewish? Which of Jacob's twelve sons are running you down, which cards are they? The tarot cards don't work anymore because they were based on the older system which began with musical chairs, a lingual and vocal system, and Sodom and Gomorrah now feature chlorine pools in the high school and earlier years, everybody's nose is all rearranged and messed up, the tarot cards don't work so well. Nowadays, if you want good steady work, you go cut hair, trimming sensations in the parlor is your way to read the cards.

In the yacht culture, in the boating industry, there will be an urban legend, like a story told around friends that you only hear if you go golfing at that club with that group of guys all the time, if you are in their lifestyle. The guys that gather at the last hole after everything is all done. In the yacht culture there's the poor fella with the nice yacht, but the tassles (if you are in the real yacht club and not just a buy-in timeshare member for the up to ten million option when qualified) are checkerboard. He bought both pairs from somebody else, they were special ordered from somewhere, they were going to look really great, reasonable price, not a scam or a steal. He was installing them, installed the first two checkerboard just to have a view from both sides and both ends, enjoying the work. Was on schedule to install the second pair, some morning went out for groceries, or to breakfast, or normal whatever he does early in the morning, on the way home the exhaust system on his car just blew up, fell apart, sounded like a fleet of lawnmowers from a block off. Somebody in the nice quiet neighborhood called and, s he was pulling into his driveway, the police arrived to ask about the noisy vehicle, maybe cite it for being out of emissions. In the process they busted into the garage, broke the locks on the bookcase, tossed one of the broken locks in between the shed and the garage. Took everything of value out of the garage. Opened the shed, took everything of value out of the shed. Opened the house, gutted the house, took all the jewerly, left only wallpaper, a pencil box, and the kitchen utensils. Opened the car, broke the handles, slashed the roof liner and cut the upholstery. Stole the car keys and busted the trunk open. Final explanation; somewhere somehow someway the FBI had a bad tip about cocaine somewhere. Sorry 'bout that. Some component of the script will also involve a translucent bag with blinkenlights.

That and the similarities which I recently noted in my particular walkthrough of the organ grinder in the kernel core of the scripts. When I am checked into the medical ward component route of the scripts then my medical ward always features the same cast of characters; notably both Max and Liam from music production Prodigy are always there.

The fellow that had delivered to me some very good leftover pizza from Sammy's Woodfried in the translucent bag somewhat struck me as the sort of fella that would be out cruising a yacht. He probably had no idea, likely on his way to sail that day, stopped off in La Jolla, had lunch, noticed the homeless guy and decided to leave the leftovers with the hungry.

So if you are, or if you know the fellow, in the yacht club with said checkerboard yacht, then know that the whole event was a complete setup and is the standard format for the sack in the sphinx day of atonement script system. That exact particular event scene and sack, with those particular characters and elements (including the characters and elements noted in recent days), are the key characters and elements in the ali baba and the forty thieves system, the key characters and elements in the "how to get jesus killed in less than four years and forty scenes", or the Forrest Gump movie of "here are four years and forty scenes of the different ways we use to get him killed", including the overall blanket of "nobody knows anything". Those are the key elements and characters which are closest to "nobody knows anything" and unraveling and piecing together the key details to somebody knows something. Those key elements and characters are changed around and replaced, and that exact same script of key elements and characters is used in near worldwide "why did that have to happen to me?"

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Here's how we get to the yacht club from yesterday. I was finishing all of the new repairs on my raft, alladdin's magic carpet, the comforter with all four frontiers bolted into it, t-shirts opened up and sewn to the stuffing inside the comforter. Having your work cut out for you; is going to take at least thirteen or fourteen lines to open the comforter up, tack in the t-shirt, and close it back down just to make it usable tonight. A full day's work. Four frontiers make a raft, Alladdin's magic carpet, the physical therapy needed by the maharaja on his pilgrimage after the cobra bit him too many times and his hand is beginning to swell (and, more modernly, takes a bunch of nerve agent from his pure cyanide princess to make that happen because they gon't get five or six thousand years playing around with the cobra anymore). By the time he fits all four frontiers in and makes it back he will have been through the other end of his pilgrimage, met and sat and drank with the prophet over in the hebrew lands, and then he will eventually, like me, find himself with some quieter time after the midst of parties celebrating his return (or, in my case, the next round of forty thieves kicking off the seven year sphinx cycle). He will begin attaching the extra tassles to his magic carpet as he tidies up this and that and the other around the house. I found myself recently re-roofing the cathedral bag, re-roofing the house, fixing the weathervanes and handles on the house, rebuilt the starter (again, this is not just somebody else's 409, this the the true Leu413), and had myself attached two of the four tassles to the magic carpet raft, checkerboard, just to have a look at the work from both sides and both ends. I had the matching pair of triple-tassles at the bottom of one of my paper carryall bags and, in the grudge tossing of my belongings, not only the bag of high end decorative materials was tossed but, matching the story of "remove anything of value", the matching pair of triple tassles for the "yacht", the boat, the raft, the magic carpet, were taken.

Like the fella from the yacht club, do you have one of those book catalog order books? Maybe I can find a new matching pair for this custom set of tassles. In the raid on the yacht club fellow, the raiding authorities, for "whatever reason" busted and threw away his matching pair of tassles for his yacht, nearly the same day he was planning to install them, if his exhaust hadn't blown and whoever it was that called in the condo units down the block hadn't called.

My tassles were picked up with a bunch of other high quality materials which were left from swatch and sample books around the area when a bunch of classy little upholtery and small furniture stores blew through and went away two summers ago. A bunch of the larger single tassles I had stuffed in the tin with the soap bottle. You may steal my soap but my soap would knock your ass out if you used it.

In the tossing of my house appears that the angel pin on the mailbox is able to stop police marauders gone mad. If the police are ever in line to toss your house, or if you are the fellow at the yacht club, quick stuff whatever is valuable into the mailbox. When police marauders go bonkers appears that the USPS holds up a hand to say "not in this box"; I yet have all the high quality swatch material which was locked up in the basement (behind my angel pin on my mailbox).

Adding about half hour after completing the entry...

The elite yacht club member should really like this. When he returns from his foray in jail ("oops, sorry 'bout that, wrong fella, wrong tip, don't mind if you talk to your insurance company, eh?"), he begins putting himself back together and, like today, somebody sneaks through his yard and vandalizes one of the tassles (standard antenna assembly type installations) that he did have mounted.

I walked down the alley and noticed that, when I had "parked" my vehicle outside by the bicycle racks and made my entry, somebody walked by and tore off one of the tassles from the triple tassle I had sewn to the corn. Complete coward faggitts.

Good match with the yacht club sequence. For me, is my daily life for eight years. EVERY time I leave my bags is the standard location (by the bicycle racks, not out front where the police always promise to cite me for "encroachment"), every time I leave my vehicle in a standard area and not risk being run down for loitering or encroachment or lodging, somebody flies by and vandalizes my vehicle. 90% of the vandalism damage to my belongings are this yearly sacking from the police; either to the med unit, the doctor eval, or the high power unit.

Probably so the doctors can get their chest x-ray and let the eunuchs know how to keep working on you.

HA HA HA!

You are the same 3000 miles and seven years away from the upstage as I was...

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140612 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.008c)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 4 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, eigth(c) entry

Recent articles concerning latest events in the previous five days, after nearly a month away from the entries altogether. 1 2 3.

The account of recent events also provides a brilliant display of the scripting system and the seven year program in the sphinx. The recent incident is a 100% parallel to my arrest in 2008. Behind Jonathan's, underneath the "NO LOITERING" sign on the stairs, eating lunch. The officer had arrived to talk with Dave English sitting in the corner and then, at the moment I finished my lunch, he drove past and proceeded to arrest me for loitering. That particular ticket never stuck anything anywhere, but the characters in the cells (the fellow with the shark tattoos, andretti, joseph lacrosse, curtis lowe or old james brown with white hair, the big tall guy with the small madonna tatted on his back, the blond dufus guy always waiting out in the day room after meals in the final hours of the final day going out, always was in the shower and missed the call to get back to cells, the remote control seagull (in 2008 I had figured it was a bird outside) arriving to scratch at the window and play with a metal tin can on the roof outside the small translucent window every damn day during day lock down (high control cells, three beds in a bunk, locked doors, I like it better that way or even in medical lock doors... I say prayer). Many of the other characters. The Living Dead series episode. The Bayou Hunters episodes. The Law and Order about the transgender boy girl and the dad showing up in the street with his sack cut open. Big Bob. Pepper. The guy with the Ozomatl shirt on the way out. The guy in the cell just before release window bending down like he's taking it. Andretti. The mountain man looking dude, which is actually also the guy that picked me up on the pilgrimage on the way to Superior, AZ. Morton Salt from BMI in Aberdeen and on post, he's been at many of the Tuesday night community suppers in La Jolla. I always see him around. The crew of bruthas talkin' it up about the beeyotches on the street in the cell at change-out. Same guys both times. Because this time is the end of the first year of the sphinx sequence according to what the paschal lamb is doing in the world. Eight years ago I was in Embarcadero with the initial forty thieves nutcase tweeker crew to begin with, then up to Old Town for a few weeks, and then up to La Jolla to meet the idiot crew running the streets up here, and then on to the loitering arrest.

Last year was the new forty thieves idiot crowd, Sparky, Spike, Scotty, Tom, McCleash (and he was around in the Gaslamp back in '07 at one of the weekly suppers), and the rest, plus the old ones still here from '07, Minn Mike, Roberto, Sally, and the fat chick with the fighter guys that were a problem in the previous two weeks for me. Then, back in '08, it was just after Christmas, because I had the new translucent bag (Jack's, a local high class restaraunt at the time, went down due to swindling management, usual story, nothing spectacular except the scene and the dining) with a flashing light in it, dropped off of a passing high-speed cyclist. I had that bag, the light, and the new pair of headphones for about a little while, maybe even up to Easter-Pentecost timeage here, and then I got sacked on that lunch break.

Saturday morning I was sacked by a bunch of the faggitts sneaking up behind me to whack off their dog and make it shriek and bark at me. This year I had a new translucent bag, from Sammy's woodfried, and the blinkenlights in it were the birthday decorative napkins which I had been using as wallpaper. The candles on the cakes, the size of the napkins, I had them stacked in the Sammy's bag such that both ends looked like they had lights in them. I even noted the similarity to myself in days recent, the last time I had a high class translucent bag with lights in the ends I got sacked with all my new christmas presents.

That and, in the recent year or so, a fellow arrives on occasion to ask if I need any laundry. Polite fellow, good manners, honest offer. But, with all of the dog attacks recently, and his strange schedule (initially near weekly to gain confidence, now lucky to see him in a month), I wonder if they don't hit their dogs with shock rods while covering the dog's face with a towel heated against my pants or something like that.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

You are all going to burn in hell.

In mid '07.... try to remember here, quit job at the end of '06, homeless early through '07 to pilgrimage in ... if only _I_ had the full journal history available to me. Maybe I quit job at end of '05. There was the arrest for the ticket in Embarcadero, I was in the park after dark watching KCs bag and some of the stuff from the other idiot crew, but they had lots of herbage. I had attended the court date and the registrar confirmed that there was no call and no record for me. The police double checked the excuse a few times and then took me in. That time I made it all the way to the video court lineup where Forrest Gump was playing, I saw the same lady attorney, and the same male attorney stepped from behind her back to impress me from over her shoulder when I was at a key point of decision. The gospel upon returning from that trip to Central was the same as today's gospel, about settling with your opponent quickly. At that time I did not yet know about ba-ra-ca-ca fools, but the concept of tethered obligation was already known to me even before the idiot crowd began running their dogs at me day and night.

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140612 (murder3)

HomelessInLaJolla HomelessInLaJolla writes  |  about 4 months ago

War in La Jolla, eighth year, eighth(b)

And this is the projection... the town continues to hide around the corner, and over the hedge, and behind the window, and continues to peck and peck and peck, and continues to run the beastie pedo showoff (usually with pedo abuse, to use the pedo as an assault weapon making noise), for what?

To steal more? Already took everything of value, left the old bulk warehouse material as a grudge sign.

And what if the police _ARE_ called again? They have been nothing but argument and excuses the whole way, for all eight years, through these eighteen months of dog assault and beastiality pedo showoff, daily, nightly, full blast, 20000 cue cards daily, 20000 telephone calls daily.

And what's the point? You gonna steal the rest and toss me in jail again?

FUCKING FAGGITS. When I get that tenth plague you WILL KNOW BECAUSE YOU WILL BE ON YOUR WAY TO HELL!

One way or another, faggitts... I am going to smile to watch you pay. You are going anyway.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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