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Lee Neighbors

Russell Tate

Andrew MadInc

FilmMaker Rob Roof

Jereme Lee
                Rucker and Huey Lewis

Roly Poly Daddy's Little

Lee Neighbors

the loft 2006

Screaming Mike

Tracy in front of Jereme's

06 20 1015
1984 Bus stop
By: Horje Oiluel

Bus Stop FailYa know the new Bus Stops?The monolithic, polished steel ones that have started to replaced the comfy, ornate, old green ones. Look like they're from thesoviet era, with the terribly uncomfortable Amuminium benches and the awning that was designed too high to provide any shade unless you stand out in traffic, and were obviously engineered to not provide shelter from the rain either. They crash sometimes when they get wet and you can hear the familiar chime of the windows XP boot-up sequence. You think I'm kidding. Why does a bus stop need to be running an antique operating system? your guess is as good as m-... well, I suspect that they actually attempt to provide sigints and surveillance "adding value", not merely an oppressive Orwellian ambiance. They don't provide Wi-Fi. There is a single button and crude led interface which provide time of day and the next few scheduled departures, in a the threatening voice of a robot cop terminator. You almost expect it to say: "please don't be late to your slavery, commuter" or "For more enjoyment and greater efficiency, consumption is being standardized" any way there's nothing like ceaseless rain to bring attention to the new oppressive robot bus stops.

BY: Guano Maiaeleus
Par-Annoyed AluZions from the LuNatic's Fridge
OK so I haven't written in a while because I'm having some blockage. Any way, did I ever tell you about the time (I honestly don't remember if I have) … the time I was recruited by mi5? Well they were UN successful at it. Attempted recruitment.
mi5sigilIt was before I had moved out of the place I was renting from Pat Gannon, a brilliant Irishman turned Texan. Pat owns some income” real estate in S Austin, and he's a chef by trade. He doesn't cook in a restaurant, he works in the Govnehs house. Yes, the one downtown with the green fence. I met 'Bob' in front of one of pat's properties; Frenchie's Salon. They were closed. He was having a beer, on the front porch which is routine for him. Albion sent bob to strike a deal with me, as a final kindness for his national service. Bob, as he prefers to be called because his given name is Gwen, is a sauskie. He's a good man but has drink like so many in the field. Bob suggested, that in my search for clients, I check out an absolutely deplorable outfit called main-street hub, here in Austin.
In our absurdly modern times when federated identity legitimizes our being, and you practically cannot do a thing if you wont Google my twitter or let me face book your yahoo, there arises a new industry of hypocrisy where in a firm like main st hub offers the service of (get this-) being your on-line soul for you when you are unfortunately burdened with the pesky IRL responsibilities of meat-space. So they pretend to be the INTERNET egos of entrepreneurs and busy busy business folk. And with a great deal of success, they just got another round of VC funding.
Well bob didn't explain this exactly, and I went over there to check it out. They had bagels though, I'll hand it to them. But I would rather not have embarrassed myself; had I known what they were about I wouldn't have bothered to waist my time. But I dressed well and went over there pretending to be a prospective client, they were terribly rude and I got the impression that had I ever been foolish enough to work for them I would be dogged like a ….dog.
Of course, like a confused Russell Crowe playing Jon Nash, all of this spy stuff is just part of my delusion of grandeur. Old gin blossom bob isn't really an agent of British intelligence, and there is no actionable intel value in pretending to be other people on line, unless your a fellow delusional writer for the guardian. (*ahem...)
we weren't all cut out for the fourth international, as a matter of fact I think they know this in their socialist hearts. Ta Ta for now.


. Cup Mayor of Silverton CO. image (cc) JLR

6 25 2014
Well now. Here I sit at the Trinity center. It's a coffee house of sorts with excellent coffee -minus the $5 tab and dollar tip we're accustomed to dishing out at star-bux. Instead the baristas at Trinity-bux dish out a generous helping of community resources. (for the “homeless” community). If you get their earlier than 0830 and wait a bit, you're in for a delightful breakfast snack of cheese cubes, boiled egg and a tortilla; and of course coffee (my drug of choice) One thing they like to do over here is to try and help folks get an ID, if you've lost it. They Provide some practical counsel, they help research the procurement of vital docs and their requisites and they also help out with financial assistance; a check for like 16 bux made out to DPS for a new ID. That's why I'm here. Well OK you got me it's really for the coffee, but I tell myself they can help with the ID, but they can't. Not today, not for me. To hear them tell it you just go down there to the DPS or the SSA and they are just handing them out like free syringes at Lincoln park. But it's not that way, not in my experience, not for the past 6 years in which I have been trying to put together the documents they require to authenticate a man. In fact the Trinity center has given me a letter to reluctantly show the concerned, whom ever they may be, that we have exhausted our resources in attempt to authenticate with the various institutions who obligate and provide the means to participation in our fare society. With out an ID you cant get a regular job, a regular apartment, a normal bank account, you cant go to regular a dentist. (there's usually an insurance deal requiring photo authentication. Smile 360 does accept cash, but it's expensive: $199 for a cleaning). Here's another one: you cant get into a federal courthouse with out an ID. You cant file a lawsuit, you cant get papers notarized. Interestingly though you can go to jail with no authentication. They cant really authenticate most people based on fingerprints, this is a myth. There are a few serious criminals whose prints are kept in inter-pol’s data pool, but there aren't enough clouds on Jupiter to storehouse all those vector files (about 20 MB per finger). They’re kept for a while, before they get deleted. They do keep mugs though, and facial recognition is very real and widely used by the IC. OK wait where were we?ACAB Ah yes the trinity center where the coffee is good black, and the place smells like a wet dog when it rains. Where men aren’t allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays because … well they are male. (I don't mind living in a woman's world as long as I can still be a man in it). So while I was waiting on line for financial assistance I spoke to several men about their ID situation, and of course some guys said “oh I got drunk and 'fuct it off'”, this term is often used among the A-camp (alcoholic community) referring to drunken losses. But these instances were in the minority, as most of the men I interviewed said that the Police confiscated their ID but did not return the thing. I'm pretty sure the constitution says we have a right to be secure in our person property and papers. When I was in jail I spoke to several other men who have had this happen. And today I'm exploring “Why”. Why do the Austin police have policies which are in violation of federal law. We can only really speculate because as with other such criminal organizations the APD keeps a lot of secrets. shadesMy first guess is that:
A) It's essential for this protection racket to operate.
With out an ID you cant fight in article 1 court, heck you cant even get in the door as I said. You cant get notarized, File with the clerk,
B) It's fun.
Police work, it's been said, is like hunting game in a preserve. The city is the preserve and the tramps are the game. For these guys, I say, it's a lot more like fish in a barrel. Building a Criminal History, developing perceived behavior patterns, is what it's about. So if they don't really have anything on you (like when you are totally innocent or better yet the actual victim of a crime) well they gotta cut you lose, but first they nick your papers so that upon release you are totally fuct. Like a sitting duct. And it makes it all the easier for our boys in blue to nab you, because you are on the street with no prospects no ID.
C) there is a lot of dough in social services. You'd never think it, but the “non-profit” isnt just a career path, but a lucrative venture too. Just imagine all those student loans for those degrees in social services. Post Graduate School isn't free, especially now. You didn't really think your case worker works for free. Keeping the numbers up is good for business and guess who invests? Well it's the same folks who put usury parlors on every corner, you know all the title/payday loan brokers and hawk shops. It's actually a small society of gentry who meet at ...say the Rotarian brunch, or the school-church grange for fund raiser, or at the golf course for the back nine. They even get together and award our would be do-gooders for distinguished community service. Our social servants are then lauded for years of discretion and quid pro quo. Most of these businesses have their financials on line so it's easily seen that only a micro-fraction of the money and resources intended for the needy actually ever reaches you. It is what it is. As they say. But I don't say that. I say it shouldn't be. It's like the jails. We are in the process of reevaluating the holiness of the almighty profit motive when it comes to privately owned prisons. And the result is almost as sinister in strategy. Behold: So we all now know we have been getting screwed here and that the profiteering prison industry has been bilking us to the tune of 80 billion a year for unnecisary incarseration of more or less innocent americans. This all came to head with homeland security (grossly and secretly overfunded additional 40b per year) at it's wits end chasing the elusive nonexistant terrorist, having to resort to destroying the administrations political oponents, business competitors, critical journalists, and unsuspecting *scientists. So we are embarking on a massive defunding and prisoner release. There is crisis in every oportunity or rather vice versa. Releasing innocents is a good thing always. But it must be done strategically. Location, location, location are the three things real estate investors....
(he trails off here illegibly)

ACABThis article brought to you by Google's Android™ system
when I got my first android device before I had rooted it, I decided that the android logo was just about perfect. It really described the system visually. The logo looks like he wouldn’t be able to accomplish any notable thing, kind of a retard-d-2 if you will. Something childish, adolescent at best. Suitable for a below average 14 year old. Like Southpark! If youre a fan of south park, then yes the statement was meant to describe your ineffective, nubby armed, no elbo having, thoughts, spoken in eric cartmans’ voice. I’m not worried about offending you because you just don’t read that much


6 9 2015

Hello I'm white.
By: Hunk E. Brewer
I'm white. mostly i guess.. I look white enough, Asfar as we know, I'm a mixture of Native American and German Jew on my mom's side, and English Scott on my dad's. More Accurately I'm American, of perfectly good, American stock. It's hard to say for sure, since one of my great grand-fathers had run away from home and changed his name and another was Ute Indian. I don't even know what my family name is. My Mormon cousins are certainly disappointed that the family tree has some hidden roots. I could give a shit, I always thought people should find pride in accomplishments rather than being from some “great house”. And God hates pride anyway. Gankstaz In Da Houze
I'm not a racist. I didn't grow up in a racist family. I never gave it much consideration growing up, except for thinking that civil rights battles were before my time. When I was a little kid, Hoppy, a black kid from our apartments was my best friend. When I grew up in suburban San Antonio, racism wasn't a thing, a lot of my friends were well established, third and fourth generation Mexican. People were People. Some were ass holes, some not. There were rumors of skinheads, a few crackpots no one liked. In those days in San Anto, folks just all got along. In College my girlfriend, a fashion marketing student, Michele Bryant was an “Elite” model who'd do TV ads and walk-on bits of Walker Texas Ranger. Race had no bearing. She was just hot. Tyra Banks lookin' like with “too much going on”(her words). Later I married an extremely Asian Laotian girl. She was mad crazy. When I moved to Dallas I worked in Oak Cliff (for some brothers). For a long time I've lived in mostly Hispanic and black neighborhoods. I Slowly began to get a lot of bullshit from people for just being "white", I think, because prison population density has effected pop music and pop culture, these racist, gangster attitudes have developed into full blown hostility, not just in D-town but here in Austin and back in S.A. too, in Denver, California, not so much in Albuquerque, but certainly in Omaha, and Houston. It's a real problem. It has nothing to do with race in reality. It's tightly controlled popular radio and media combined with culture emitting from bustling prisons. I feel we (all races) have become the victims of a conflicteering campaign. (yeah, Google that word) JahPerserveMySong_n.jpg

Frankly, I'd much rather see young blackpeopleembrace Farrakhan and the NOI instead of IceCube and the NWA. Or why not Marcus Garvey and Haile Selassie? My personal favorite leader in history [besides Jesus] is Martin Luther King, a true revolutionary. Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.And what ever happened to Mexicans being identified as good Catholics with strong family values, work ethic and trade craft, who cook kick-ass Mole Oaxaca? Now there's a cultural ID I can love. But I argue that this absurd homogenized thug-life, where-in you'd sell out your own race with the white man's poisons (crack heroin et al) - is no cultural identity at all. The fools are convinced that both crime and punishment are virtues. Believe it or not guys; the wealthy, white, eugenicists who profit from both the sale of drugs and the corresponding incarcerations are the very same who disseminate the absurd pop culture you veraciously consume. They are terrified of any legitimate and distinct cultural identity. It's horrible to see people with the means and responsibility to the community indulge criminality and immorality as notions of race or identity. It's precisely the same thing as saying because someone's black/Mexican, they have got to be guilty of whatever crime. If someone says anything about the state of affairs they get called intolerant. I think we indeed should be intolerant of gangster thugs. No matter what race. They're a bunch of cowards really.

06 12 2015
By: Darlene Frenkely

I'm not a local. I'm not from here. I'm not one of "Y'all". Some how I was translated to this ...this parallel reality 14 some odd years ago. Well I'm not sure, somewhere between 10 and 15 years ago. I'm not certain of the exact point of diversion, because This dimension looks and feels very much like my home. I thought I was one of y'all. I thought I was in the same place. I thought things were just a changin' (as they tend to do), or that I was changing as I've always done, but this which am referring to has become so bazaro, so absurd that I'm compelled to write about it. I sometimes think I'm the only one, but this cannot be true. It's like that Mike Judge movie "Idiocrasy" but worse; more like the 1984 Terry Gilliam movie called "Brazil" if you haven't seen this yet, you must. It's on Criterion.
Gankstaz In Da Houze
I started to entertain the notion long ago in the days of Myspace. Some old friends from High school had contacted me through Myspace. but there was something strange. It was like they had been replaced by pod people, imposters. Something wasn't right. These were my close friends of age, and they weren't quite right. They were a lot like the old gang but they had goten older, maybe fatter as you'd expect but they didn't really change. They had not grown intellectually in any capacity or discernible trajectory. These were the smartest ones, the coolest ones, the most innovative and critical thinking individuals one could surround himself with in that circumstance (in San Anto in the 80s). But it's like my friends, my confidants, ..they had been replaced with ordinary TV babies. But not just them. Nearly EVERYONE here. At one point We were all on the edge. Pushing the paradigm envelope, ya know? now it's like arrested development en mass. A goo herd of drone clone TV babies. I can'd describe it. Not trying to be smug but, you probaly wouldn't get it if I even could put it into words. Please, let me try:

I came to a planet wherethe Home of the Brave declared war on terrorism? Where the Land of the Free has developed the worlds largest prison population? where the premier new clear super power elected a commander who cannot even properly pronounce the word [new-cue-leer]. The Diebold ballot scandal, as absurd as it is, provides the only comfort to be found in this fact; the possibility that perhaps the man wasn't actually given a second term. This should be frightening, people.

Ronald Reagan Acting a FoolI came from a planet where there were mirrors in the men's room at the local McDonald's, where there was never (or very rarely) piss on the seat of the john in the lady's. Back there public restrooms were usually pretty clean especially in places for kids, like McDonald's. There weren't twelve tramps at all timesin every Starbucks. Over here it's normal that there are SO MANY PEOPLE who have no where to go. Every one is afraid of them. Afraid to help. It's so weird. In my world opening someones mail is “strang verboten”. Over there, wire-tapping is a FEDERAL OFFENSE. There was even a big scandal called WATERGATE. but over here it's the oder of the day. That New Weird Oder. I remember when I first found myself over here I was "new to town" so to speak, and there was an attractive young woman sitting in front of me on the bus. She could have been a college student. A man boarded the bus and sat next to her. He smelt awful. I remember thinking to myself, "wow. why does he gotta do that?" Now I know. Now I'm that man. He was forced into the situation, against his will. Perhaps he was on his way to the wreck center for a shower.

So this is what Bush Senior was on “bringing about” in that speech in 1991.

Welcome, my son, to the NEW WIERD ODER.

04 30 2013
Paranoid Allusions From the Lunatic Fridge.
By: Dr. K. M Sadlis Doc. SocSci
Austin TX [78704]

Bus Stop FailNames may have been changed or omitted to ...confuse people.
Views expressed here are clearly mine, and you better recognise.

part 1 Alright. Here we go.
This is a recount of my recent experiences with corporate goons within the Intelligence Community at large. The adventure started about twenty years ago when my dad still a VP at HEB in old San Antoneo Because this is a news paper, we'll skip ahead to these days.

Ok, so I came back to Texas after a summer up north. These events came shortly after I was robbed in Denver. The circumstances of the robbery were intriguing. We will go over that some day. Let's just say it was one event in a series comprising my exceedingly adversarial relationship with the “IC” (intelligence community)*The term, IC is a misnomer because, believe it or not, the compartmented nature of the thing is designed to prevent acquiring or analyzing actual and effectible intel. And the grossly over funded folks entrusted with it’s repository are still in the dark ages mentally. (I am being kind there)

*it’s what Chomsky might have called an extension of the “system of imposed ignorance” I call it the illogical college or just IC.

. I came back to my old stomp to record music with my chum, Blake. We were in hi-school together. Since then, we both developed an experimental music hobby and we wanted to collaborate. For the first time in a decade I didn’t have a single computer which was really unusual for me. I normally freelance PR work when I need money. I also work on 3d games, but mostly it's institutional analysis reports. It’s amazing what can be done with bus fare, a net-book and a phone. This time, with no computers I was destined to experience some serious internet withdrawal symptoms. And did I.

As it turns out, in the 1990s, while I went on to Penn State, Blake went to the state pen. Ol’ Blake had grown, over the years, just as addicted as I. although for him, it was to meth, crack, heroin, benzos, ganja and Mickey’s brand malt liquor, as opposed to information, technology and espresso - my addictions.

Well, as you can imagine, the lack of cash flow combined with the psychosis and irregular circadian rhythm produced by the drugs along with the dismal fact that I was stuck in a jobless San Anto, all eventually wore my nose to a nub. (that means it depleted my patience) I couldn't land a job. We weren't really making music. For months I was baby sitting my junky friend as he descended into a dark pit of tweakaphobia. I was out of money.

I baled. Hit the streets. Wasn’t the first time, but it was indeed much better than living with a full blown junkie (bless his heart). But there I was on thanks-giving with nothing and nowhere. I met these hobos behind a Taco Cabana. We smoked a joint, and one guy gave me some tacos. I told him I was having trouble finding work. He turned me on to Jimmy Foster. Jimmy picked me up in a dented, red Nissan pick-up downtown in the rain. He drove me out to Windcrest. Now Jimmy is a real character. A good-ol’-boy if there ever was one. Vietnam. Hamburger Hill. Cusses like a sailor. Five pack a day. Scotch rocks in one hand and this mean little Chihuahua in t’other. (He loves that dog more than his wife or anything. ) A foulmouthed gator with a big heart. And Jimmy knows every one, from McCombs to Bustamante and quite a few oldsiders out of the pentagon and air force.

Before I get any further, Please note that during the time I was without a computer or phone, I had no encounters with IC surveillance. The only thing I saw was their obvious and clumsy infiltration of the local “Occupy” movement (yeah, remember the “Occupy” thing) well what ever, at least they weren’t hassling me. I'm certain infiltration was all across the board with the "Occupy" movement, not just in SA. It's what we used to call Co-intel Pro. It's called something else now but the methodology hasn't changed a bit. Divert, distract, divide and provoke.

So any way, Jimmy works for this predatory slumlord doing quick and dirty make-readies (running a crew of painters). So he hands me a paint brush and put me up in the houses we were painting.

It wasn’t the best job ever. living on the jobsite, the painters would ruin the few things I owned. Jimmy was paying more for his Doral’s than he paid me. The neighborhoods we were working in are way dangerous than when I was growing up. I have always lived in "tha hood" but this was just crazy and at the time I didn’t have a gun. After a few encounters with the local "gangsta hawdniggiz" "flexin they nuts" I decided to tender my resignation. But Jimmy wouldn't have it. The guy really had grown fond of my work ethic, and he insisted I stay. He said I could live with him and Estella his palacious house in Windcrest. He wanted me to re-organize his storage sheds and house sit while they went on vacation down McAllen. It was just peachy. The only real work was cleaning the bird cages.

Jimmy was paying me in kind (quid pro quo, my preferred current). I had more steaks than a man can eat. The mayor of Windcrest was a Lion and a friend of Jimmy's. He had got me some new spectacles. Eventually I got a laptop out of the deal. I finally started using it when -after becoming disgusted with content broadcast on Jimmy's cable television. I really hated that 60 inch LED TV until I had that laptop on it. After reorganizing the stuff horded in the sheds and the material stowed in the woods outback, The only chores left were dog-sitting, eating steaks, and reclining in the Ekornes in front of that giant computer monitor. One day, I got back into my routine and I started administering my websites. I got some lucrative freelance doing some 3d animation, from my old college roommate. I started to feel normal again. I even put away my foil-hat and kazoo (figuratively)
I was astonished to see the following morning's Express News (the only mainstream AP paper left in S.A.) featured a front page article about how something needs to be done about the growing homeless population living in the woods in the suburb of Windcrest. This fraudulent falsity was complete with a giant photo of a homeless camp which is actually located in some woods on the other side of town, sort-of near where I grew up, in Leon Valley. The fact is, besides me, there wasn’t a single tramp anywhere near Windcrest and no one was living in those woods. I know this because I was very familiar with the only small wooded area in Windcrest. It was right behind us -property owned by jimmy's neighbor, a retired air force/journalist named David. these woods are where we would stash all the junk Jimmy accumulated from when a family would finally realize that 10.5% interest is absurd, and then hastily move out.

I was almost sure that this was an effort to suss me out. Some nut in sigints (signals intelligence) decided i was camped out back there and had hacked into Jimmy's WPA protected Wifi spot. you may think I'm just paranoid or something if you haven’t seen my websites or if you’re not familiar with my record for quick and accurate institutional analysis. by quick and accurate i mean effective and disruptive. think: the best of wikileaks early delivery. Here's a contemporary example: who is the neuro-science graduate studies programme director for CU. Who was James Holmes' psychiatrist working for?.

The likely scenario: [NAME REDACTED] with the [REDACTED] phoned the editor of the Express News and said "I need y'all do me a favor and run an article about bums in the woods up in Windcrest. Them ol' boys out there just want to keep a respectable neighborhood, and that's where i play golf.

but wait there's more

Maybe a week later David (owner of wooded property) gets a call from Sandy with san Antonio code compliance. (remember Windcrest is actually another municipality altogether now) they tell him he's going to be fined $2000 every day until he clears out all the under brush on his wooded property, and additionally he is required to hire a certain certified city contractor to do it. Oh and they didn’t just clear brush either: These guys come in like an army with chainsaws and earth movers, turn this beautiful little wooded ecosystem into a desolate dirt lot. Of course these workers have no idea they are supposed to be fleshing out some outspoken critic of abuses of authority. When I spoke with them, they were mostly really cool guys. You see, the IC tiger has paper teeth. what I mean is: it's easier to make some threatening phone calls than throw money around putting trusted boots on the ground. While these contractors were mowing down the ancient arbors, Time Warner had apparently contracted Texstar to install additional HD surveillance aparati on the Comms junction (the telephone wires) at the corner of Windcrest's newest parking lot. I called [NAME REDACTED] at Texstar and ask why there were all these noizy generators and workers blocking the street in my neighborhood. He advised that there was a problem with a squirrel there. In Masonic vernacular the term "squirrel" is slang for a nutty individual you are having trouble getting rid of.

David is highly intelligent and understanding but completely undeserving of this ridiculous situation that my presence certainly brought about. At this point I decided to go back to Austin, where of course, this adventure continues.

continued below in Part two: 2male nurses with a seeing-eye-dog

Paranoid Allusions From the Lunatic Fridge.
(continued) < Pt.1 Pt.3 >

Part two:
Two male nurses with a seeing-eye-dog

I have this anecdote i like to tell about these two male nurses with a seeing-eye dog who approached me one morning at Taco Cabana. It was early one Saturday last July and i was really broke, so i decided to go to TC on Lamar with my handy coffee cup to nab a free refill of ... coffee. (I'm a freeloader cheapskate, a disposable cup which I had saved from the last time I went there. .).

i was just sitting there geeking-out on my iPhone enjoying my stolen coffee, alone (except for the friendly staff) when these two dudes in scrubs come sniffing around me with this service dog. strangest damned thing. they didn't order anything (nor did they bring in a discarded taco cabana cup like i had) they just sat there at a table across from me looking at me This black guy and a Hispanic guy both covered in jailhouse tatts. their nurse-scrubs started to look like "bob barkers" (the scrub-like outfits one usually wears in the hoosegow) So I decided to go and ask them if they had indeed escaped from county jail, and before i could, in walks the Deputy sheriff who's apparently overseeing these two trustees, out on work release.

and i thought; "wow. I'm not in the drug trade, so why would these guys need to have this pooch sniffing me out. I didn't have bag or a backpack. And why was badge-boy too scared to do it himself. Then at about 7:30 it dawned on me. The previous evening, I had downloaded this torrent full of books onto my iPhone 4. (I do read an awful lot). one of the books was called "tactical urban survival" I assumed it was just that, literally a guide how to get free stuff when your down and out in the city. It was not. it was all about making bombs, extracting chemicals, constructing and testing detonators et al. I thumbed through it with a passing curiosity, but it obviously wasn't something i was actually interested in.

I immediately got rid of the iPhone. Traded it for a 160gb 1st gen iPod. I reacted [i think out of
reasonable paranoia] a bit hastily. I don't recall where i found that torrent of books but I don't assume that i was baited into downloading it.

I've been working on developing a cross platform secure file management application. in fact the rather bizarre personal security failure / signals intelligence fiasco i described above is exactly what I'd like to comprehend in order to continue our little iOS development project.

I could use an iPhone. We're migrating the project to android Ubuntu.

This bomb-dog encounter happened here in Austin shortly after I procured internet access in my name. You won't believe what happened next.

Paranoid Allusions From the Lunatic Fridge.
< Pt.2 Pt.4 >

Part three:
Ira, from the pentagon and Agenda 21

Once again I'd been a floating point for months with no visible encounters of the IC kind. that is, until I started administering my websites. ("floating point" is computerese for "off-the-grid" Google: float vs. int)

I was staying with an old friend in South Austin at the time. The work from home option wasn’t one because she's as about as “squirrelly” as bat guano since they got her on lithium. What money I had, I used to rent office space in the basement of the old city attorney's office at 9th and Lavaca in the Travis building. We didn’t have internet there for several months. When I finally could afford it, AT&T drug it's heels down to the knee. I had a sort-of off the books deal with the building owner for a dollar a square foot. The building is almost empty like many others in this unmentioned "commercial real estate crisis" we are now beginning to see everywhere. So I basically had the run of the place until THEY moved in. The Glotsies. If you continue reading, this is where you trade in your tin-foil hat for one made of fine copper mesh.

the Glotzis are like the Nazis (National Socialists) of the 1920s Germany. Same strange people, same deadly ideologies. But now they are Global and they operate under the auspices of sustainable development and dynamic evolutionary engineering. Under the advisement and consultation of beings from (get this!) the distant Pleiades Galaxy, via Alice A. Bailey and Helena Blavatzky. these two wing nut broads (and many others) would have us take "a proactive role in the evolution of the human animal" with a massive eugenics, euthenics campaign. or rather the wise alien they purported to "channel" when they wrote series of books published in the 19th century by, [ahem] Lucifer's Trust, a publishing company NGO component of what has become the United Nations. All the source info you need to support this claim can be found at openly on You don't have to be a genius, any fool can parse the euphemisms. You may also consult or your local newage|occult bookstore to read that Bailey or Blavatsky hogwash.

You think I'm pulling your leg? Before you say liar-liar, I'll have you know that these "WranglerFR (R)" jeans are the kind real fire fighters wear: FR13MWZ with an arc rating of 23.8 ATPV.

Wrangler Jeans

What happened first was the fire department came in and scrutinized every inch of the basement. And then comes Austin code compliance. I'll bet they ended up Travis Properties costing a lot more than my rent covered. They had guys working down there for quite a while getting the old building up to snuff for the venerable CoA.

The building management told me that Grassroots|Edelmans were moving in, I was like: "Oh brother!" at first I was under the impression that they were moving in 6 months down the line, but surprise me they did. I met Ira the next day as he was having tour of the building.
As I introduced me, he stepped back and had that wide eyed look of recognition. Fun stuff.
I confess; I had snuck up behind and surprised him in the damp dim area of the basement we affectionately refer to as the fight club. If you've seen it, you know why.

fight-club lipo soap

I'm sure you've heard the term SPIN with regard to public relations. It has come to mean: how a media outlet can interpret a piece of news with bias. In reality this is actually a technical acronym for segmented polycentric integrated network. These guys love acronyms. "the Arch" there's one for ya. An overt nod to freemasonry. I digress.

Spin is actually a method of mobilizing support for some kind of legislation. What we do is create a phony "grassroots" movement. Several actually, so that if the public get wise to the nefarious motives of one campaign, there's always more in the network to take up slack. This is no conspiracy theory, it's just one small facet of the PR industry. There are many but, Edelman’s is the company firms prefer hiring to canvas spin for them. I know this because, as I said, I have a background in PR. A real grassroots social movement normally doesn't pay starving students and hippy hobos with W2s and all. So, if your getting a check, it's an indication there's probably something else going on there. If I fell for it knowing all this, hey anyone could. But don't.

They could and have rented space in a number of other locations downtown. but it was clear this was all just for the benefit of my delusions of grandeur. So they rented all the offices around my little corner. A rather huge and very unoccupied basement In this empty 12 story building in a town with 53% occupancy downtown, Ira strategically rented the three surrounding offices. We were literally in the only office in use down there.

Ira is an intelligence operative “officially” in the private sector. You'd never know he was an army infantryman prior to his work in the pentagon. He told me this himself and it stands to reason. He said he was there when it was hit on 9-11 and he faithfully remains a fountain of neo-socialist party line nonsense. With the shaggy hair and dippy beard you'd never think he was Iraq veteran. Any effect of boot camp has long gone soft. The only feature drawing distinction: he's about 6'5" weighs 15 stone.

At first I was truly empathetic with the shoestring nature of this fledgling psyops outfit. His offices sat empty for better than a month. He would come in daily with an accumulation of print material and work on the floor organizing over a cheap cell phone. When he started bringing in true believers, I lent them some chairs. When he, became confrontational with the design engineers in my office, I knew it was starting. Pretty soon the place was filled with fanatical folk who were really just anxious to earn that $10/hr pittance and maybe move out of the arch. Oh they would chant and sing and simultaneously practice their various schpiels. It was a regular Jim Jones behavior mod cult in there, and we could hear everything. The noise and hostility were bad but the motivational fervor was just craziness.

We were doing civil engineering (Rockridge consulting), designing posters for bands at Elysium (madInc) business development and currency day trading(Franklin financial) and programming mobile apps (me). Vocations requiring a reasonable peace.

Jim and I had master keys to the offices in whole building, so we started working in other areas. (yay for laptops!) which ended after the campaigners kept getting caught smoking pot near the diesel generators down there in the fight club. Management rightfully secured the building and changed the locks in our alternate offices. We weren't renting them so we couldn't complain. A couple of us started working at night and Jim Rockridge started working from home mostly. The one-sided hostility grew and expanded and we were accosted on the street by campaign organizers as far as sixth street. I think almost everyone involved, canvassers, management, my fellows, everyone except for Ira and I was totally confused. Most of the hostility came from Ira. But there was quite a bit from a few of the other inside organizers. The regular canvassers were a bit rude to us when Ira was around but their hearts weren’t in it. When he began making threats on my life I pulled the plug. Drew, Jim, Charles, and I went our ways.

Please note I'm the only radical extremist in my (dare I call it) organization.
I guess I’d rather be a dangerous sociopath than a nauseatingly bland and lukewarm titmouse with no conviction. I grew up in the eighties when everything good was radical. I retain some admiration for Washington Radicalisms like those upheld by the likes of Ira. It is indeed radicalism albeit misplaced and dribbled down the rusted chain of command. Let's be honest.

so any way, that's how to shut down and marginalize the "terrorists" or what ever they call me. Tune in next time to hear how, 3 months later, two agenda 21 organizers from Ira's outfit tried to kill Lee on south first.

> > > Continued in part four ( see center colum > > >

do someth!ng
D3ft logo text

The Dynamic Direct Distributed Trust and Heritage Foundation,
or D 3 Foundation Trust, is a community advocate co-op whose aim is to provide resources and a supportive environment for disadvantaged artists and entrepreneurs.

  For several years, through some tough times, D3FT has persisted and shall continue to operate acomputer science and higher-intelligence lab, Abstract Painting at D3FT 2007 where members research and develop social and professional services, and create
audio / visual and interactive communications in support of thier entrepreneurship bootstrapping. Our CS and media labs are comprised almost entirely of donated, legacy equipment. We have proven time and time again that “you don’t have to be anywhere near the 'bleeding edge' of technology to engineer quality sound, or to make a beautiful film or creative multimedia experience.” Unlike that other business development project, D3ft maintains no obligations to the City or other corporations, keeping D3FT a system of free association.

As D3ft encourages the development of entrepreneurship, we aim to provide a home base and resources for struggling small business owners as well as local artists and musicians. To the credit of our hard working entrepreneurs, d3ft has aided the creation of a number of small businesses.

Another important aspect of the D3ft ministry is a need to continually provide workshop and studio space for traditional fine artists to share ideas and collaborate. As in our media labs we encourage an open critique for painters and sculptors as well as the performing artists and ‘Mo-cap’ performers. at this time we are looking for light industrial space in central Texas and northern California so we can comfortably grow.

Recently some of our members have organized and taken on the role of full-time activists, with a wide range of related causes like production reclaimation, ending asset forfeiture, commerce regulation and enforcemrnt, ending and preventing human trafficking (incl. prison profiteering), judicial reform, fighting neulaw and malicious prosecution, abolishing the precautionary principal from the judiciary.

D3ft isn't a traditional 501 non-profit or public company. As a private foundation trust we are supported primarily by our members; in times past, our funding has come by the proceeds from our Internet café: "the spacebar" and our publishing center, which are run cooperatively by our senior members and administrative volunteers. We are not at all Faith exclusive but the binding force, the entire foundation of our work is to bring about the Love of Christ Moshiach.

We are currently unable to meet our most basic financial obligations, and we're diligently seeking sponsorship for our larger projects namely our community computer science lab andthe Farbur development project. Please send requests &| proposals to d3 [at] (public email is Down, Our primary URL "" has been hacked, commandeered by pronsters)
The things we need most are: Secure comms
THANKS, Marz from Webster's Windows for providing Phone Services

Email: gmail just won't do for some of our needs, if you are an ISP with IMAP and newsgroups, Hook us up!
update: THANKS, Neil and our long time friends at BSI for generously providing premium email service

We could use two or three more sponsored secure email accounts for our political agitator / activist work.

Hosting. Were looking for free unlimited and secure Hosts. Also a shell account would be awesome. If you have any invites left we sure could use one.

Update: (Oct 26 2015) SAD NEWS after decades of providing the best hosting service ever, Crosswinds is shutting down CWAHI, the service we use. Due to increased "State Sponsored" malicious attacks by our "competitors" in local Government and thier contractors, who have also purchaced our Registrar. As of nov 29 2015, we will no longer have a home at the CW THANKS again, Tony atCroswind for years of free unlimited Hosting.

Phones: we certainly are having problems with our phone systems being targeted. We need more points of contact, liaisans for our more active members. If you're up for the task let us know. If you're willing to help us out paying (anonymously) for monthly mobile service, this too will be very helpfull
update THANKS: Austin, for finding, returning Lee's lost android
THANKS, DC from Schlotzky's for the iPhone 4
Office/warehouse space Denver, Deerborn and/or Austin: Once again our little lab is homeless. Ideally light industrial space, where we can lock and store equipment, would do. We're looking for something to be gifted or lent, or at lease under a dollar per square foot.
D3ft members have been working from several locations: Community Centers, Cafes, Vuka, at the Carwash, at Schlotzkys at the SBDC at Trinity center at McDonalds at the Union, At Father Woodys, at Auraria Library & the Tivoli on the Creighton Campus. And none of these locations really make any sense; the decentralized mobile situation is very costly, and prevents our ability to workshop effectivly. Much of the equipment we use is in storage, and several of our projects are on hold.

The Challenger Street Paper need's a printer! (of the "lazer beam" variety) if you have one in Austin to donate: Please Call Val
update: THANKS: EVERYONE who chipped in. the Challenger street Newspaper received their new Laser Printer September 8th 2015 The new issues look just beautiful. You should suppoer the Challenger and get an ad!
We are looking for a place for our Challenger "business" meetings which we have on Sunday at 1:30. We normally meet in the usual place at city hall but there is developing a bit of a class barrier and we'd like to meet indoors durring summer anyway. Any ideas? a library? a neighborhood center?.Please email Val

Screamin' Mike's homeless-men's-support-group which meets for breakfast at bluebonnet every sunday is also looking for a more suitable location to meet. We have been getting hassled by the cops. The discussion is after breakfast from 9 to 11, like it has been for several years. Bring any ideas to the breakfast meeting next Sunday, as mike doesn't have a telephone.

Of course we still accept contributions through the blue fox fund: Click Here & Donate today!

Get your smokey on.
(cc) m1 creative 1995-2012 - for uncompressed source files please send inquiries to d3 [at] d3ft.o

Published on Mar 4, 2013

This is an ALERT for all Organized Gang Stalking Targets and Victims and other people who feel they are being victimized via The Patriot Act, Homeland Security, Community Watch Groups, Etc.

Senator Wyden & Senator O'Dell's office have been investigating Targeted Individuals' claims in recent months of abuse and torture by our own government. A report they have released after a previous 2 yr investigation, revealed who is doing this to us. The report is entitled "A Nation of Traitors to our Constitutional Rights". Worried?It seems that Senator Wyden's & Senator O'Dell's offices need the stories and statements of targeted individuals in order to continue their investigation of how policies such as The Patriot Act is harming innocent American Citizens, and how funds are being funneled to Community Harassment groups Etc. If you feel you want to add your personal Gang Stalking Abuse and Situation to the investigation, you must fill out a form (at the link below) and fax it to his office ASAP! Please take the time, and see if this investigation is something that you would feel comfortable in participating with.

Form PDF file:

Please return this form to:
Senator Ron Wyden
911 NE 11th Ave.
Suite 630
Portland, OR 97232
Phone: (503) 326-7525 Fax: (503) 326-7528

NAME:___________________________________­­__ SSN:________________________
CITY:_____________________________ STATE:________ ZIP:_________________
HOME PHONE:_______________________ WORK PHONE:_________________________
BIRTHDATE:________________________ BIRTHPLACE:_________________________
I request the assistance of Senator Ron Wyden with the following federal agency:
Explain the nature of your problem: ___________________________________

I authorize Senator Ron Wyden and/or members of his staff to make the
appropriate inquiry on my behalf. Privacy Act of 1974 (Public Law 93-
579) became effective September 27, 1975.
SIGNATURE:______________________________­­____ DATE:_____________________

to learn about gang stalking, here are some other resources.

Neverending1's Blog:

Blogger LISSAKRHUMANELIFE's links (on this story) below:

"paranoid allusions from the lunatic fridge" 72
(a collection of new articles from the Fifth Collumn) [some dates are wrong, typos are left intact]

Laundry Fucked  By Leefrnk@gmail 6 29 2015 . Par-Annoyed AluZions from the LuNatic's Fridge BY: Guano Maiaeleus
Disapointing by::Lee frnk <at> (g)mail 3 22 15 . blue water ninja By: Public iMage 7 28 2015
“Pair anoyed allusions from the lunitic fridge." By Dr. T. MtGomery "Gummie" Cantsen Sr. 2 11 15
Untitled 6 25 2014 The Worthless Pig By Leif Ranks 6 29 15 . Hello I'm white. By: Hunk E. Brewer 6 9 2015
AU5T!N 5#!T7y LIMi7S by: Willie Schmelsom & Glen B. 4 11 15 NEW WIERD ODER By: Darlene Frenkely 06 12 2015
JESUS CHRIST AND DORIS DAY By Renee Dubucs 5-13-15 from geocities 1996

LaundryLove Laundry Fucked 
By Leefrnk@gmail 6 29 2015
Bus Stop Fail0h the rain. What a mess. Perhaps you noticed that it rained every day last May. Seventy-three of the past seventy-five days. Yeah, I know there was a break one May afternoon and the sun came out just long enough to make the humid air warm and gross. -Not enough to dry anything out, or to kill the molds.

Unless it washed one of your houses (or friends) away, or, like me, you didn't have 'em to start out with; you probably didn't notice that indeed the sky rainded every single day. All week ends and holly days, all through out May, no matter what you say, it rained every day. Not for folks with houses and cars though, or Starbuxes and offices with cozy cubicles in which to escape the torrential curse from the heavens. Not for the worthless paper pushing bureaucrats or pixel pushing advertisers or all the God damned  attorneys. It did, however rain on the productive members of the community, the ones who actually build homes and grow food, those who fix things and clean up. The folks with out means, like the little Hispanic ladies who have to stand out getting puddle-splashed by cars under one of those new fangled bus stops, trying to get to work.
Well it rained. Everything got wet and stayed that way, and soon, like a derelict cheese sandwich behind the milk in a lunatic's fridge, it all began to cultivate a variety of fuzzes in spread spectrum of our military's favorite unsaturated hues. Everything. My new boots, old shoes, anything rubbery like head phones and USB cables and all my laundry clean or otherwise. Mold.

quarter DollarI was low on cash, unable to work in the rain and I really needed to do laundry soon before it all got ruined. I know about this program called Laundry Love.It's put on by St David's over at the Spin Cycle on Congress and Oltorf. They have pizza. Well, I went there once before and it's a total Circus. So, they are giving away cash here either ten or twenty bucks in quarters. Now this was not a genius idea, despite who ever thought it up. Amy Moenkey perhaps? She was unavailable for comment, and I think I know why. Perhaps I'll get to that later.. There are a few unspoken rules you have learn quickly.

· First rule of cash club DON'T TALK ABOUT CASH CLUB.

· Rule #2. to Get Free Cash: bring your whole family early. They start at five thirty pm, so a 4:00 arrival should do you. The early bird gets the quarters.

· rule three : (if you are actually doing a wash load, not spending this cash else-wise) select a washer and load it before any one else does, now wait.

· Rule four : When St Dave's tie-dyed colorful crew arrive (with the quarters); quickly form a cue and follow the quarters. When getting your family in line (watch the quarters) try and get in near the front of the line and stay together.

· Number five : Just ignore any one who (keep an eye on the quarters) is white, just go around them. This cash is from white people not for white people. If you see any problem white people (I mean besides St David's Parishioners, remember they are your cash-cow here), just talk to Spin-cycle staff.

· rule Six : when they ask if it's for a family, have each family member tell them they're a single not a family . They give singles ten dollars cash and families twenty dollars cash. It's logic. If there are five in your family you get fifty dollars not twenty. Of course if you're actually single you should probably say you're a family to get the twenty dollars cash. You'd just have to be stupid to do otherwise.

· And number seven: Eat pizza. the line moves quickly, If you want a second slice get back in line while still eating the first one. Your best odds for seconds come if you make your move before every one gets a chance to have a slice.

· That's about it. you can start your washer, if you're doing a wash load.
· · The golden rule of “laundry love” (AKA Cash Club) is the same as modern life:
I Get Mine's.

 Street Life is Op Side Down These unspoken rules of laundry love are very much real. I don't exaggerate at all. It's disturbing. You probably know exactly what I'm talking about if you're accustomed to the competitive, gimmie gimmie response to the spurious resources occasionally available to the ever increasing population of the desperately poor who surround the ARCH and “Sally”,. But these people at "laundry love" in south Austin have homes, Most of them are certainly are on the dole checks. There was only one other obviously homeless, person there: A gray hared white woman, her clothes hamper strapped to a dolly with bungee cords. Everyone treated her terribly. They acted like she wasn't even there, and EVERY one just went around her and nudged her aside and cut ahead in line. She had obviously walked a long way with her load to get there. They knew because she was a woman, only a bag lady (a pariah), she wouldn't be able stand up for herself and likely no one else would either. I was particularly appalled by the Polly-Anna, milk-toast, spinelessness of everyone from St David's. Stricken with White Guilt, they wouldn't stand up for her, or lay down any rules about the distribution of the cash. They are over run by these jerks for the sake of political correctness. They totally bum-rush Dom and the guys for those quarters. And St Dave just quietly ignores the chaos, I Imagine for fear of being called out as a crackin' ass cracker. The entirely Hispanic staff at vicious cycle are run by a frumpy bully covered in jail-house south side gang tats. You know, 512, 78704, m13, and of course the obligatory little teardrops, signifying I'm to believe, substantial "hardness". The entire laundry love fiasco amounts to a shakedown where St David's. church goers, compelled by a pure-of-heart need to do good in the community, but paralyzed by fear of not appearing politically correct, are intimidated by racists who have bought into the violent drug trade by popular culture. This bunch would glorify street crime as a cultural identity.

Back in the laundromat.. This was a mess. I barely made it in time to get a washer. Marz had given me a ride in his van, I asked him Street Life is Op Side Down several days in advance, because there's just no way I could have made it there with dirty and clean clothes on my bicycle. There dozens of kids playing and running around, which was admittedly delightful and a bit nerve racking. There were several, morbidly obese bodies occupying the chairs and tables awaiting those quarters. All the adult eyes were on Marz and me or the "bag lady" (the only white folks). We had full attention until quarters arrived, the cue formed around us, then we became totally invisible. The line converged among us and then moved ahead pushing whities to the end. the line had formed in a different place than last time I attended the circus. I literally witnessed a dope deal in the line. One of the teens copped his dime bag right in front of me, and God and every one. He was one of teens from an extensive black Houston family of "ten dollar singles" (see unspoken rule six above) How do i know? Well the 713 tattoos for starters, and pristine, fitted, Texas Tall, flat billed, rockets ball-caps, just don't scream "South Austin". Same family? Yeah I know "they" all look the same, to honkys, but really this family all had the same jew-ish nose, God bless em'. But they think they've got old st Dave buffaloed. Scripture says "wink at their ignorance" right?

While standing in line I glanced over at the two machines containing my wash and I noticed my clothing had been removed from the washers. I left Marz at our white spot at the end of the line and went to investigate. I stopped a SpinCycle staff member and said, "I think my clothes have been stolen." She went and got the O G. He tells me that they had taken them out of the wash because they had been abandoned in there since one o'clock, and now that Laundry Love was here they needed the machines for that instead. Of  DerilichtLaunromat.jpg course that was a god damned lie. Marz picked me up at 4:41, (i looked at my phone). I was concerned about the time because the last time I had to do this, I had to wait for two hours to get started -didn't follow unspoken rule three. but this time, per the rules, I had put it in about five o'clock, and the "quarters got there about 5:30. Another worker corroborated the fabrication, that they'd been there all day. I demanded my clothes so I could put them back in the machine. OG said if i didn't leave he was going to call the police. he said I was being racist. But i wasn't. I'm not. Ihad said nothing which could possibly be construed as such. The accusation to which i made no response is beneath reproach. Marz was confused embarrassed maybe. Dom was timidly indifferent, and had no help to offer. I was furious. I stayed in the quarter line. Perhaps I'd get marz to take me to the sunrise laundry on Oltorf, but they ran out of quarters as I approached. The bag lady and I were fucked.

OK so what am I supposed to do with all those clothes. I thought for a second. I can't wear them. I have no idea how i could wash them. The ARCH is out of the question. That perfect bedlam is a ticket to a mugging, now with all the K2 junkies. If i only had a sink or a tub like all the people in there doing laundry do at home, and i could dry them on a line easy enough. I paid good money for a lot of that stuff. I volunteered at St Vinny's for some of it. My friend Desi gave me a bunch of new socks on Christmas. Those are my nice things. I like having nice clean clothes. That is so fucked. 

Well I don't need to be carrying around a bunch of wet nasty clothes for no reason, anyway. I decided to leave before I got upset, before the cops got there. I left a flummoxed Marz. Walked "home" on foot. When i got to South first sure enough a police cruiser whizzed by, looking for me, I imagine. People are so quick to call the cops. All that hard gangster nonsense is bullshit, (the dude works at a laundry, 1st off) and call the cops on someone for being homeless + white. Oh how 'hood. We get that. 

6 29 15
The Worthless Pig
By Leif Ranks

ACAB Behold; I'll tell you about yet another time, when some one called the cops to help them steal something. It has happened several times. Yes, I think it's unbelievable, too. This is only one example: One night a couple years ago, when I was working at the 7-11, I caught two guys, in the act, with bolt cutters stealing my “R. Martin” franken-bike(worth probably $1500) They were, as I learned, a couple of meth heads who live down at Barton springs. It was locked up on the bike rack out front of the neighboring star-bucks, and I really just lucked out when I glanced across the parking lot and saw them. I ran out and chased them off. The lock was gouged by their boltcutters. Now I know those monstrous green bike-racks, are worthless. They just scratch up your bike. I decided I would have to find a more hidden place to lock it, so I made arrangements to lock it up behind a fence near by. I also put a lock box there with it, to keep the battery and charger. (worth about $500). I kept it back there for along time. There were problems with the brakes and micro-controller. Most of the bike came from Jack And Adams shop. When they moved they got rid of a lot of good bike parts. (I also got a nice K2 frame, which was also eventually stolen too). A couple of months ago the R. Martin was stolen. It really sucks being homeless, no place to keep stuff safe. No matter what, I can't seem to get enough together to rent some place. Anything I buy eventually gets stolen. Initially I assumed it was Glen and Jim-bob the aforementioned meth twerps, or probably Travis, or one of the other well known S. Austin [bike] thieves, who have become my enemies. I assumed they had found their way lurping through back yards, up the creek, to where I had locked it. The thieves cut and left the over-sized, OnGuard cable lock, where I had it locked. To be safe, I decided to trade the High security combination lock from the gate with el cheapo I had on the box. I imagined they must have had a hell of a time with the heavy electric bike descending the steep stony hill through all the briers and scrub. That would certainly have been a team effort. That's what I assumed. Until, the thieves came back. They came through the gate though, after smashing my $5, case-hard lock. They leisurely took time.ACAB T(he)y got drunk on a sixer of corona tall boys. Knowing the combination, he opened the lock box, scattered my clothes and other effects out in the grass. Trashed the place, with my stuff. He took my can of purple spray paint and graphittied everywhere back there. Wrote “putos” and some half assed gang tags and he sprayed the lock's combination on the front of the box. And left the opened lock on top for me to find. In addition to the beer cans, There's a dammaged pruning hook still there. That could have been used to cut the cable lock. At this point I realized it wasn't those homeless white boys from Zilker. With all the thieves out, what homeless guy is going to just leave, a perfectly good $13 lock. The combined efforts of my neighbors and I, including some homeless and Tim the land owner across the creek, we've done well chasing off the meth head junky thieves. But, as they say, there are people coming to town every day. I think I know who it was though. Well let's see here, besides me, who else knew the combination to the lock? The property manager, Brad Schlosser and the landscaping crew from Sunterra. Let's picture some realestate wonks back there in the woods, in their matching heels and peach skirtsuits, big ass corona in hand. That's a fun image, but not likely. On the other hand, both thefts happened “coincidentally”on days when the landscapers were there. They have kept a consistent schedule for years. Is that proof? It's proof that the thief (either purposfully, or carelessly)left enough evidence to implicate, the yard crew. Likely it was indeed the drunk and careless yard worker did it on a drunken whim, and not some one out to frame them. The next week, I asked one of the workers, Elvis, if he knew what happened to my bike. He was nervous. I caught him lying about some meaningless details. He said it was his first time there, that Alex had worked the gig before him, and just quit. That was plausible, I could imagine an Undocumented Alex, getting drunk, and telling himself "A la mierda! Esta pinche mierda ! Esto no es más que la esclavitud. Guero Culeros. Mira, incluso sus vagabundos tienen bicicles de lujo”

I called the number held magnetically to the side of the truck. After a couple of phone calls I spoke with a Mr. Rhodes., I think, he'd just acquired Sunterra who sub-subs out the work to Alex, Elvis et al..I dont know. Rhodes was very cooperative and wanted to be helpful. He gave me the number of his guy named Patrick. A real Asshole. He did not want to discuss it at all, I got the impression he knew Alex was going to be a pain in his ass. He told me to leave his guys alone. The next week they arrived with the magnet removed from door of the truck. They had a 12 year old operating a riding lawnmower. The whole crew from Mexico. Which I'm cool with. I'm all for Mexicans coming up here for a job. What I'm not cool with is when subcontractors like Patrick, and Josiah Longbons, Use it as an excuse to merely pay people a pittance. Every one wants to blame the “Illegals” for “taking our jobs”. That's horse-shit. The real culprits are the subcontractors who say; “..why should I hire/insure/tax American, for a “living wage” when I can just exploit a meskin slave.” as former business owner with payroll I feel for employers but, It ends up just lowering everyone's work wages. And in the long run corrupting values in general. They did the same with women's rights, and since the seventies, it has taken at least two adults to support a modest household. And now it really takes three. Mexicans are obviously hip to this; that's why they've got Junior riding the mower every Saturday.

So I stopped Elvis again and he turned off his leaf blower. I told him I need my bike back, that it wasn't a derelict bike. They would haveFuck Yeah, Invasion  to pay a fair price if they want to keep it. I told him, when he was finished, I'd like him to take me to speak with his boss, about Alex stealing my bike. They may have thought it was abandoned but It wasn't. At that point his coworker approached and ask in Spanish what we were talking about. Elvis explained. Something lost in translation, the coworker became furious at my accusation and spewed the familiar Spanish vitriol, “Pinche tu madre”, and all the rest of it. He said he was going to hit me. He was a small man spoke only Spanish, but I couldn't doubt his sincerity. I wasn't interested in fighting the little fellow. Fighting isn't ever fun. I'm not stupid, these little guys can surprise ya. That's when I decided to go forget everything and relax at Starbucks. I did for about an hour. I read. Then a cop showed up. And three more. And then Josiah Longbons, the white man who called them. He doesn't work with his crew. He doesn't work at the property or live nearby. I had never spoken to, or seen him before that day. The officer told me he wanted to help me. I told him I didn't call them because they're worthless. The cop said he was there to help me get my bike back. I explained the situation to the police, that I had demanded the return of my property, but had avoided an altercation. He asked why I stole Elvis' iPhone. I said: “He handed it to me to talk to his boss, and I gave it back after the man hung-up on me”The cops took me to jail. No citation no warning, no criminal charges, no arraignment, no reason, no warrant. Of course I wasn't intoxicated. I don't drink. They just hauled me off to the Juzgado. First, without cause or my permission, they searched through my computer bag for drugs (in which I don't indulge) or Weapons, (although I am well within my rights to have one, I'm afraid I'd probably be killed by a cop for bearing it). I told them in very certain terms, that I think they are a bunch of God Damned worthless fraudsters and criminals. Which of course they are. After they knowingly and willfully deprived me of access to my valuable property; the now wasted six hours worth of my time, I was released from jail. When I recovered my computer bag, it was emptied in total disarray to a filthy yellow rubber bag, and the computers do not function as they had. The touch screen digitizer on the tablet doesn't respond properly, and there is a large dark area on the monitor of the laptop. My ball-cap was not returned. They also stole two lighters, and a small leatherman. Most importantly though my time was stolen. Again, by worthless city cops. This sort of nonsense has become thestandard, with city police. Once they “know” someone he's in the list of bad guys, who have no rights.
ACABI've had problems with these for quite a while now. To add insult..or rather injury to injury, over the next weeks, from June ninth to the twenty-sixth, the same cops have gone to all the businesses in the area, to tell the proprietors and employees, that I'm not allowed to be there. Because I was in some sort of altercation. This is not true. I asked people at some of the surrounding businesses If they knew what kind of incident occurred, or if the officer left a card. No card, No info, no names. As a matter of fact the police involved go about obscuring their badge numbers with a black band or electrical tape* which is totally unacceptable. But I did learn that an officer went out of his way to contact Angie over at Schlosser's, so I gave her a call. She was very friendly, she said she wasn't aware of of the details but that she would contact me as soon as she learns precisely what happened. Hopefully some one clues me in. I've been told by my friends in the area, that they aren't going to “enforce” this nonsense, and that I'm welcome to drop in for a Flat White, or to hear John Bush or what ever.. Nevertheless, like every child, our trusted Police Officers learn quickly that all it takes is some flashy blue lights and their uniformed presence to create an indecent incident.
Undeniably, this activity falls exclusively into the boolean of waste fraud and abuse.
I called the police department, to ask who's been working the case. They said no one has been assigned to the case, and there usually wasn't an investigator in this “type” of cause. I asked what sort of altercation or incident occurred. And they couldn't offer any information, told me to go down and purchase a report. I had already. (I filed a claim for damages too)There isn't any information in the report. That's why I called. I asked then if the police work being done since the ninth was not official. They said it must not be official, there is no one assigned to the case, perhaps I should call sergeant Tate [512 974 8648], Ivan Wall's Supervisor. I did. Several times. Unavailable for comment, he was out. My guess: rousting the local tramps.

*No one questions this. Badge numbers should be a little more like the numbers on football jerseys. Big. Visible. OK, so we know what team your on by the uniform. But If you make a foul play, who are you to hide in a blue crowd? Who the fuck died to make you anonymous shakedown thug? And on my dime.
It's a God Damned disgrace

5 13 15 From the Challenger Street Newspaper
There was a little controversy among us Challengers around publishing the following article. All of those who read it were deeply offended by the article. (that was the whole idea in writing it Im sure)trippyhipsterjesus
At first, I was the only one who thought we should just put it in the Challenger. I thought our readers would enjoy this perfect example of the kind of self-righteous ignorance faced daily by folks experiencing extreme poverty. It can be easily argued that precisely this ignorance, this prevailing apathy is the prime cause of poverty. I voted to publish it the way it is, but it was decided that it needed a parallel piece to put it in perspective for those of you who have fortunately avoided poverty. The task fell to me. . I believe the accounts are probably pretty truthful. especially between the lines. I added little if anything to her subtext.

doris day

[ I've set my commentary apart as right justified, when i could, with a sans serif font and within in square brackets. Attorneys will appreciate that. I begin to take on the writers first person perspective as you read on. a what-were-you-thinkin? sort of thing. ],

The original text will appear Rag Right, in a bold, sans serif typeface.
Enjoy ----------------------------------->

By Renee Dubucs

My uncle had a simple response to the biblical directive to feed the hungry. He would offer a meal to beggars seeking money. Since college I have often used his method of distinguishing between those wanting food and those wanting liquor, drugs, etc.

[ Her entire article is initially based on a bogus premise. I'd like to say that right off the bat. My father was a bible scholar and probably the wisest man I've known. I'm obviously not an evangelical but I picked up a few things from the man, thank God. I miss him terribly.

The biblical directive to "feed my sheep" is an analogue, the "feeding" a reference for learning and teaching scripture.

Actually the real biblical directive concerning this situation can be found at the end of proverbs: "Let them drink and forget their povertyand remember their misery no more." Interestingly; this is also where we learn about the "noble woman" and her generous virtues, valued attributes. (the "immoral woman" is at the beginning of proverbs).]

Some memorable encounters with street people in the capital of the United States are discussed below. The stories you are aboutto read are true. Only my name was changed, to protect the innocent.

[She's probably an affluent K street attorney in DC but she's not very smart. Perhaps she's in a position to really help the poor, from inside the legislature. It looks like she's convinced herself that she's the only innocent person on earth.

Jesus loathed attorneys. He said something like: If they could, attorneys would cut you off from the keys of wisdom (your own senses) with their sophistry. Attorneys weigh you down with burdens they won't even touch, they lie to themselves, worst of all, they justify their own greed and apathy.

Working for attorneys, dealing with legislation and judicial matters I've developed a prejudice toward lawyers. Commentary herein willcertainly be biased]

Those Who Are Hungry Need Just One Chance

[Nice Title, I think it means:
after I feed you a one jumbo-jack you should be able to get your needy shit together.]

During a major recession, Americans were crisscrossing the coACAB untry in a futile search for jobs. One morning a skinny young manstopped me and politely sought money for breakfast. I offered instead to buy his meal at a nearby fast-food restaurant. At his request, I also invited his even scrawnier buddy. Each man was soft-spoken, wore a cheap suit, and carried a flimsy suitcase.

That was a kind act I'm convinced it actually happened like that. When I have been extremely hungry I started to lose my voice, became soft spoken indeed.

We talked while waiting in line. It turned out that the two men had left the Deep South in a fruitless search for work. They had pursued rumored job openings to Chicago and then had traveled by bus from one city to another. That morning they had arrived, broke, in Washington for a construction job interview. While we stood talking, the two men avidly watched the meals being served. The buddy, in particular, was mesmerized by the food. A silent man, he lifted his eyes from each passing food tray only to gaze, spellbound, at the next loaded tray passing by. Clearly, it had been a while since the two wanderers had had enough to eat. I liked both men, who had a quiet dignity. I am happy I bought them a big breakfast to prepare them for their interview. [ What a self centered arrogant statement, “I bought” made her happy, rather than seeing hungry guys get to eat. What selfish pride. ] For once I felt I might have made a difference for the better. The men needed the meal for the energy to convince the interviewer they could handle hard labor or for the strength to keep trying if not hired.

[That's right, we should do what's best to help the gentry and merchants create hard labor- low pay jobs to exploit those desperate workers]

The Stereotype

Encounters with panhandlers are rarely so satisfying. . [well it's not supposed to be satisfying at all, you give someone in need ACABsomething it set's you back] Sometimes the beggar is too far gone from drink, drugs, or hopelessness to seek employment, so the donor’s assistance makes no long-term difference.
[in other words, Never waste anything on those who have the nerve to Indulge themselves in hopelessness, of all things]
A mendicant with whom I felt a bond fit this stereotype.

[Beggar, Mendicant. Wow. Well that's just mean and sort of classicist. Desperate situations can compel people to swallow their prideand ask for help. Resort to begging, if you will. That's much better than resorting to theft, though. And poor folks aren't the only ones who drink. Over the years, I've personally known several millionaires who are total alcoholics and some, despite assets and holdings, are otherwise worthless. let's be real here. Corporate welfare and the quantity of tax breaks to billionaires outweigh street begging by an order of magnitude nearly beyond measure. All that dough could really help the glaring housing problem. Begging.. The word makes it out like they're pestering just one person for a lot of money (thats grant-writing), but the idea is you ask several people for a little bit. I've done it. I tried. like a lot of things though, I didn't give it my heart. Only for two reasons: It didn't payoff for me, and it really starts to make you lose faith in humanity. So few people help, and it's usually the poor workers who give change, never the bureaucrat in the BMW or the ad exec in the Lexus. Some folks make out pretty good “spanging”, but not me. So I don't do it. There's nothing wrong with it, unless you misrepresent yourself by posing as charity like “save the children”] 

One cold day a filthy man dragging a bedroll approached me for a handout. [Can you believe the gull to be filthy or to tired to lift your nap-sack?] I had seen him before. [but never offered help. what's with these people, they're everywhere.. and always outside.] Like many street people, he had appeared mentally defective and lost in his own bizarre world. [The Socially Dominant Minority doesn't share the same world with “bizarre mental defectors”, the socially dominant do not contribute to the causes or effects of poverty] I offered to treat him to lunch
[instead of the straight cash handout, since I'd never trust one in poverty to be responsible with cash.].


“You’d really do that for me?” he asked. [I winked at his false humility] I told him I would.

In reply, he grinned. The man clearly understood that I would not buy him liquor, and he knew the stereotype. With perfect good humor, he said, “You don’t understand. I want whiskey. I want whiskey.” We looked at each other and then stood laughing together in the pale winter light.

[We both laughed because we both like to booze it up from time to time, but we both know poor people shouldn't. Since he knew I wasn't giving out cash i was relieved to avoid running him down to wall-mart for lotrimin, toiletries socks, or a tent or what ever he really needed. Please take note: in addition to my masters from George Washington University, I'm possessed by literary genius. You liked my pale winter touch there, admit it.]

The Angry Chameleon

Sometimes the beggar is an impostor. The best faker I ever met was an angry young man with a mission.

[because, If you've been fucked by "the government" or society or whatever and end up on the skid, then you try and speak out or engage in institutional analysis and try to effect change to prevent others being screwed, your poverty is not legit. All "activists" are impostors and they deserve what they get; poverty, silence, jail, murder and all the rest.]

At our initial encounter in 1985, the man declined my offer of a meal, saying he was not hungry. Instead he wanted money to pursue a class-action lawsuit against the government.

Oh boo hoo, the man lost his appetite by the nauseating state of affairs, so If he had a brain he would have thought about going to University to learn the correct and proper political ins and outs of our corrupted legislature or navigating a judiciary which is badly in need of reform.

Subsequently, I saw this panhandler on the street from time to time. I generally waved to him, and he generally scowled but whispered a greeting. At one meeting he said he was an author. Unlike most mendicants, he had lucid, intelligent eyes and was clean. He was almost always angry, yet candid with me.

[ the fact he could find the time and place to keep kempt is proof that he's an impostor. Filth, dim wit and laziness is practically the definition of poverty. Real poor people are despondent not indignant, FAKER.]

During the three or more years I knew him, the man appeared on the streets of the U.S. capital in various guises and locations. In winter he sometimes had a plaid skirt over his coat, wore a dress and matching turban, or went shoe-less in sub-freezing temperatures. In summer he often wore a long print mu-muu and shoes. On one memorable occasion he showed up wearing only a loincloth.

[I never even thought to bring him some old shoes or normal clothes because he's a faker and we all thought it was kind of entertaining watching him in the muumuu, freeze himself to the icy side walk. Guy probably has a trust fund and a condo.]

This panhandler did not beg full time. Sometimes when he needed cash to support his [ridiculous] lawsuit or [pinko leftist] writing, he turned up in front of Washington’s largest department store or by popular businesses. Occasionally he sat on a grate before a restaurant with diners outside.

At times the man played his role well but for little gain. For example, his choice of a hot-air grate in front of the restaurant with outdoor tables sounds inspired. However, his timing was bad. It was August, and passersby were unmoved by the sight of a beggar on a hot-air grate in sweltering weather.

He also did poorly in the loincloth. For this role he lay raving on the sidewalk with his long hair and flowing beard hiding his face [as we all know, hair and beard are not a real part of an actual face, even if your a Brooklyn Jew, those soup-catchers are only for anonymity. That's why God made Norelcos, fool. All it takes is little soap and a Bic and in five minutes these tramps can look more like womyn] and with a cup for money beside him. The cup was empty. [ FAIL.] Pedestrians were likely scared to approach the apparent lunatic.

[yeah, I know I called him lucid and intelligent before but he was just not clever enough for duping saps for money, anyway, ...condo, i bet ]

When I [was on my way to one of Julius Gwyer's elite parties], wearing a cocktail suit and matching high heels, saw the raving, nearly naked beggar, I stopped. I was debating calling the police to his [My] aid when I suddenly recognized him. As I walked away, the subject of his ravings changed. Looking like [that hairy derelict Jew;] Jesus Christ [my Lord and savior, I swear], he called after me, “Ooh, sexy! There goes Doris Day!”

For a few minutes I was furious! Then I laughed. [ Que Sera, Sera ]doris day

I spotted the man intermittently after that and then not for about seven months. However, one of my [Irish-Mexican] colleagues came across him begging in church during Mass. She said he had dazed eyes and was filthy.

[the new manager at Carl's Jr. must have got tired of him using the lady's powder room to wash his nuts. BUT HE'S STILL A FAKER, and the dazed eyes from sleeplessness is all part of the show ]

Later I occasionally saw the man outdoors. I was shocked. [ but for no ostensible reason ] One winter morning he was sleeping on a bench [ only pretending to be homeless ]. Another winter morning he was rummaging through a trash can [ All Part of his elaborate ruse ]. He was dirty [ It looked pretty real he probably payed Rick Baker a fortune for the cinematic vagabond make-over ] , and he pretended not to see me. [even though i did a little jig and waived my arms flailed about. he's a total pretender] The street had claimed him, to the point that the sham beggar finally was real. [ once these guys are that far gone there's no helping them, who'd want to anyway, yuck! I'm sure glad I never fell for his scheme ]

The Androgyne

Life can be unforgiving for the homeless. I [ totally ] saved one person from the street, at least for a while. [ for the better part of a whole morning...on a week day too] I met this panhandler in August 1986 on a morning when I was late for work and everything had gone wrong. [ Hungry tramp MEND-I-CANT was the last thing I needed to deal with ]

At first glance, the beggar appeared to be a male teenage runaway. However, when we signed into my office building to buy breakfast, I discovered that the “boy” was named Kathy [or elle-mae or kisha. one of those trailer gal names, you know]. Only later did I figure out why this rather pretty female [*] was trying to pass on the street for a guy.

Seeing Kathy roam agitatedly about the snack shop, I concluded she was on drugs and needed her family. She at first rejected my offer to phone her parents but abruptly changed her mind. I tried unsuccessfully to reach them in Appalachia. I also called Trailways hoping it would take Kathy home under its program for reuniting teenaged runaways with their families. However, when the bus company asked her age, I learned with surprise that this flat-chested, boyish “teenager” was twenty-five. [ she had like NO TITS at all! Ha ha ]

While I was making the phone calls, Kathy was exhibiting signs of extreme agitation. Finally she confided in me the problem. Just hours before, a stranger had raped her! [why, it hadn't donned on me that's who I was phoning]

I was shocked into silence and at a loss for a good solution. [ and i sure as shit wasn't about to put her up, she'd get us both raped ] Kathy, who had a criminal record, [ Probably an escaped serial murderer ] apparently did not trust the police. [ which is just pure craziness because everyone knows the police are our only benefactors, and they'd never lie or hurt anyone ]
Nor did she have a decent place to live; the reason she had stayed out all night was a missed curfew
[ 4:30 pm ] for entering the women’s shelter. [ but she wasn't entirely homeless, and you can make lots of new friends at an over crowded emergency shelter ]

The best solution seemed to be to get Kathy home. [ but wait i forgot she's a twenty five year old escaping the most desperately impoverished part of west Virginia, and appearanly has a criminal record to boot ]
The Travelers Aid Society, after hearing of the rape, agreed to reunite her with her family or friends in Appalachia.

[ because even though she's not Eastern Star, Daughters of Job, never even a girl scout; you'll be out of sight out of mind and off the streets of DC. it's back to uncle-daddy and the hill-billy cousin-in-laws for you, Honey.]

ACABThere was one funny scene in my distressing encounter with Kathy. On our walk to Travelers Aid, we had to step over a mendicant lying on the sidewalk. It was the angry chameleon. Thinking Kathy badly needed a laugh, I told her he was a con artist. To her credit, she was able to laugh a little. [ I felt so proud of myself for taking advantage of her stress to manipulate this pathetic streetwalker to help me ridicule her classmate] The scene proved a fitting finale to an encounter showing repeatedly that appearances can be deceptive in beggar land. There were five of us in the tableau. Kathy, clutching the breakfast she had been too nervous [ from being raped ] to eat, and I, looking expensively dressed, stood laughing about the [filthy, tired, homeless, hungry, yet still faking, indignant ] beggar, [ YAY for me] he sprawled piteously before our feet, and a passing couple glared, outraged—-at the rape victim and her [proudly heroic] helper. [ Those bleeding heart suckers, If they only knew how cool I think I am ]

Kathy’s situation taught me about the crime against her. If she is a good example, rape unleashes an emotional holocaust in its victim.

[ and it's fucking awesome to watch and then manipulate those emotional strings like a marionette muah ha. Remember this next time you meet a rape victim ]

Through later research I also learned everything I had done wrong in reacting to her trauma. I was silent from shock when I should have spoken, I said things I should not have, and I should have found a rape crisis center. Well, I am an attorney, not a social worker [ Thank GOD, those losers make only like 40k ] , who tried. Despite all my mistakes, Kathy was grateful to me and seemed to understand most of what I was saying to her in my heart.

The Face in the Mirror

My most perplexing encounter with a beggar involved a female with a cause. The meeting was to a disconcerting degree an encounter with myself. [ and she wasn't male (I've tried desperately to not be overtly genderist. fuckit i may just let it all hang out) ]

In 1984 I got stopped on my way to lunch by a woman unlike any panhandler I had ever seen. In fact, she looked a lot like me. She appeared to be my age, we were similarly well dressed [ yeah, GUCCI bitches! ] , and she would have fit in at my college reunion. She was one of the few beggars with a touch of class.

[ by class I mean money of course because, if you've read this far it should be obvious I don't know the first thing about character or spirit ]

I hesitated when she politely requested money. In essence, I could not understand why I would ask me for cash, since this apparently was not a temporary predicament like a snatched purse. Reluctantly, I invited the woman to join me for lunch. She hesitated but politely declined.

Months later I opened the Washington Post and found her photograph and life story. The mendicant, known to her father as “Muffin,” is Ellen Benjamin Thomas. She is my age and a dropout from the upper-middle class. Not long before our encounter, Ellen, who likes poetry, had quit her job, given away her possessions, and married Thomas, a nuclear-arms protester living on the streets. (With her husband, she went on to focus for decades on fighting nuclear weapons.)

[ Oh these bleeding farts and their stupid causes, when are they gonna figure out it's all about the money not all that stupid ethical stuff, ah c'mon they know it already. They are a bunch of fraudsters fakes and impostors ]

After reading the newspaper, I was glad I had offered Ellen lunch in 1984 and glad she had refused. In one respect, her refusal cost her little. Based on the article, she frequently eats restaurant fare. However, this woman who is much like me gets food out of a restaurant’s garbage dumpster. [ HA HA HA, all part of act one kids ]

In 1987 I passed the nuclear disarmament group in its usual spot near the White House. I recognized, I believe, Ellen in the group. While she looked happy, she also looked worn and much older than before. Life on the streets is tough, especially on women.

[ It's true, I swear I'm not sexist at all. It's science, men just have this chromosome which make them less susceptible to the lack of clean running water, fresh food and shelter. Look it up it's like the normal chromosome but mutated, they call it the "Why" chromosome and this is "why" they can flourish without the basics and spend all day (and night) out of doors doing hard labor and stuff. In the olden days before gyms this is how they would tone their abs ]

Hunger Test Rules

If you decide to use my uncle’s hunger test, I suggest you follow seven rules. They are:
1. Never give anything to child beggars. If one truly appears in need, call the police to get him off the dangerous streets.

[ they have a special task force called the FINDERS ]

2. Follow safety procedures. When leading a panhandler to an eatery, use only busy, well-lighted streets. Never flash a bankroll in paying for the meal.

3. Except in unusual circumstances [such as food ministries, soup kitchens, pantries and food banks, EBT programs, WIC, Shelters, community centers, clinics, elder care facilities and programs like meals on wheels, hospitals, disaster relief and refugee camps, things like peace corps, or missionary, outreach, jpusa, wywam, birthright, all of these are unusual and should be avoided] , feed at most one beggar a day. It is better to help one than to become discouraged and help none.

[ besides you don't even need to do that much to feel good about yourself. And just forget about housing and showers, they are out there and filthy for a reason. Some folks would argue that there are health risks being posed to Us by the ever increasing number of unwashed beggars who shit in our ally ways and share our municipalities. Well that's just liberal propaganda trash, if you're really worried about it, just invest in Hand Sanitizer stock, I've made a killing in that market in the last ten years]

4. Except in unusual circumstances, feed each panhandler once only.

[ Jesus never really said to teach them to fish. If they get hungry again just let it be someone else's problem ]

5. Do not leave the diner before your guest has been served the meal ordered. Thus he will neither get kicked out nor revise the order to substitute an alcoholic drink.

[ It may not be the first thing to think of, but remember besides restaurants there are these places called grocery stores but some of those you have to actually prepare the food, it's not convenient and there's a learning curve for cooking. But what ever you do, NEVER give the poor money or allow these mendicants to take control of their financial decisions, this is crucial for a stable society, there are programs and case management people to decide how poor people's cash should be administered ]

6. Tip the waitress generously. [unless you suspect she's homeless, then you can dine and dash, just tell your mendicant you need to pee, and dip out discreetly ] Often street people are undesirable customers. [ wait staff don't like to handle money if it's ever been in a beggar's grimey meat beaters, which he uses directly instead of Charmin or Cottonelle]

7. Finally, be polite, [ tramps may punch rude people ] and keep your sense of humor [ home-bums are always good for a laugh ] and spirit of adventure as you enter briefly
[ I stress briefly ] the alien world of the panhandlers.

Who Are the Beggars?

While the hunger test is not perfect, I found it quite effective at distinguishing the hungry from the others. More often than not, mendicants have rejected my offer of a meal. Most of those who accepted food did appear to need a helping hand.

The hunger test is also illuminating in other ways. As seen above, beggars include: (1) two young black males from the rural South searching everywhere for work; (2) an aging black male alcoholic; (3) an educated white male who transformed from a fake beggar to a real one; (4) a white lower-class female from Appalachia in desperate circumstances; and (5) a white upper-middle-class female [*] from California who jumped off the yuppie track for love and an ideal.

[ these will be the crown jewels of the new Jerusalem when I enter the kingdom, certainly first in line]

If you want to help hungry street people but not be duped, either try the hunger test or volunteer at a soup kitchen. You may even like some of the colorful characters you meet. I do!

[ But always remember these subhumans are NOT REAL PEOPLE like you and I and should never be thought of as equals]

[*this comment, I'm afraid, is totally unrelated: remember when people were men and women or boys and girls, and animals were the ones referred to as male and female? I have often thought it indicates that the trajectory of evolution, for most people is less noble than before. It's a terrifying digression I'm witnessing people, children of God, becoming merely human-animals in one generation]

Working Notes (not for publication) Below

That was short :o( ok I said I’d tell you about the robbery in Denver
Part 2.1: Lilly and brown boy.

for about a year i squat in this drrilicht warehouse in Omaha Nebraska of all places. I was shareing the space with an otaku comfortably called James Couch. His dad was legendary blues but james was a lazy slob. he spent 70% of his time playing Ps2 or fappin' it ta lezbukake. He was, on the rare whim, an excellent 3d artist. I saw hope.

We had one file server and dozens of workstations down there. we worked furiously for months on two games and sorting fifteen years worth database. while I was there, I had the chance to review that Franklin cover-up scandal. You know, the one where the satanic jet set runs a transnational child prostitution ring in such places as DC and the Presidio. all from Fr. Flannigan's Boys' Town Orphanage. To this day it still goes on, and there are a number well known scandals involving now privatized fostercare in that region, as well as the police, newspapers, republican party, and the gay community.
I was investigating the christian scientists, some of who are clearly involved as well as the guys at the twin towers(highrise apartments in Omaha) I suspect ConAgra's complicit only because theyre a juggernaut hydra with mafia tact deeply ententicaled like a steroid hemeroid on the corn hole of the midwest. they'ed just have to be. but i offer no direct evidence here. I do have extensive archives online implicating fred smith of the CS monitor. An unsavory load of crystaline new age -ology . I wouldnt be surprised to find out if mary baker eddy, h. p. blavatzky, and a. a. baily, come out of the same school of cuddle fish. Invasion of the satanic gay new age nazi aliens from plaiedes who sell drugs, children, and junk insurance futures.

I suspect that Omaha, suffering from this bizarre contingency, is experiencing a sort of retedarded development with it's desolate streets downtown and abandoned skyscrapers any one who would raise kids in this magnet for satanic ritual abuse would just as soon donate them to it's naferious institutions.

what I'm getting at is that Omaha just isnt any place to be. After we got kicked out of our squat, I decided to hit the road. So I sold most of the equipment and backed up the database on an external. I hitched west for California intending to visit my mom on the way. On the way I got stranded in the rain and i stayed in this old church turned garage, one night. Ended up in Denver. I decided I was fond of the place so I check out the scene, and see if i could land any freelance contracts and/or make any friends.

I arrived in Denver in spring 2010. It’s a beautiful city, not unlike Austin, with lots of trees, and water. The water tastes better there. There’s a nice art museum. Ganje is legal and it’s everywhere. It’s free pretty much, if you just look around. There was this big “420” rally at the capital. There’s a surprisingly large contingency of Hispanics in Denver. The dress and style of the youth culture is unique, subtly mixed hip-hop and gothic-punk rocker. There are a lot of ganksters there on the Denver streets -a motly lot of “juggalos” and MM wannabes, I have rarely had trouble with the sort, since I don’t tend to buy drugs.

I was using my computer regularly at Auraria for the internet. I found some work but nothing substantial so I did frequent the the recourses for the poor. Like “food not bombs” (the only way to get health food, if you’re on the skid) I met some cool people. There was this young woman who expressed an interest in me. Lilly. She was cute but not at all my type. Lilly was petite, fit, bleach blonde with lots of unneeded make-up, but when I heard her play the piano I regretfully fell for her. Denver has all these pianos out on the 16th st mall. (A boon for street performers) She would earn tips on a strategically located and particularly well tuned one. She said she also worked at Coors field. She was getting paid and wanted to take me out to a movie, but I was devastated when she stood me up. I waited for her by her piano for several hours. A small croud of street kids walked down 16th and lit a pack of fireworks and threw them about 30 yards from me. Suddenly this fat drunk shirtless teen emerged and charged at me from the little gang.
He was spitting and screaming at me like a total lunatic. “Why you lighteen fire crackers?” Doan Jew know I bean chot before!” Then I recognized him from the previous day. He's called Brown-Boy, mexican street kid, maybe 20 years old. We hung out for an hour talking. We shared my crackers and brie, which I had leftover from Food-not-bombs. I thought he was alright. I guess not, huh?

I wasn’t any where near the fireworks, and i was puzzled as to what was actually happening. but the guy wanted to fight, so after he had struck me the second time i put my bag down and indulged him. I beat the tar out of him. I didnt break any bones. Just like that my bag was gone with the terrabyte - fifteen years of computer animation, music composition, computer Programming, as well as most of my clients websites and PR product. back-ups of about $10,000 in old and rare software. lot's of research. You just don't even know. All GONE.

After I had kicked his ass thoroughly, I hung on to Brown Boy for about five hours. I led him arround by the nose and i insisted that he retrieve my computer from his little gankster chums. Didn't work. Of course, the cops weren't any help at all. Usless bastards. In fact they eventually made me let him loose.

Innitially, and for more than a year, I assumed it was just a random mugging. I guessed the 'OG' had seen me on the netbook at Starbucks and wanted it. I figgured that it (my HDD with 15 5ears of data) probably got pawned for $20 and went up in crack smoke.

I never would have suspected Lilly had anything to do with the robbery untill I saw her here in Austin, a few months ago, in the alley behind my little place on Mary St. It was about 5:00 in the morning and i was returning home because I had forgot my work gloves or buspass or something. I don't remember. but there she was, totally out of place, same pancake make-up, same dorky little walk and the way she tightly clutches her over-sized purse. Unmistakably Lilly. Different glasses but big cartoon eyes, the same thick near-sited perscription. Her short hair is longer now and died auburn. And I have seen her several times. Twice in my alley. Prior to seeing her back there, I had seen evidence of some sneak and peak activity in my home. Nothing stolen, so at first I thought it was probably my neighbor, John, looking for a roach, or something. But when I look back on everything it makes sense. Some one stole my bike from back there. I dropped some groceries home and while was in they got it. I hadnt locked it. I don't think 'they' did it though, and I'll tell you why.

I have seen some of the people I knew from denver. I've seen Maverick out home depot trying to gig on some day labor. And he frequents the angel house soup kitchen. But that makes sense. Like Allyssa. I see her sometimes at Trinity center. I knew these two from Fr Woodies (a place with mad coffee) in Denver.
I never once thought they are following me. They are just plain poor folk. But on the other hand I have discovered Lilly three different times literally walking behind me on Congress. A clearly unexpected change in my transportation, gave me the oppurtunity to recognise improvized adjustments to surveilance patterns.
On foot, Lilly and a half dozen others move in the standard cross-street box formation with the foremost quartet rotating the "eye" (the eye is the only position in line of site with the "Rabbit" or targeted individual. The tactical pattern varies from down town to residential streets. Out here you get more vehicular. After the fourth time durring your walk home, that some one does a U-turn in front of you, It'll dawn on you that, in an automobile, it's actually impossible to covertly follow a pedestrian. The best you can do is drive ahead and let them walk past. (oh and god forbid actually walking when your belly up to the public troft and petroleum is on the house via joe tax-payer)

The point is that they had to readjust tactics. If they had ceazed the day to steal my bike they were clearly unprepared for what followed.

I really think it was just some kid who got my bike, though stealing a bike would indeed fit what i've been told is the motive for these types of programs. I suppose it's possible that I've attracted two or more distinct, dare i say, "intelligence" operations. But how paranoid is that, I mean I'm no Andrej Holm here.
The perverted absurdity of truth in the notion wouldnt startle me at this point.


Paranoid Allusions From the Lunatic Fridge.

< Pt.3 Part four : :

Part four:
make it look like an accident.

A couple months later, things were looking up. I had a started working as a farm hand up pioneer farms and I was renting an apartment down south austin with Ted, the blade fiend (yet another squirrely vet on the dole and the meds). I broke my Lions-club glasses at work. I had a couple "hunnit" so I went and ordered new ones from Li Wangs outfit. While i was down there i got an Android on sale at Depot Max. On the way back i got hit by a car; or rather sandwiched by two coa-conspirators whom I had eye contact with as they closed in on my 1996 Dyno cruiser . I broke several ribs. shattered the her tail light with my shoulder. Thought I might have fractured a femur. I tore a ligament in my hip. Landed on my back. I wasn't wearing a helmet. The ambulance was already waiting there around the corner. When I recognized the driver of the car as the gal -an Obama organizer from Edelmans' spin sister there in the agenda 21 office (my former neighbors at the Travis building), I realized they must have been eye balling me since i left Starbucks. I checked my self out of the hospital but came back the next day with respiratory difficulty. I was laid up for several weeks. back home I was a captive audience to one of Ted's disturbing prescription narcotics binges. Oh it's legal, but what could only be rationally diagnosed as demonic possession. There are clearly at least two distinct and dissociated psychopaths there inside poor Ted. The waking one was a member of the Animal List, a decentralized hodge podge of, tactical geeks, bikers, weapon addicts, ex-military, black ops, Mafia, and MMA enthusiasts. they Meet online and at festival of sorts. The Nodding Ted (the identity alter who resides beyond barrier in the obscure opiate darkness), would stand at the mirror singing in Arabic, and would (un)knowingly pilfer through my effects. Both would obsessively sharpen and polish the mixed multitude of bucklers dispersed through the apartment. but the ‘sleeping’ Ted would drop them on the Pergo more often, upsetting the neighbors below.

On conspiracy and paradigm.
But who is ted though really? Is he part of a conspiracy, well let's see here. Conspiracy is an odd word. There really ain't a decent english alternative. Over the years we (in the industry) have conditioned you to discredit, ignore any info wherein it is used. I can say "Werner von Braun was part of a conspiracy". In fact he was. He was a Nazi. Hitler's finest rocket scientist. But the statement: "Werner von Braun was part of a conspiracy" by it's self, means that NASA faked the Apollo 11 mission with scotch-lite and tinfoil on some hollywood Back lot, or sound stage. Your media-mind attaches all that to the word and you skeptically filter out the statement. It's litterally used as an "fnord" for allthing unsavory in media.

I prefer the word Paradigm. I had never heard the term till I was in my 20s. I learned it in college from one of my favorite professors. The word means much, but its about view, and value, how we comprehend our perception of reality and how we feel about that which is beyond our perception.

In the thinking paradigm we strive to apprehend reality beyond our perceptions, in a process called learning. The emergent paradigm holds this excess reality (we'll call wisdom) beneath contempt.

I know a great deal about this ignorant paradigm because I help create it. It's what we do in Public Relations. It's the result you get with some one who watches the television regularly.

In This frightfully wide spread alternative view, even the word it's self; "wisdom" means only "common-sense". There's quite an effort to defend the emerging values which eliminate as much access to reality as possible. You could call it a conspiracy but you'd be innacurate inso doing, since most of this nonsense is bound up in a code of silence. "Conspiricy" defined properly means a criminal discussion, like folks planning a hiest, yeah? But, you don't even have the bennifit of a discussion in this sort of collusion of ignorance.

It's like saying "I don't believe this because I dont know about it and I don't care and I'm filled with contempt because you pointed out my ignorance. So I will ignore this" So there, Nanny boo.

And so thats where Ted fits in. (the cognizant "waking" version of ted anyway)
He's moderatly well read, and unchurched. As smart as he is, he is still part of this collusion-of-ignorance paraigm, for lack of a term.
In addition to being, like many americans, a perscription dope junky, Ted's beholden to the media mantra, perscribed hogwash. Are you? It's a vast network.

Ok so there i was after the second attempt to end my life (i'm refering to the bike/auto "accident") all broke ribbed and pelvicly injured. With old ted trying to kick. I'm old hat with these junkies, kicking oxy is every bit as ugly kicking smack. It's just the pusher wear's a stethascope. Ted's trying to con me here. He's a junky, and he is just livid that I didnt get any pain killers (i don't take them, call me stoic). I can't work. I'm spending money. I had a friend drive me to Randalls for groceries. a painful shopping experience; my goodness, i used thier motorized wheelchair. I get back to discover that Teds been pilfering my effects. I told him to stop it but that only fueled animosity. I had cut back on buying food since he would eat it all and never chipped, but mostly 'cause I was in pain.

I have my rent paid up for a while and ted doesnt know how much money i have in the bank. but i sense he'd like to get out while he's ahead. As he was kicking he would be all passive aggressive. Irritable as a junky. He would get furious about things like using the little plastic produce bag to keep onion in the fridge. In the emergent paradigm, youre supposed to throw those away immediatly. as he became "well" (rarely heard slang for not-dopesick) we started to have a few civil conversations some approaching intelectual status even. He once worked up the nerve to pick my brain about solar energy. I know a great deal about free energy research and the offthegrid movement and I wanted to express one serious caveat, before discussing cost benifit analysys of solar conversion. Just this: an indescrete inquiry, even a shallow one into the subject can get one killed. He became irate. Screaming and fussing "That's proposteruos. People use solar all the time. That's absurd youre a conspiracy theorist! " and on and on. The guy totally pitched a fit, before I said one word on the subject. Thats how effective PR programming.

But the awelfully sad fact is; in the past 15 years, several prominant resarchers (usuly just auto mechanics and electricians who've made the ever so slightest innovations) have been murdered and died under mysterious circumstances, and of those left alive most have abandoned thier projects, from the frustration born out of living as a targeted individual. The fact is that just beneath the techniques allowed by industry: wind, solar, hydroelectric just beneath those you quickly get into grey tubes and HHO boost as well as those poised to topple the monopoly on effecient drive train. Heck you got magnet motors, and SSG motors reconditioning bateries. there's people like Stan Meyer, John Bidini, Edwin Grey, Gabe Krone off the top of my hat. Many accross the globe are working with thier research and diagrams. It's big in Austrailia. We brewed biofeul in Albuerque when I was with Saul Goodman and them over at Law Works. I helped engineer and build a Passive solar storage and inverter system, for a rural community in New Mexico. Any Serbian or anyone with knowlege of Nikola Tesla can tell you that this energy scandal is close to ancient. Conspiracy? please.

I got a conspirasy for ya: At some point Ted locks me out of the appartment. I'm thinking he's gone to looking for those pain meds I never got and he's got my enventory spread accross the flat. He wouldnt let me in. So i called up my chum Chris because I'm still broken and he's solid muscle but moreover he's a notoriously calming arbitor. He talks his way in and we go ahead and gather the bulk of my stuff I think I left some food and I totally forgot my microwave. Oh well. I let him have the flat and as I guessed he would stay a couple months untill my rent ran out. Meanwhile I moved into another flat in the same compound. When i unpacked I couldnt find my vital documents birth cert, mairage license et al. all the stuff you need to get a new drivers license. Ted had stolen this folder out of a bag in the bottom of a box of computer equipment. I called the Police. Worthless, God damned bastards. We got some of my food, but no folder. Ted wouldn't consent to a search. I wouldnt either, but hey I wouldnt have stolen anyone's identifying documents. Who does that? and why me? That microwave would have come in handy, if i had rememberd it. It was only this huge ass 80 lb brown box occupying the entire counter top. Must have been stoned. ah well. The main thing is I was going to need that police report, because more than likely Ted Showacre aka Ted Shoemaker will try and defraud my worthless credit. So I go down to buy a print out of the report from the clerk. And guess what this guy, this worthless excuse for a badge no. 4669 Axel Goldman Never made a report. there were two cops but Goldman gave me his card. I called the police monitor and raised hell. Goldman filed an incident report the next day as though nothing happened. The report says nothing about why I called. Nothing about the folder of documents or Teds refusal to consent to a search. Absolutely worthless for defending myself from ID theft.

I know a lot of folks who would have beat him to death with a pipe. But i didnt and that should say something about my character. well really my ribs ... what ever.

Soon after all that, i was having lunch with Jeffery at Taco Cabana. As is our tradition we both had our laptops out trading movies, p2p IRL stats, and this is just weird: Three guys came in and sit at our table one skinny geek and these two roided out drill sargents. They were greying, but by no means inactive they had airborne tats, they were huge. they had badges. At first the encounter was intimidating. I had no idea why they sat with us. I asked the guy about the badge and and he said they were recovery agents doing K&R and extraction for Lloyds. I looked at Jeffery and it obviously didnt mean a thing to him. (that Don't know Don't care ignorant glaze) he didn't have head phones in but he might as well have. K&R means kidnap and ransom, Extraction is what you call when you go in guns a blaze and rescue POWs or in this case wealthy kidnapped victims. Lloyds is a banking and insurance outfit in London. These guys are no shit bag'em and tag'em black ops free agents. So where angels fear to tread, I went ahead and asked them if they were involved in any human traffick with the zetas or sinaloa cartels. And the guy said when and if they did "we weren't there and we didn't see anything". Half way through the meal the intimidation melted off. Either they get to know me and realise I ain't half bad, or my sociopathic Jedi powers had improved. I figure who ever put them up to lean on me didn't pay them much because these guys are all about the benjies.
Huelga de hambre
I'm gonna guess it was prolly Showacre's failed social engineering attempt on the Animal List mailer. Or maybe it was just some guys having tacos. But any way i have thier card if any one needs to hire these guys to secure a shipment of child prostitutes or something.

Open Sesame

John Turner 2015

Jerky Paul [Paul Wrathbone]

Lee playing celo in the

Tonya Iosa

Mike Constipayne



Jereme Lee Rucker


a review of the documentary film "War on Whistleblowers": Free Press and the National Security State 2013
by::Lee frnk <at> (g)mail
3 22 15

I don't regularly review movies. But this thing deserved some special attention. I love nonfiction, social commentary, and documentary. And this one caught my attention, so I watched it.What started out as a film which would look like an interesting documentary about whistle blowers exposing government misdeeds (and admittedly could be technically classified as such) quickly digressed into a well funded, shameless promotion for more military equipping and funding which in fact is at an absurdly high level already considering the fact that "the machine has come home" and is now aimed at the same civilian public that this costly war has blindly impoverished and imprisoned. Perhaps the only redeeming quality as a documentary was that in the opening titles it does actually mention several legit whistle blowers whose stories, all be them well known, are indeed well worth looking into. So have a notepad handy for later research if you are going to check it out. On the other hand I felt that the footage of Edward Snowden was only used in an attempt to lend legitimacy to this obvious military industrial propaganda, and I doubt it had his blessing or permission. I sincerely feel he's being exploited here.

wtfThefilm has elevated production values, excellent music, which tugs the emotional strings, crafty editing, and a clever narrative and slick post work. For a about a fourth of the movie, I was taken in, and then I was like: "wait a minute here, is this all it's about? -new toys for soldiers?" well that's fine, but at least give it a title to match, guys. One positive note: An unintended effect of the film may be: the audience should realize that the folks who create war are in the business of killing soldiers. Reducing the population on all sides.
. Liquid Sky (1983) .Hardware (1991)

7 28 2015
blue water ninja
By: Public iMage

In the movies spies are always cool. They are so cool even "arogant", or that was the term used by director Jon Woo to describe his prtrayal of spies anyway. Cool adventures with all the coolest gadgets. Yeah. But i think they aren't cool at all. In reality they are a bunch of fruity creeps. Weazles. Sleazy peeping toms. Think: blue water ninja.

Oh?.. so you don't know about the blue water ninja?

Well this is the image which comes to mind when I think of Spies.

The blue water ninja was a letcherous hump who has become the creepy stuff of urban legends so kafkaesque. he inspired the song "Blue Water" by John Jydon, He was this dude who obviously had some sort of sexual neurosis which compelled him to don goggles and hefty bags with duct tape in a manor which would hopefully protect him from the blue water as he would gingerly climb down inside a frequently used porta-jon in order to peep ass indiscriminantly.


There for hours, he would lie in wait; literally inside the toilet portion of the modern plastic outhouse, blue water gradually seeping in through the improvised seems of his gladlock ninjasuit while sewer trout swim about the nose hole of his binliner like melted bananas squishing between his toes.

And go through all that just so he could catch a glimpse of your puckered sphincter before goggles are splattered.

yay! spies are cool like that. They pilfer through your used coffee grounds, orange peels and tampons at five in the morning. They tap in and listen on the phone when you talk to your mom, your doctor, your legal advisor, and your spouse. they go to your bank and steal from your safe deposit. they watch the camera on your iPhone when you take it to the shitter to browse the on-line sears catalog. unlike in the movies they drive like idiots. they cant seem to find a parking spot they like, untill you get there; but when they do decide on one they sit in the car and watch ya. Creepy. They do anything to dismantel your support structures, by slandar, libel and dirty tricks. They might pretend to be a romantic interest. Or pay some street kids to rob you.

Spies are just creepy, God damned weasles, thieves, gossips, liars. Just fruitcake peeping tom types.

The "Intelligence" aparat currently has 1.6 million targeted individuals here in north America. With a budget of at least $25k anum per TI. With that many targets and that much muoney you would hope that some are ligit, like organized criminals and some bonafied terrorists. but mostly they are just well meaning Americans. they are all devils being "kept in the hole" to an over funded grudge team who is desparate to justify it's existance. Targets are mostly business competitors and political oponents of the current administration, and moreover they are enemies of washington insiders from the special commities and counsils. But even gangsters and terrorists go free, if they support the covert ops of these goddam worthless creeps. spies. blue water ninjas.

2 11 15
So Below are pasted latest versions of those two articles

“Pair anoyed allusions from the lunitic fridge.”
By Dr. T. MtGomery "Gummie" Cantsen Sr.

ASuicide buy Train Austin TX while back some one got hit by the train. It was a couple months back. I remember the day the train had stopped as it sometimes does, usually it whizzes and clanks by with a familiar earth quaking din, at about 60 mph like a mini-tornado. Once in a while it does stop though, so I thought nothing of it, because it slowed to a stop with normal effort,. The tracks are literally a few feet outside of my 'bedroom'* window. Recently the train had stopped blowing the whistle in the area. Due, I imagine, to complaints from the neucomers (residents of the several new hideous bauhaus condeaus on S. Lamar).
I intended to write this bit a few months ago but my research into the matter found some ends which couldn't be resurrected with my resources and patience for it. That being said, read no further if you aren't willing to become frustrated along with me in this attempt.

My interests in this supposed tragedy reside in the fact that the accident or suicide happened literarily in our back yard and the coincidence that my good chum, Ken, went MIA just about that time. We thought maybe he had been hit by the train. Old Ken, one of my neighbors down the creek, would sometimes walk the tracks a piece on his way to the labor hall at dawn It's a route usually avoided by the more sensible residents of our 'hood simply because a big old train goes a rumblin' down them tracks from time to time. Although it's more expedient to take the tracks if the weather is in a state to make traversing the wooded hill a muddy slimy one.

So the story in the paper, which was subsequently picked up by some TV news outlets who pooped it on to the web, ..well that story in its various mutated forms said that a man had died on the tracks, he was in his 20s, in his 30s, in his 40s, he was White, he was Hispanic. The engineer/conductor [whatever] had hit the emergency brakes but couldn't stop in time. Figure. It was an accident, no, it was a suicide. (but I thought they never report those, I 'don'no, but I was told that by an AP writer after we saw a man jump from atop the Frost's mezinine a couple of years ago) 

In the story in question though, the police were called but not EMS since it was "an obvious death". Well, I went down there and there wasn't any blood. I know exactly where it was supposed to have happened, from the photo... the photo in the statesman piece, which I thought looked a little odd. I mean the “Authorities” were all gathered around the FRONT of the Un-Pac train engine to sort of pose, not along the side of it with the boxcars; like you'd think it would end up if the freakin' train had a little trouble stopping on a dime. I'm no forenzics scientist, perhaps the victim stuck to the front of the locomotive until it did stop, kind of like a bug in a cartoon or something. Anything's possible.

Eventually Ken turned up, thank goodness. He'd landed a Full-time job and was working nights. He had actually witnessed the thing stop that morning and told me that indeed they engaged the emergency brakes and sparks were flying from the cars where he was. And this happens to correlate to the smelted hunk of material I found singed into a tie where I was looking for a puddle of human blood. The poor man got mangled up inside enough to be called "an obvious death" but, I guess he didn't get tore up or bleed out. I don't know. That's why I called folks at the paper. I also tried in earnest, to glean some info by contributing to the comments and discussions on the local news sites on line. There was one reader who said he knew the dead man but couldn't confirm simple aspects or convince me he really had known him. At that point I was still trying to determine if it was old Ken or not, but the people I met with and the guys over at the metro desk of the Statesman couldn't tell me a thing. They told me to call the Police, who told me to call the Medical Examiner and this is when the thing gets weird, the Man couldn't even tell us if anyone had officially been brought in at all that day. The more I looked into the matter the more it started to look like some sort of colossal media fakery initiated by Austin police. But that didn't make any sense. Why would they do that? I couldn't even begin to theorize about this would be conspiracy. And frankly I don't have time to engage in that kind of craziness, that nonsense. . . 

 . . .  Although, one branch of this sprawling goose chase which to me stood out as particularly Brazilian* were the terms and conditions to which I was obliged to agree, in order to contribute to comments section of the story on the COX media owned Statesman website. First of the terms was to plainly grant these COX suckers “administrative access” to my G-mail account. When I read that I thought “that can't be right” and behold there was a little blue “More Info..” link there. I clicked. And indeed they wanted to be able to read mail, send mail, delete mail, change settings, passwords, and completely remove the account if they would wish to. Of course this is the most absurd and arrogant effort to control information I think I have ever seen, even since Rockefeller created the framework for the American library system. (I was very young then :o) While trying to reach the site admin, Zach Ryall, I asked the Statesman's assistant web-designer Gabby, what she thought of the terms and if she would agree. "Definitely not" she said, " It's a strange policy,and I wasn't aware that would be in the terms." She did agree with my thoughts, that it might appear "kind of Orwellian" she "couldn't imagine what obscure legal precaution might be in place", but she didn't agree that it would have a chilling effect on Statesmen reader comments in general. It becomes obvious that it has though, when you compare the comments to the other local news outlets where readers have used their real Facebook and G-mail accounts to comment, yet the statesman commenters are all clearly anonymous or at least pseudonymous and photoless and of course much fewer in number. I asked her if she worried discussing it would effect her job, but she became politely unresponsive at that point. Perhaps she didn't know what I meant by "I'm doing a piece for a local publication with a modest readership". A few weeks later I tried again to reach Zach, the man I was told could answer questions about the policy's origin. This time Monica answered the phone. I asked her what she thought about it. “That's OK”, she said “ I guess it's just what you have to do these days if you want to contribute.” I was appalled, because it's not true nor should it ever be. Free and open communications by the informed electorate is the cornerstone of effective governance. Well Zach could not be reached. Yeah, another dead end. Time to regroup and write about some other shit.

*Brazilian here is a reference to Terry Gilliam's 1984 classic film, “Brazil”, a satyric kind of parody of modern bureaus, another iteration on Orwell's work, 1984.

*Bedroom, I say rather than 'tent' since folks fail to take you seriously once they discover you've become homeless, a situation I'm not at all fond of, by the way.

AU5T!N 5#!T7y LIMi7S
by: Willie Smellsom & Glen B.

“There is an ongoing problem which effects a lot of people, Especially residents of Travis county who don't have homes. The restaurants here usually have signs that on their walls or windows that say RESTROOM FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY. To me this means if you are not buying anything you can not use the restroom. Then if you have medical issues which appear later, someone must be liable. Human Rights are being violated, so they are violating human rights based on economic status and appearance.” ~Glen B.

OK, we can all agree that Glen here is right. People Poop. What are you gonna doo? It happens. And it would be smart to do something with it. Just leaving one in June ally isn't proper. Of course, the elderly-homeless* are forced to do it. Tourists do it. Drunken locals do it. Why? Because finding a toilet downtown is impossible. Especially if, as Glen points out you're not interested in or unable to make a purchase. 

Taking a dignified shit is a basic human right. We are taught early how to properly do it. So obstructing someone from this just-need is just-stupid. It's not healthy for this to go on, Austin. And blaming the victim here is as absurd as tying a man down and calling him lazy. Businesses with the privilege of operating in the public sphere have this responsibility to the public. To provide and maintain adequate facilities for every one. As does the public have a responsibility to themselves to not piss all over the place and leave a bunch of gross trash. Oh, and scratch up the mirror like a derelict eight year old. Nevertheless it is in the interest and responsibility of those engaged in commerce provide facilities not the churches or residents. Guess who is supposed to be regulating commerce? This all really should go without saying, people. But some how the obvious has escaped us and we've found ourselves in this absurd shituation.

“Yes”, you say “but Dogs poop too” And indeed they doo. In fact S. Lamar has become the yup-pup-poop capital of Austin. Especially along the thin strips of grass which line the new, cracker-box, soviet-Stalinstazi, prison/hospital, condos rapidly climbing cranes up there. It's everywhere you can smell it. Rained on. Stepped on .Waffled into the tred of your bike tire. It is out of control. I have half a mind to go in there, into the lobby of the Gibson Flats, a couple of hoboed out tramps with me, poo on our shoe and a plate of brownies inhand. Each one rolled up into a tapered turd, garnished with Kentucky yard grass, for an authentic poopie-bomb appearance. And I'll do my best “drill sergeant”informing the lease agent, “ I told you last time, If I have to pick it up again someone's gonna to eat it.” Then we eat the brownies. Performance art baby. You just wait for it on Youtube or Kxan.. wait for it.

And what is it that syncronizes habitus omnus of the Austonian to flush at precisely the moment I arrive downtown in the morning. You gotta know city planners didn't have that structure in mind when that system was conceived . Because they have to truck it out, don't they. Well, that doesn't make sense. Like, let us put some heavy ass water-filled barriers right where the guardrail got washed out. 

I always thought modern water treatment was questionable, with how we weigh the solid waste down with heavy metals in these tanks and then we put the water back into supply. Dreadful. We could burn it as a fuel. Or process it into soil treatment. I saw a deal on line where you can “donate” a poop. For like 50 bucks a load (yes to the donor) some biotech and botonists geeks will gladly recieve cryogenically store and your poop for future posterity. No doubt, one day some wild eyed madman may revive frankenpoop and unleash him upon unsuspecting residents of the future! Oh, it's right here: I don't know, I haven't done the math but, at fifty dollars per movement,(of which, some Austonian's have as many as three in a day) that rate, hey, I think I just solved the cities 2015 budget problems, because, if anything, this town is full of shit. 

*elderly-homeless(the English term defies comprehension),

Deftly's bio, from geocities 1996

(translated from google)

Jereme Lee Ракер является известный художник и сертифицированы ведущими культ хиппи (1), в настоящее время гастролей использовании Соединенными Штатами теории игр и найденных объектов в приложениях, изобразительного искусства.

Neoist, поэт, музыкант и lettrist Jereme стал центральной фигурой в распространении американской субкультуры в то время как полностью переопределяет интеллигенции.

Он официально изучал скульптуру, акриловой и масляной живописи в классической традиции. Он внештатной основе, связей с общественностью, интерактивные мультимедийного контента, компьютерной анимации, нелинейного монтажа, и счетчик пиар-кампаний, графического дизайна и логотипа для лечения ряда крупных корпораций и малых предприятий. Ранее глава Vision Изображения и арт-директором Пятая колонна сейчас он руководитель проекта Целевого разработки игр в Омахе. Автор одной книги, он также является техническим консультантом для многих фирм в области телекоммуникаций, рекламы, интернет-услуг, энергетики, право, и экологические исследования. Эксцентричного политического деятеля, в усилия "в знак протеста против нефтяной войны", он не приводной автомобиль с 2001 года, также вместо того чтобы работать на доллары или евро, Jereme контракты почти исключительно для кредитных торговли или бартера. Jereme был членом различных изолированных общин, а также сообщества и окрестности группы активистов в крупных городах. В относительно короткий период времени он участвовал в разработке мощных децентрализованную сеть влияний. Хотя неутомимый общественный деятель и институциональных аналитик он был инновационного предпринимателя; он владеет и начал много различных предприятий, Stalinвключая ресторан в Техасе и кровать и завтрак общежития в Колорадо (2). На протяжении большей части 2004 года вещание популярных телевизионных Nullsoft станции из своего дома в Колорадо. Он был членом, добровольцев, инструкторов технологии, и общие сторонник сообщества телевидения доступа. Jereme также обычных FM-радио ди-джей, хостинг спорных дабстеп, гостиной и барабан и бас шоу в 2006 году. До этого он руководил интернет радиостанции в течение двух лет. (Прежде чем закрыть его, станция оказалась достаточной передач мешать noaah, где он стал одним из расположенного его серверы.) Он принимает участие в трех фестивалях. Его изобразительного искусства могут быть найдены на дисплее во многих общественных местах и частных коллекций. Он также внес свой вклад звука производства на несколько EPs для различных художников.

Родился Jereme Ли Ракер в Теллерайд Колорадо к народным художником, Кэт франков и бакалейщик Р. Джордж Ракер на 22 июня 1973 Jereme вырос в сельской местности и малых городах различных Колорадо до переезда в Техас. Среди бурного развода со своей мачехой, его отец, который сохранил под стражей, задержкой его вступления в государственную школу в возрасте до восьми лет. Из-за своего возраста, начиная с момента образования предполагал, что он не должен пройти в сфере начального образования. Это предположение, к сожалению затрудняет получение качественного образования. Научившись читать дома, наконец, в возрасте десяти лет, он начал путать педагогов в возрасте 12 лет, обладающие понимание прочитанного и рассуждения навыков студента колледжа. Он начал создавать искусство в раннем возрасте, поощрять учителей друзьями и семьей. Очевидно скучно с его окружением, Jereme сделал плохо в начале образования часто эскизов на уступки, вместо выполнения поставленных задач. В слабину школьной системы Техас, Jereme смог кататься только на взятии проб и викторины, редко превращаясь в домашнюю или ежедневные задания. Он считался "пугающе умный" его учителей в гимназии, но из-за своего необычного возрасте, когда он вошел младших классах средней школы, он считался полным провалом на тех, кто незнаком с его фона. Jereme остался усердным читателем в молодости. Выросший в нижний средний класс пригород он обнял контркультуры во всех ее проявлениях. Он часто можно увидеть с скейтбордистов и готический панк-банды участвуют наркотиков и преступной деятельности. Тем не менее он избегал тяжелых наркотиков и образа жизни, который приземлился многие друзья его в тюрьме или мертв. В средней школе он часто показывать класс и будет найдено чтении философии или классической литературы в школьной библиотеке. Jereme превратился в студента B и C, но быстро потерял интерес и выпало путешествовать по стране. В конце концов он сделал, наконец, поступить в художественное училище Атланте в 1994 году, где он окончил среднюю в своем классе и продолжил свое образование в различных колледжах и университетах в "независимое исследование" курсов учебного плана, который он сам создает. Это где он обнаружил взлом компьютера и социальной инженерии, и вскоре стал "хакер, что вы никогда не слышали о" (3), в результате чего стремиться к поэтической уровне формы и высокого искусства в компьютерных сетей в подполье, его исследование было считать решающим глубоко затрагивающие популярные социальные движения в обществе. С тех пор в качестве консультанта, он несет ответственность за радикальные реформы в организации, как связи Qwest и Он также отвечает за изменение политики в федеральном уголовном систем. Он был сказать, что ум Эйнштейна, Курт Кобейн, и он был вызван современным Бакминстер Фуллер и гений. (4) Когда его спросили, если он Mensa, он ответил: "Да, карту проведения, но не платят взносы".

Jereme Lee Rucker 2004Один из первых авторов первый титул суверенитета ему приписывают искрение социального движения, которое в соответствии с "Вашингтон пост" поставил большинство федеральных судей и несколько полицейских города в страхе за свою жизнь. В 2009 году Остин американский государственный деятель, в июне второй статье говорится, что так слабо организованных последователей этого движения начали свой коллективный иск против систематических нарушений прав гражданского в федеральных, районных и окружных судов, несколько федеральных судей опасаясь гражданской отдачи, в настоящее время с просьбой быть приняты на работу в полицейские машины. Многие судьи теперь также при себе пистолеты. Это уже было сказано, в какие-то смутные корреляции, мы сейчас наблюдаем нехватку популярных боеприпасов. (5)

В настоящее время он использует новые медиа-искусства: институциональные разведки (иногда упоминается как "пластиковые людей"), чтобы создать красивый и абстрактные формы. Эти работы часто используют институциональные улучшения обратной связи. Эти общественные сооружения reformance Transcend система инициирует в децентрализованной параллельным и распределенным образом. Последние кусок использует классические уравнения Вольтерра и текущий мировой экономики. (Она была незавершенной в то время это было написано) (6)

Это краткая биография Jereme в интерпретации писателя и поэта, Тоня Aiosa. Чтобы узнать больше о Jereme Ракер Вы можете связаться с d3 фундамент доверия, или посетить (рок-группа, что он по-видимому члена), или вы можете попробовать и связаться со своим бывшим агентом , Фрэнк из nohrenberg Bros. Talent Agency.

Jereme Rucker [otherwise known as Delbert Bob Hyuckels] is an unknown sportsman and an unverified follower of popular culture as well as a huge fan of celebrity gossip. Jereme is an avid promoter and consumer of 'corporate' products and services. (1), he has never once left the 'hick' county where he was born the mid-west United States.
An Illiterate cliche of a man, born tasteless, an almost deaf mute child, with no sense of smell. Jereme has become known as the embodiment of an uninformed public. He probably would have been diagnosed retard or autistic if he'd been raised in Fort Worth. Jereme is a fan of foot ball, classic rock and, of course, television, especially cartoons. He once tried to organize his community to ban the local cable provider from broadcasting CSPAN, but this "fuct-from-jump" project was a spectacular failure.

He thought about joining the military but still has never actually got around to visiting the recruiter who has lived across the street from him for 40 years. He has a decent set of carpentry tools but lacks the good sense to hang a door. He's usually too drunk to look for work during normal hours. He sometimes phones his cousin Jeb, out in Omaha. the last time he put pen to paper was the day he graduated high school. He was first string varsity until he ruptured his Nalgine. He worked part time for McDonalds for four years after graduating. Jereme has lived with his grand mother since 1983. Now a days most folks in town just pretty much ignore him. Jereme is known for his embarrassing lack of knowledge and his allegiance to the "right wing" though he doesn't even know what the state bird is or what's wrong with it's other wing. Jereme likes to eat at McDonalds but sometimes will go to Dairy Queen for a Pee&Nut-Buster Parfait when he can afford to. He listens exclusively to KZEP in his truck. he says that if it ain't been playin' on the radio for at least thirty years than it ain't really a rock classic" Jereme was extremely excited to receive his digital converter box from the Government bur he hates how it cuts out during good plays. but never during time outs Jereme watches VHS tapes from the pawn shop only if they aren't in letterbox format. He likes comedy movies, sports movies, and Horror movies but he says he misses the Commercials like when they have movies on TV. He talks nonstop through any movie if there is company. they hate it but he just cant help it. (especially on Meth) When any one mentions "art" his usual response is "the camera was invented almost a hundred year's ago, what's the point of still doing art."

Born Jereme Lee Rucker in Wetherferd Texas to a Sears Portrait Photographer named, Kathleen Gafford and farmer Richard George Rucker on September 8th 1974 Jereme grew up in the countryside in an Alred Mormon community before relocating to Colorado, The image of perfect marriage; his father and mother, prompted his entry into public school at the age of three. By the fourth grade he began to express an interest in competitive sports. He began playing football at an early age encouraged by teachers friends and family. Because of his young age, from early on educators assumed he must have been a very bright student. This presumption fortunately made it easy for him to receive decent grades. Clearly enthusiastic about the social element of school, Jereme did his best effort to look like he was fond of performing the required tasks. In the slack Texas school system, Jereme should have been able to skate by only taking tests and quizzes, even when not turning in homework or daily assignments. He was regarded as “frighteningly confused” by his teachers in Grammar school. Due to his unusual age when he entered junior high school, he was thought to be a total genius by those unfamiliar with his background. Jereme remained an avid 'sporto' in his youth. Growing up in middle class rural america he embraced competition in many of its guises. He would often be seen with jocks, shit kickers and motor heads that were usually fans of pornos, booze and hazing activity. Nevertheless, he avoided getting womped on by bigger kids because there just weren't too many. In high school he was well known for far more than just being the guy who always played ball with a full bottle of Skol. He would often skip class and be found masturbating in the school library. Jereme developed into D and C student but stuck it out until graduation. He never considered the thought to enroll in a college. When it comes to computers he always says "I wouldn't even know how to turn one a them things on!", His unquestionable stubbornness has been considered crucial to avoid affecting the ideology and perceptions of mainstream society. Since High School he's remained pretty much the same. Always supports the troops. his phone number is the same, 8824609. His social security number is still 644 05 4877, he even still gets his hair cut at the same barber shop, Drives the same truck which still has the same fuel leak.

Although Jereme's always been with the right wing, lately he's started to consider the benefits of gun control as well as women's health services. He secretly voted for Obama but has overcome the internal struggle caused by really loving a nigger. In 2009, Bobby Joe Russell, admitted hearing a rumor, Jereme joined the food services union. He says when he broke his 3030 out hunting last year it was an accident, but bobby thinks he's turned into a vegan queer. Of course we all know that's not true since he still orders off the McDollar menu at 11:32 am daily, just like clockwork. Joe at Ace cash Express says he looked a little different than usual. And Myrtle at the county clerk's says he's probably into them drugs again.

Ol' Jereme's been dragging Main in that leaky F150 since 2001 That goddam thing smokes like a broke stove. I think there's mushrooms growing under the passenger seat. After getting his SS check direct-deposited at Chase, Jereme usually blows it all on Bud Light and Meth in about 6 days. then he goes all over asking for money because he's exhausted all the Microcredit, Payday Loans, Bail Bondsmen and Pawn Brokers. In 2011 he left the grange, he only goes to the kiwanis any more to borrow money from his mom. He secretly works with Green Peace and Texas Campaign for he Environment. He's registered still as a Republican but has probably not voted in a long time. Jereme knows nothing of Politics or world affairs but insists that "The terms right and left wing are define the cultures of America and the world."

Though not a particularly religious man, Jereme has been an ordained minister of the Moroni Baptist church since 2001. In the 90s his father, a life long Atheist, was a Scottish York Mason. He had a absolutely no influence on Jereme's spiritual beliefs but they would often shoot the shit. Jereme was initially raised as an Amish Militant but was baptized into the Church of Set in 2002. Throughout his life, his beliefs gravitated toward a unique form of Television Evangelism not unlike TMZ or Extra, and In 2008 he was "Bared from entry to a mosk" by the Anti-Jihadi Islam and began studying back issues of Tv Guide religiously


This is a brief biography of Jereme as interpreted by Israeli writer and poet, Maus Anoni. To find out more about Jereme Rucker you can contact the SF Ballet, or visit this page (secretly he is apparently a personal trainer in DC), or you can try and contact his former agent, frank from the Nohrenberg Bros. talent agency.

(1) Social Compass; 1968, Vol. 15 Issue 6, p469-481, 13p G. K. Nelson

(1) Ecological Economics; Sep2005, Vol. 54 Issue 4, p347-361, 15p Winder, Nick1 McIntosh, Brian S.2 Jeffrey, Paul2

(1) IEE Proceedings -- Generation, Transmission & Distribution; Mar2005, Vol. 152 Issue 2, p291-294, 4p, 5 charts, 1 graph. C. Jiang

(1) Engineering Optimization; Apr2004, Vol. 36 Issue 2, p127-147, 21p Zhun Fan1 Kisung Seo1 Jianjun Hu1 Goodman, Erik D.1 Rosenberg, Ronald C.2

(2) The outsiders inn, revolutionaries in exile; The Durango telegraph Sept 24 2004.

(3) Musthaler, Linda. Network World, 10/9/2006, Vol. 23 Issue 39, p45-45, 1/2p; (AN 22745902)

(3) Musthaler, Linda. ComputerWorld (1484-9089), 11/10/2006, Vol. 22 Issue 23, p16-16, 1/3p; (AN 23156357)

(4) Frank, Diane; Sarkar, Dibya. Federal Computer Week, 9/13/2004, Vol. 18 Issue 32, p8-9, 2p, 1 color; (AN 14521304)

(4) Computer & Internet Lawyer, Apr2002, Vol. 19 Issue 4, p23, 2p; (AN 7069336)

(5) Psalms 141:6

(6) Yan, Zhenya. Nonlinear Analysis, Apr2006, Vol. 64 Issue 8, p1798-1811, 14p; DOI: 10.1016/; (AN 19686948) Volterra and Volterralattice equations via the new discrete sine-Gordon expansion algorithm

(7) SUN, YE-PENG; CHEN, DENG-YUAN; YANG, YAN-ZHEN. International Journal of Modern Physics B: Condensed Matter Physics; Statistical Physics; Applied Physics, 6/20/2007, Vol. 21 Issue 16, p2749-2759, 11p; (AN 25725204)


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Jereme Lee Rucker