06 20 1015
Ya 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.
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6 9 2015
Hello I'm white.
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. 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
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.
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.
So this is what Bush Senior was on “bringing about” in that speech in 1991.
Welcome, my son, to the NEW WIERD ODER.
Names may have been changed or omitted to ...confuse people.
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.
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 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.
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
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
Paranoid Allusions From the Lunatic Fridge.
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 WWW.un.org. You don't have to be a genius, any fool can parse the euphemisms. You may also consult WWW.lucistrust.org or your local newage|occult bookstore to read that Bailey or Blavatsky hogwash.
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.
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.
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.
For several years, through some tough
times, D3FT has persisted and shall continue to
operate acomputer science and higher-intelligence lab, where members research and
develop social and professional services, and
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.
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] d3ft.tk. (public email is Down, Our primary URL "d3ft.tk" has been hacked, commandeered by pronsters)
Published on Mar 4, 2013
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". 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: http://lissakr11humane.com
Please return this form to:
I authorize Senator Ron Wyden and/or members of his
staff to make the
Neverending1's Blog: http://neverending1.wordpress.com/
Blogger LISSAKRHUMANELIFE's links (on this story)
"paranoid allusions from the lunatic fridge" 72
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.
I 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.
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 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 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
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
have 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.
*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.
[ 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. ],
JESUS CHRIST AND DORIS DAY
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:
During a major recession, Americans were crisscrossing the co 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.
Encounters with panhandlers are rarely
so satisfying. . [well it's not supposed to be satisfying at all,
you give someone in need something 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.
[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
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!”
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 ]
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 ]
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 ]
[ 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.]
There 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:
[ 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
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]
That was short :o( ok I said I’d tell you about
the robbery in Denver
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 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.
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.
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.
On conspiracy and paradigm.
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)
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.
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.
Thefilm 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.
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.
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
“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-stazi, 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: http://www.openbiome.org/ 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) ..at that rate, hey, I think I just solved the cities 2015 budget problems, because, if anything, this town is full of shit.
term defies comprehension),
Deftly's bio, from geocities 1996
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, включая 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 grants.gov. 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".
Один 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 http://www.myspace.com/mindofalunitic (рок-группа, что он по-видимому члена), или вы можете попробовать и связаться со своим бывшим агентом , Фрэнк из nohrenberg Bros. Talent Agency.
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.
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 www.co-intelligence.org
(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/j.na.2005.07.018; (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)
A FAMILY OF NEW DISCRETE EQUATIONS ASSOCIATED WITH LOTKA–VOLTERRA LATTICE AND ITS INTEGRABLE COUPLINGS
Jereme Lee Rucker