October 2017 log

7/14/18, These “deus ex machinae,” ghosts in the machines, got rid of all or nearly all of the “grandchildren and great-grandchildren” files I’d stored alot of the pages as so they wouldn’t be in the way. That’s when my Navigation bar “went blooey” last fall and had about 8 or rows of the catergories to call up, because someone just took of the grandparent-ability or what and I hadn’t figured what had happened and I tried to repair it but offhand I don’t know where these other files went to, that they’re all probably only the pdf’s of my handwriting in this section anyway and therefore they’re findable in the background storage area if I ever get to sit and work on this alot

… now they started forcing that last word to be spelled as 2 words, so I couldn’t put the period or it would auto-return to that, and I don” mean an area of space so I don’t want to use it that way, as, really, these like to bury lots of people, enough to fill a lot, so I don’t use it the 2 words way.

I have to re-figure how I’m trying to explain everything real quickly here so we don’t lose track of the threads, starting not with the Prehistory but later when the Autists met the “Jomon,” that’s what I’ll try to work on but it’s pretty raggedy today, bad day so far for trying to pull together all the different aspects, etc. Here’s from before and some miscellaneous:

UniverseRescueKathyFoshayWordPressCom

kathyfoshay2 has shared a link to the following document:

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UniverseRescueKathyFoshayWordPressCom.Open in Docs

I have to “straighten out” this, change “ovaries” to ovae and make it 2 lines longer or some where those ellipses are confusing, but I’m lucky to get this far and I don’t think there are readers to speak of because the goons keep everyone away from me while juggling reality in order to nevertheless use me as a LURE for unsuspecting normals, so I’ll be working on trying to improve this description but am lucky I got it this far along really.

3 october, it’s so horrible, i don’t know what “they,” all the invisible parasites off of doing this LURE behind my back, have ever been doing but last night and then this morning were so disgusting that it’s just being used for the “drug”-addicts’ takeover of the planet and nothing else, i’m just being used for the brain-eaters’ takeover is all that’s going on, daily twisting whatever i might be doing to that’s advantage off of me. my coping with such internal-external imprisonment is frazzled. They had a big truck of fences just sitting running its loud engine outside the (strange-behaving to begin with) se library for at least 15 minutes before this place finally opened, closed all morning for moving a table into here on the day i had to return some book i’d borrowed, that that’s always a “devil’s” way of entrapping me for the lure, is knowing that i have to go specifically anywhere at a certain time period and the book was due tomorrow and if i wait till last minute the lure is huge beyond my coping ability, i freak out. i finally went over and looked to see what they were sitting there running the engine for and then the library opened so i didn’t have anymore time and i went and asked the, mere kid, 2 20-year olds in the front seats, what he was running the engine for and he just mumbled about trying to find or figure out something, and by the time i’d walked up the steps into this place with that noise going and the door closed behind me and i was near collapse from the internal/external “invisible” noise tortures and the general other internal tortures the bums do to me, the truck drove away right then, after the job of “frazzling” me on what was already unlivable,  was done and i was inside where you can’t really hear that traffic noise anymore. what the lure seems to be doing seems to be way way too huge. it’s impossible to describe but they’ve “disappeared” millions and millions etc., since back around 1980 i suspect they’ve been doing this same lure-gimmick off of me, that “revulsive” is the word, i couldn’t even think of the parts of it the last time i’d tried to jot about this lure-horror, that revulsive is my description for the revolting and repulsive things that these “bums” “advertise” for themselves that oblivious me is doing out here, where reality isn’t anything remotely like life is twisted, convoluted to. I’m trying to clean up the files for the new format and the unseen torture makes everything impossible.

10/4/ i found this on wikipedia describing the Bringing it all back home album cover that i’m going to try to get a permission for posting a picture of:  The album’s cover, photographed by Daniel Kramer with an edge-softened lens, features Sally Grossman (wife of Dylan’s manager Albert Grossman) lounging in the background. There are also artifacts scattered around the room, including LPs by The Impressions (Keep on Pushing), Robert Johnson (King of the Delta Blues Singers), Ravi Shankar (India’s Master Musician), Lotte Lenya (Sings Berlin Theatre Songs by Kurt Weill) and Eric Von Schmidt (The Folk Blues of Eric Von Schmidt). Dylan had “met” Schmidt “one day in the green pastures of Harvard University”[8] and would later mimic his album cover pose (tipping his hat) for his own Nashville Skyline four years later.[9] A further record, Françoise Hardy‘s EP J’suis D’accord was on the floor near Dylan’s feet but can only be seen in other shots from the same photo session.

Visible behind Grossman is the top of Dylan’s head from the cover of Another Side of Bob Dylan; under her right arm is the magazine Time with President Lyndon B. Johnson on the cover of the January 1, 1965 issue. There is a harmonica resting on a table with a fallout shelter (capacity 80) sign leaning against it. Above the fireplace on the mantle directly to the left of the painting is the Lord Buckley album The Best of Lord Buckley. Next to Lord Buckley is a copy of GNAOUA, a magazine devoted to exorcism and Beat Generation poetry edited by poet Ira Cohen, and a glass collage by Dylan called ‘The Clown’ made for Bernard Paturel from colored glass Bernard was about to discard.[10]

Dylan sits forward holding his cat (named Rolling Stone)[10] and has an opened magazine featuring an advertisement on Jean Harlow‘s Life Story by the columnist Louella Parsons resting on his crossed leg. The cufflinks Dylan wore in the picture were a gift from Joan Baez, as she later referenced in her 1975 song “Diamonds & Rust“. Daniel Kramer won a Grammy nomination for best album cover for the photograph. On the back cover, (also by Kramer), the girl massaging Dylan’s scalp is the filmmaker and performance artist Barbara Rubin.[11]

7 October, it is all filthy. i don’t know why the type doesn’t go all the way across the page, how to fix the programming for that. The abuse of me gets worse. Then i made a typical unwitting somehow error of like announcing where i’ll be in advance, because monday is one of the phony “holidays” and it’s supposed to rain all day so i’d learned both those things just in time to be able to do the requirements to stay inside of one of the shelters that day and i’d slipped and like announced that i’d be there and that’s all the “devil” as i now mostly have been referring to the “Merchant…” as being, has to have said and the LURE trapworks starts getting set into place to do some moron c*** or any other off of the gimmick of having me a prisoner, so i’ll have to see how that goes. the weather right now is gorgeous, another word that’s in their twisted-speak, but it’s beautiful out and then i don’t know what i’ll be doing tomorrow because of rain-impendingness and i don’t have an umbrella. my little self feels lousy because i haven’t heard back about these florence sabin letters yet, having received a first set but there was some oddity to paying through the mail there was enough for 2 more pages left over and i just saw that i’d used the wrong zip code, that something like that always happens to me, and then today’s a big post office debacle for me too, that it’s s.o.p. that because i’m so broke this “Merchant” always has a “hayday” anytime i have to have p.o. dealings, unable to pay around the few cents here and there differences on my lack of a budget, etc. I was hoping for my morale to be okay from the 2 extra pages but anything i do is Armageddon “show” fodder and gets interfered with, as is how i’d wound up with paying for the 2 extra in the first place, and then there are super sets of other c*** the Merchant/underworld has been busy doing while i’m just doing this piddling around trying to set up this new format, the underworld just racing circus rings around ahead of me all the time.

Another thing i’m supposed to do is to make a new typing-piece for the opening screen where there are those 6 lines where i’ve got the empty space with the one Rescue God attempt line on it, to change that to something less “catchy” for the system-bums that live off of sneaky around behind my back using me to hunt people, using me as a LURE. Today i’m at a library where he printer seems to be working but now this new format has a different screen here where i do the typing, that it’s very narrow lines, maybe larger print but fewer words, where i’m trying to think what should go on the opening screen here, under the brain eaters and before the warning, what should be the best use of that extra-now space, has to be done and best to do it soon because the system suck-thrives off of the god theme or word, the mix-up between normals’ translation of the world and the system’s reference/s to its own self.– yeah, it looks terrible, the lines only go around four fifths or two thirds of the way across the print-out paper now till i can figure how to fix that, and that would just wind up with a larger-sized print which would be okay-enough for a little while, but what should the opening screen mention the best.

* = 9/22/17, adding that the “ventricle” is said to be a “reservoir” and I guess that that’s what had leaked, connected then to the corpus callosum – the major “thoroughfare” called the Corpus Callosum. I’m thinking that the oily-fluid insulating the nerve-paths had leaked out through the big “hole” into the outside of the brain by freeze-burns to infantts’ heads during the first premature trek across Beringia….

I’ll leave this one here overnight so that i don’t accidentally get that Archives widget back here, i don’t want a sidebar, want the text to go full-width across the screen as much as possible; i’ll put some different six lines in that above where it’s got the rescue-god-attempt line right now, that that has to fit into the top somewhere, but this is okay so far

10/12, Thursday I guess this horror is, that the whole thing is unsupportable, unbearable, etc., so much parasitism for so long on tiny me and it’s like each day the “machine” system just continues because it’s left at this voracious setting onto myself, and there was just one of these “face-bombs” again sitting at the next terminal and being conspicuous probably because it’s underground remote-control-directed what to do and say, most of the people around me are like “bumper cars” like that, just driven around remotely by the brain-damaged “computer experts” and satellite-savvy Autists these “toys” were made to placate, but this Allen Ginsberg monstrosity, the “generational-slavery” excuse or benefit of the doubt i’ve always given doesn’t seem to apply to these at all, they’re just voracious for rape-living off of me regardless of anything because they’re anonymous and i’m so covered by that fraud-family of monsters, plus i’ve got all the “Babars” like a sea of army-beings all over my business and they’ve got some entire other type of a stereotype all over me too, all these different parasite-sorts on me at the same time without any relief, just blocking, all those bums blocking everything i try to do for my own functioning, playing with not letting the cellphone be recharged, that the charge is being sucked out of the phone before it goes in or as it goes in, all my pens disappearing, anything to prevent me from anything but screaming. I’m sure that there was some sort of an underworld deal with Ginsberg’s former girlfriend, that they were like spies working together and living off of this “Bathgate Avenue Market-curse” onto this fraud-family, a bunch of Gibsberg’s type like Ira Levin and E.L. Doctorow all around the Bronx, and it’s all all about decomposing people into petroleum and there must have been a big thing in the Bronx in addition to the Rockefellers’ proximity and this just goes on and on anonymously rather than its getting “straightened out” and they’re just all over me trying to read those old letters of Sabin’s, of all things to make the big deal about preventing and being all in control over of.

17 October, it is all the standard horror syndromes, the cannibals’ winter standard horrors but increasingly worse, all night long and then waking to the first cold morning, the cannibals like in ecstasy-preparations out here and off of my misfortune at being at the bottom of their big fat world-takeover for only their own “family” kinds and product-types and etc. I’m trying to practice seeing about putting the pdf files into the blogsite but the “animals” are torturing me so bad that it’s destroyed the teeny equilibrium i’d gotten and that i’d only gotten probably because the wallop hurts more that way for their delight at one’s pain, a few hours of lull, not being too tortured during the evening and started to make the few “plans” like to try doing the pdfs today and then there’s that book, Mania by Ronald KL Collins and David Stover from the The Trials of Lenny Bruce book, the two freedom of speech and whatnot lawyers, the only copy of their Mania book is at the usual library i’d be walking to most days if it wasn’t what i think of as being “the Inferno-area branch library,” so I was sure to be heading there and I figured that, it’s not THAT bad, maybe i should go ahead and try seeing if that material is still on the you-know-what, that USB flash-drive, those phrases already being too exciting for the loony-goony world-underworld system, and I got prepared to do those 2 things today and the shelter lights went out and I fell asleep and about an hour later the torture started, the invisible usual, so it’s worse than that, all this cannibals’ winter-preparation extravaganza they’re doing now, and I got too nervous and all “messed up” as usual, so i’m stranded just, in the usual horror-syndrome and aren’t sure what to do, am typing this just to try practicing on how i might be able to try to do that usb thing. The thing is that i’m too destroyed to take any more bad news, blows, than i’ve already got if there’s some difficulty with doing this tiny little thing for other people, what other people haven’t any difficulties with, for me everything is sabotaged, every single thing i might even think of to try to do gets targeted for being gimmick-lived off of by the system. i really think i’m only functioning because the system is so completely “convoluted,” what i call, inside-out and upside down, backwards, twisted and then convoluted. did i leave any of this inverted deviance-direction it’s all only in out, question mark., they’ve got it inside-out, upside-down, backwards, twisted and convoluted, just reality all the opposite direction of nature, so i happen to be a remnant that is still functioning only because they couldn’t just line us all up at the same time and shoot us to death they had to go about everything deceptively, sneak a little here, a little there. Every day the system, the armageddon “program” director/s, directorship, does one thing to “corral” me into their world-takeover use, so that’s like 360 plus 180 is what, 540, the system has done about 540 moves like in a chess game against me since i’ve been back from the car-hit and they do those moves while i’m obliviously just trying to function through each day, while i’m doing that they’re uber-doing something over and around me that i don’t guess anything about, i’m just walking here and there to some library or other errand for this self-support for my life, and they sort of started springing that preparedness at me last night and this morning and for me to finally try to see if that little usb thing survived with those few little files from 2014 and 2015 on it and transferable to here and find out that there’s some problem, they’re messed up or i can’t figure out how to do it and the plants are all always like hollywood around me ready to perform for what i’m more or less just calling “the devil” anymore, and i can’t take these difficulties, all these computerized-tricks they play on me all the time. The only thing i might do is to see if i take a break and then come back and sign up fresh onto here and have the full 70 minutes of computer use time ahead to be able to try to do this in,– i thought of some typing i’ve been meaning to try to get done that i’ll try to do now.

Wednesday, October 18, the day ss is supposed to be mailing that first “relief” to myself, and i’m checking how this works before trying to return it to the Twenty Ten format/theme, this change occurring too late in the day yesterday, — yesterday many of the hallucino-examples were done that i’d like to get to being able to record about and today the system-types are doing hallucino-horrors again related to that car-hit, all the time i’m sort of sneak-terrorized by these things with that fraud-parent’s face and then especially around this car-hit subject, that after all this time i’m trying to get those letters to the judge typed because they’re worthless in my jotto-handscratched notes, etc.

11:15, i accidentally turned the whole computer off, fumbling to figure where if anywhere on this set up the “usb-thing” might go.

10/24, shaw branch library, the armageddon-animals playing the game of “premeditatedly” “magic” causing me to lose my pen again so that my mind has got that and the other thing i’m trying to do and that this is here and recalling in mind whatever i’m trying to all tearing at me while they tear at me, that game. plus the remote-control run “tourists” and whoever else “they” are playing with, doing the armageddon off the confusion and inconvenience and even the medical problem that i can’t jot notes that’ll be occurring to my mind, syndrome, leaving a pen at the terminal is how they tend to set this up and see how they have me wasting time “grousing” about this torture now. it affects everyone around me then in a ripple-out from here way.

26 october horror as i’m trying to figure out this ss-receipt and between the parasitism and now the starting cold weather, then something new lousy came up about this banking business, me trying to figure it out and it doesn’t look like i can do so before the weekend, and because the torture dummies-up a brouhaha about anything i think say or do i can’t mention it in order to clear my mind of it either yet.

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