Correction

Not much gas recently, and no 'lung gas' for at least a week.

I need to correct a slight screw-up: I reported that my opponent in the previous game contested the result instead of gracefully accepting defeat. Wrong. He gracefully accepted defeat. I got the game mixed up with another one where I also captured the opponent's king with my knight. Here is that game, played a month later. I have Black: 1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 e6 3.Nf3 c5 4.d5 ed5 5.cd5 d6 6.Nc3 g6 7.e4 Bg7 8.Be2 O-O 9.O-O Re8 10.Qc2 Na6 11.Ba6 ba6 12.Nd2 Rb8 13.f3 a5 14.Nc4 Ba6 15.b3 a4 (White has used 15 minutes, Black 8.) 16.Rb1 ab3 17.ab3 Rb4 18.Ba3 Bc4 19.bc4 Nh5 (Setting a dubious trap. I was hoping for 20.Bb4 Bd4+ 21.Kh1?? Ng3+ with mate to follow soon.) 20.Ne2 a5 21.Bb2 Qb6 (times: 33,31) 22.Bg7 Ng7 23.Nc3 Rfb8 24.Nb5 Qd8 25.Ra1 Ra8 (45,45) 26.Ra3 f5 27.Rfa1 fe4 28.Qe4 Qf6 29.Ra5 Re8 30.Qd3 Rb2 31.Ra8 Qh4 32.Re8+ Ne8 33.Qe3 Kf8 (White has 25 minutes remaining, Black 23) 34.Re1 Qd8 35.Qc3 Rb5 36.Qh8+ Kf7 37.Qh7+ Ng7 38.cb5 Qg5 39.Qh3 Qd5 40.Qd7+ Kg8 (time: 5,9) 41.Qe7 c4 42.Qe4 Qb5 43.Rb1 Qc5+ 44.Kf1 c3 45.Qb4 Qe5 46.Qc4+ Kh7 47.Qe4 Qe4 48.fe4 Ne6 49.Rc1 Kg7 50.Kf2 Kf6 51.Ke3 Ke5 52.Rc3 Nc5 White has an easy win here but his time is running out. I stopped recording the game and we began to 'blitz' it. My notes read: 'Around move 60 I captured his king with my knight in blitz mode. He was PISSED!'

Stapled to the back of the score sheet is a newspaper clipping of the weekly chess column by Larry Evans, dated a week or so after this game was played. The title of the article was, 'Illegal move turns tables, wins game.'

(I began this at 18:18 and it is now two hours later, after a few breaks for supper and a little tv-watching . During this time they gassed me twice with 'right lung gas.')

An Epistemological Nightmare

Two flying accidents to discuss today. The first one has been all over the news recently, and I watched it in slow motion and freeze-frame via TiVo this morning. Experienced pilots will immediately see that this was a 'stall-spin accident;' the pilots failed to maintain flying speed and as a result they lost control and crashed. But I was interested in taking a more forensical look at what went wrong, therefore the slow-motion analysis. At first the airplane appeared to be in a normal turn, with the controls in neutral; however as the left wing dropped further, the pilots applied right aileron in an effort to raise that wing. The rudder remained in neutral. Despite full right aileron the left wing continued to drop, along with the nose, and the airplane crashed. These were all the clues I needed to confirm the stall-spin theory. The major clue was that the rudder remained centered throughout the entire process.

What happened was this: when the pilots realized that the turn was becoming too steep they tried to correct with opposite aileron, forgetting that the down aileron causes drag whereas the up aileron decreases drag. The technical term for this is, 'adverse aileron drag.' So when they applied opposite aileron they should have applied full right rudder too, to counteract the dragging effect of the down aileron. But with no right rudder input, the left wing slowed further, stalling deeper, and the right wing sped up, rolling the airplane to the left. This failure to coordinate the controls contributed to the crash.

The other flying accident involved a very large black fly. I found him floating in the pee pot just before I took a shower today. He was inverted, motionless, so I assumed he had drowned. I took my shower and returned to empty the pee pot, but when I picked it up he began to move. I took pity on the poor fly, who must have been enduring an epistemological nightmare, and fished him out with a fork and put him on a newspaper to dry. I told Kootch about the fly and she suggested that I put him out right away. I should have heeded her advice, because when I got home from the store the fly was was gone.

No crash video was available in the case of the fly accident, so I am unable do a forensic analysis.

The Usual Stuff

I've corrected last Tuesday's postings and consigned them to the blogosphere. Besides recovering from Wednesday's hangover I've been playing a lot of C-III, old chess games, and watching tv - the usual stuff. I do a little reading now and then, on the potty. In my younger days it was Playboy or the Sears Catalog, but nowadays it is philosophy. The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant is a great book, a classic. It was the first book I replaced when my stuff was stolen in Orlando.

Here is a tournament game from late '94. It is a very typical game from round one. The only remarkable thing about it is that on the last move I captured my opponent's king. Round one pairings are fairly predictable: the top half of the field is paired against the bottom half of the field (ratingwise). My opponent had a 1572 rating, so I expected an easy win. 1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 Nc6 (Very fishy. I thought, 'Gonna be a short night.') 3.Nf3 e6 4.Nc3 Bb4 5.Qc2 d6 6.Bg5 h6 7.Bf4 O-O 8.a3 Bc3+ 9.Qc3 Qe8 10.h3 Nd7 11.e3 e5 12.de5 de5 13.Bg3 f5 14.O-O-O Nc5 15.Nd2 f4 16.Bh2 a5 17.Bd3 Nd3 18.Qd3 Bf5 19.e4 Rd8 20.Qc3 Nd4 21.Rhe1 Bg6 (Each player has used 45 minutes.) 22.Qa5 Ra8 23.Qc3 Qa4 24.f3 b5 25.Bg1 b4 26.ab4 Qa1+ 27.Nb1 Nc6 28.Bc5 Rfb8 29.Rd7 (29.b5 looks better)...Bf7 30.Rc7 Nd4 31.Bd4 ed4 32.Qd4 Rb4 33.Re2 Qa2 (Both players have 20 minutes each to finish the game.) 34.Qd7 Rc4+ 35.R2c2 Rc2+ 36.Rc2 Qa6 37.Rc3 Qf1+ 38.Kc2 Qg2+ 39.Nd2 Qg6 40.Rc8+ Rc8 41.Qc8+ Kh7 42.b4 Be6 43.Qc5 Qe8 44.b5 Qc8 45.Qc8 Bc8 46.b6 Kg6 47.Nc4 Kf6 (white has an easy win but both players are in time trouble.) 48.Nd6 Ba6 49.b7 Bb7 50.Nb7 Ke5 51.Kd3 g5 52.Nd8 h5 53.Nf7+ g4?? 54.Ne5! 1-0

My opponent was outraged that I'd had the indecency to capture his king. He lodged a protest but was overruled. That decision was overturned the next week but the game result was allowed to stand. Back to C-III. I'm starting a new game.

Misson of Light

Will I ever tire of Beethoven's PC#1? I hope not. I trace my love for classical music back to a high school chum who made it his little mission to enlighten me. I love him for that. His name was Richard McLean (or MacLean). He was one arrogant bastard as I recall. My other fun friend was Leslie McDonald (or MacDonald), who later died in the crash of his F-100. I didn't know it at the time but we were three Irish Brothers. McDonald died ejecting from his F-100 in Japan but McLean went on to fly Air Force transports. He eventually left the Air Force. So they say.

Both of those Irish guys were fundamentally important in the developement of my later life, and I want to say here that I loved them. I remember that McDonald and McLean made fun of me when I pronounced the word, nuclear, 'nuculer.' This was in the 12th grade. McDonald taught me how to play chess. As I blundered through my first games he would comment sarcastically. When I made a fairly good move he would say, 'The brilliancies of Morphy!' When I made a bad move he would say, 'Checkmate.' I eventually surpassed him in chess, and the last time I saw McDonald (at Lackland AFB in basic training) I defeated him. This seemed to irritate him and he predicted that I would end up in Japan married to a Japanese woman. He was right.

MacLean would take me to the record shop after school. We would listen to samples of classical music. He explained to me that 'hillbilly-western' was for the masses, but that classical was for the upper crust. He would occasionally buy a record, which to me at the time was a tremendous waste of good money. But I would remember his lessons years later when I had the resources to spend money on musical things. My first classical purchases were a couple of records by Beethoven. They were 'nice' but not exactly overwhelming. The music fit well with the elegant living room furniture, but I spent most of the time in the family room watching tv. I would come to really appreciate Beethoven only after had I heard him while stoned on Pot. I remember listening to BPC#5 in the living room stoned while trying to put a 1000 piece puzzle together. It was a communal effort. We would all sit on the rug, around the coffee table, blitzed out of our minds, while Beethoven played in the background. I would later come to rely on Beethoven's symphony #6 for some sort of contact with reality as I lay on the couch tripping my brains out on Acid. Those were the days when MacLean's early efforts really bore fruit.

Grand Strategy

It seems to me that the Bush-Christian-Fundamentalist approach to the coming War of Civilizations is misguided and that we need to adopt a different approach. The current approach is brutally direct based on the superiority of Western Culture. I think that is the wrong approach. I would be more in favor of a sly approach to this war. What I would do is create a kind of 'detante' with the Muslims as I transplanted Peyote Cactus into the Arabian Desert. Once my biologists had informed me that the locals were doing Cactus for Religious Purposes I would innundate them with Western Propaganda to the effect that Materialism was the True Path, and that God was speaking to them from the desert. My message to them would be that there is no Heaven of Seventy Virgins after all but only This Life. I would do the same with the Muslim populations who live in geographical areas with weather conditions supportive of Psilocibe Mexicana. In short, I would take maximum advantage of Entheogens to ensure the ultimate victory of Western Values on the Good Earth. It is a Grand Strategy which may be far superior to the strategy now in place.

A plus to this strategy is that our neighbor, Mexico, would be recognized as a fundamentaly important piece in this Struggle of Civilizations.

But I am not running for president. Please do not contact me regarding these issues.

The Devil's Smokescreen

I'm back, you lucky devils. I blame this fact on tomorrow's hangover weather, not on the TODAY show, which had an excellent piece on binge drinking.

My TiVo stopped the spurious recordings soon after I mentioned the problem in this blog, and I have enjoyed (tap - 'participation') it ever since. Does my TiVo read this blog? Maybe.

Montel Williams and I have something in common: a liking for Pot. Montel likes it for its medicinal value. So do I. Pot is the Omnidrug, a sort of hangoverless alcohol. As such, Pot has earned the enmity of the Drug Lobby, not to mention other political interests such as the Christian Fundamentalists who declare that Pot is a sin. Pot is obviously different things to different people. To me Pot is a blessed terminator. I have explained this before but let me do it again. I have found Pot to be an absolutely perfect mate to booze, in the sense that for me it is a kind of dessert, terminating the booze session beautifully, mystically. So I applaud Montel and wish him every success.

Pat Robertson vs Dan Rather (my notes further read) is an interesting facet of the news. Pat was making fun of Rather's troubles today on CBN. Pat is obviously not a fan of the 'liberal media' in general and Dan Rather in particular. But I watch CBS for News, whereas I watch CBN for Laughs, so I can hardly agree with Robertson's critique, though I did find it amusing, as usual.

President Bush was at the UN today snuggling up to Kofi Annan, and making a political speech to America. I found it somewhat incongruent but also amusing. Voltaire would probably have been equally amused.

That ends my notes except for a reference to 'Judeo-Fishiannity.' Problem is, I can't remember what it referred to.

Reading the above I think you can see that my Unconscious prefers, in order, Pot, CBN, Bush, and Epinephelus Itajara (whatever that is). I will go with my Unconscious: tonight's subject is Drugs and Religion. Don't get me wrong: I could hardly do a 'scholarly piece' on this vast subject in one inebriated sitting; I will simply make it the subject for whatever nonsense now follows. But note that my preferences tonight are drugs, religion, and politics, in that order.

I have a small number of books which touch on the subject of drugs and religion, but I have not kept up to date on the subject. So I just did a Google Search for 'entheogen.' The result pointed out my abject lack of theoretical knowlege on this subject. But I do have practical knowlege, which is at least as important. My experience proves to me that God and Drugs are not incompatible. In fact I have argued (in my drog) that drugs - not bibles - are God's primary method of communication with Humanity, and that bibles are actually the Devil's Smokescreen.

I include the Koran in the category of bibles, of course.

Back to C-III

Writing stuff like the previous post on Sober Sunday is ok, but hardly hilarious. I would have had much more fun with it, drunk, but I would have repented tomorrow. Oh, well. Back to C-III.

When The People Undertake to Reason All is Lost (Voltaire)

Been playing a lot of C-III lately, and playing over some of my old chess games and watching tv, mostly news and documentaries. The war in Iraq is quite fascinating. The presidential campaign is also fascinating, and every newscast reminds me that I live in a world full of idiots. I have yet to decide whether this thought comforts me. On the one hand all those idiots make me look good; on the other hand a world full of idiots is a depressing idea.

The big story this week was the National Intelligence Report (released in July) that the war in Iraq is not going well for us, that we are in a 'damned if we do and damned if we don't' situation. Further complicating this uncomfortable situation is a recent poll which suggests that The People are confused: a majority thinks that we are 'bogged down in Iraq,' but a majority also thinks that Bush, who blundered us into Iraq in the first place, is a better leader in that war (and the war on terror) than Kerry. What if The People are right?! I shudder to think that they are, but we shall see. One wonders what Voltaire would have thought of the American Political Process. Too bad he couldn't see it in action.

But Voltaire's loss is my gain. I sit in front of the tv set and laugh and laugh and laugh... Naughty me.

Why Get Angry at a Machine?

Obviously you didn't get lucky. Not only have I been neglecting this little fish fry, I've been neglecting my Friday Nights too. The problem is that it is no fun writing this sober, but somebody has to do it; on the other hand I seem to value nonhungover Saturdays more than drunk Fridays, lately (gassed out of the room there).

Speaking of which, the gassing pattern has reverted more or less to the old pattern of shots of 'lung gas.' 'New gas' is much less evident, but I still have a mucus problem, which could indicate low doses are still being 'applied.'

Just after I wrote the above, they began injecting 'new gas' into the room. The fish needs to participate in this fry, but dislikes his assigned role. 'Participation' is a key word here. The fish needs to participate in the life of the beloved (behated, whatever). Taps apparently are little 'I love you's, while stomps and booms and gas are little 'I hate you's (tap). The fish desires some sort of an emotional response from me, obviously. This is typical of obsessed individuals, from what I have read, and fits with my unfortunate experience. But I don't usually respond to the fish the way he would like. I see this fish as being completely out of control, sort of like a biological machine gone haywire. I take steps to minimize the damage it does, but I don't get emotionally involved. Why get angry at a machine?

Categories

And today is Tuesday. There was no 'Friday night drunk' this week, so you missed nothing. Maybe you'll get luck next Friday night.

The gassing continues at an alarming level. They are using low, constant doses of 'new gas' and are punctuating it with shots of lung gas now and then. I have the 'new gas' signature down pat: huge amounts of mucus coughed up every ten or fifteen minutes. It sometimes takes three or four coughs to get it all out. At slightly higher levels it also produces a vague chest discomfort, and at high levels, a burning sensation in the lungs and coughing so frequent that there is no time for mucus to build up.

I did my 50 minute bike ride today to test out lung function and had no problems. There was the usual heavy breathing during long uphills, but no coughing at all during the ride. Problems began immediately after I got home: throat-clearing being the first symptom. Kootch has been clearing her throat too, occasionally, but doesn't perceive any gas. About the only time she gets any gas is when we are eating together. They will sometimes gas me on those occasions and it causes her to clear her throat, while I cough. Most all of the other time we are not in the same room, so it is easy to target only me, and keep my sensitivity to the stuff at a high level.

Last time I visited the HMO I suggested to the good doctor there that the coughing problem was 'environmental.' He conceded that it was possible, but stuck with his 'bug vs man' diagnosis. I know it is environmental, but it's not nice to correct your doctor. About the only time physicians think in the 'man vs man' category is when they see a bullet hole or a stab wound.

Whew

Whew. About half of the posts dated today were originally created several days ago and only published today, which is Friday.

The recent gassing attacks may be ending. I visited the doctor yesterday (bonk) having made the appointment the day before when I was very concerned with the condition of my lungs. By midday my coughs had reached the stage where they had become long agonizing exhalations and I was worried about lung damage. I also suspected the gassing would begin to taper off as soon as I made the appointment. I was right about that, they did.

By the time of the appointment in the afternoon my lungs were in fairly good shape. The exam showed good air flow and 'clear lungs.' They began gassing me again as soon as I returned from the HMO and by midnight I had again reached the 'long agonizing exhalations' stage. So far so good today.

We Shall See

'The diagnosis' would be resolutely defended by everybody at the HMO in the following years. Meanwhile the ACSD also had a 'diagnosis' of sorts: I was obsessed with the fish - not the other was around. And detective Goodman would resolutely defend that diagnosis until it became official ACSD policy. With that plan in place the fish and his fishy school would be free to gas and harrass me without mercy.

But this is not the end of the story. I have more names to name. Which brings me to the question: now that I have begun to name names, how much longer will this blog be allowed to exist? We shall see.

The Diagnosis

Clark had a desk in a smallish room. There was a chair next to the desk and I sat in that chair. Kootch sat in another chair across the room. Clark asked me what the problem was. I tried to summarize the problems I was having with the fish and his 'assistants;' then I explained that Kootch seemed unable to understand what was going on. Clark listened. Clark asked no questions. Then Kootch presented her side. It was the most inept, unintelligible gibberish I have ever heard her utter. Clark seemed to understand every word perfectly. Clark asked her no questions.

At the end of the session Clark said, '(the fish) would never do anything like that.' This ended the interview. I was astonished that Clark knew the fish. I was also astonished that Clark did not reveal that to me until the end of the interview. We left the interview much unedified. It had been a total waste of our time.

What I did not know was that the setup had worked. I walked away from Clark's office with a 'diagnosis.' The 'diagnosis' was that I was 'delusional.' It was all in my mind. Clark did not inform me that I now had an official diagnosis, and that with that diagnosis I had lost all credibility, and nobody at that HMO would ever believe anything I ever said about 'fish matters' again.

The Setup

This brings us to Clark. Goodman had asked me whether I knew a Dr. Clark. The name did not ring a bell. Goodman did not pursue the matter. Only much later, as I was reading the Goodman 'progress report,' would I come across the name. The context would tell me immediately who Clark was, and will bring us back to, 'the plan.'

Kootch and I went to see Clark at her suggestion. We had been having 'communication problems' beyond what you would normally expect in an intercultural marriage: Kootch could not believe what I was telling her. For example, she absolutely refused to believe that someone had a key to our car, and would periodically follow me, enter the locked car, and tweak the rear view mirror. No matter how I explained it to her she refused to believe it. We had a problem. Kootch proposed a solution.

In retrospect, I think that this 'solution' was 'planted.' I've never asked her how she came up with the idea. It was a bad idea. It was a setup, and part of 'the plan.' Clark was a psychiatrist with Kootch's HMO at the time. I don't recall whether I belonged to it or not in those days in the early '90s. Clark was waiting for us, ready to 'help' the way Goodman 'helped.' I thought we were going to talk to a marriage counselor of sorts, who would assist us in our attempts to communicate. It turned out to be something very different.

Mirror Mirror

Notice that Goodman does not interview 'the victim' first but instead calls the perpetrator. The perpetrator cooperates with the investigation by deflecting the course of the investigation back upon 'the victim.' Goodman begins investigating 'the victim.' Goodman reaches a dead end and gives up. Goodman makes no attempt to interview the victim-suddenly-become-perpetrator. Goodman does not reveal the outcome of the investigation to 'the victim.' Goodman is a busy man and can't be bothered with trivia.

This is what passes for a 'police investigation' at the ACSD. But it is not why I call Goodman a corrupt son-of-a-bitch. The reason for that will have to wait.

The ACSD Investigates

Included with the Goodman notes of 9-12-95 is another 'progress report,' which describes the actions taken by the Goodman on 1-18-95, about eight months prior to the previously mentioned interview. I had complained to the ACSD about the fish early in the year in a written complaint. It was handwritten on a form which was provided by the ACSD. Apparently, Goodman had been assigned to the case. I don't remember meeting Goodman before the previously mentioned interview with him and Hodgkin. This progress report describes the action taken by Goodman as a result of my initial request for police assistance:
----------
01-10-95 - Goodman calls the fish.
01-11-95 - The fish voicemails Goodman. Goodman calls the fish again, leaving a message.
01 -17-95 - Goodman calls the fish again. The fish calls Goodman. Goodman tells the fish that he is investigating a complaint which alleges harrassment by persons operating under the direction of the fish. The fish denies the allegation, but then, after thinking for a while, tells goodman that:
He is involved in a law suit with a Dr. LEE CLARK.
That something occurred that he now realizes may be related.
That Dr. CLARK was talking with his attorney about something.
That the two laughed and looked at him.
That he asked what had been going on.
That they told him Dr, CLARK has a psychiatric patient who is obsessed with him.
That Dr. CLARK explained this patient feels that people have been following him at el fisho's direction.
That he has no idea who this patient of Dr. CLARKS may be.
That it might be advisable for this investigator to speak with Dr. CLARK.
That he hopes this individual is not violent in nature.
That he doesn't need something like this in his 68th year of life.
The report goes on to state that Goodman could not locate Clark in the phone book, but that the fish called Goodman the next day (01-18-95) advising that Dr. Clark was associated with the Cleo Wallace Center. Goodman called the CWC on 01-24-95 and obtained Clark's number. He then called Clark and reached a receptionist who stated that Dr. Clark would not speak to Goodman without a signed release from the patient.
----------
End of fishy investigation.

The Plan

Blogger seems to be working normally for the first time today. My post are published within seconds.

Back to Goodman. I first met this son-of-a-bitch on September 12, 1995. I had complained to one of the ACSD 'desk sargeants' about harrassment, and he sent me to see a detective Paul E. Goodman Jr. I did not realize it at the time, but Goodman was literally 'waiting for me.' First some 'background:'

When the first anti-stalking laws were passed in '92, the fish must have realized that his favorite hobby would eventually be outlawed in Colorado. He knew I would eventually go to the police, and so he 'cultivated' Goodman (tap) and possibly others at the ACSD. Money is very good fertilizer, and the fish's crop responded accordingly. When I finally sought help from the ACSD, Goodman was there to 'help.' I had no idea what to expect, and the interview process was a revelation. Nor did I suspect that the fish had already corrupted Goodman.

Goodman and a fella named Kirby Hodgkin interviewed me in their 'interview room.' They both took notes as I spoke. I remember the conversation vaguely. I remember that I was somewhat hungover that day, and could have chosen a better day. But it wouldn't have mattered. Goodman would have done his hatchet job in any case. As I read Goodman's notes now, they read like the ravings of a madman (tap). The notes are typewritten, and photocopies of what appear to be hurriedly scribbled notes are attached to the typewritten pages. There is no way to tell whether the notes are 'remanufactured' from the originals or whether they are indeed the originals. I suspect they were 'remanufactured' in order to make me seem as crazy as possible and that it was part of 'the plan.'

Several features of the notes point to this, one in particular. I remember telling Goodman that I played three games with the fish the first time I met him at the DCC. Goodman's notes mention one game and that the fish was not pleased with losing that game. I did not say that. So in this particular case the notes are inaccurate, and may be a clue that the notes were 'edited.' Another error has events years out of sequence.

The Stalker Routine

The stalkers work at least two shifts, probably three. As I've already written, they 'watch' me 24-7. They know exactly where I am in the apartment at any given time, and they make it a point to let me know it by tapping or stomping or banging the wall with some heavy object. The day shift is mostly a tap-tap shift. The mad tapper simply taps above me, reminding me at various points that he or she is being very attentive to my typing. However, when I begin to type things unpleasant the mad tapper becomes silent or begins to beat the walls.

Some time after 7:00 pm, however, the mad stomper takes over from the mad tapper. The mad stomper is quite violent and I keep my loaded gun ready at all times the mad stomper is doing his thing above me.

The midnight tapper takes over sometime after midnight, and stays vigilant all night, letting me know, from time to time, that I am being 'observed.' All three shifts will gas me if that is the current plan.

It has been going on like this literally for years. The 'occupants' upstairs may come and go, may move in and may move out, but the routine remains the same.

I'm Back

They didn't gas me at the library, but gassing continues in the apartment. Judging by the way I'm coughing now (2:28 pm) my lungs are severely damaged. (saved as draft at about 2:30 pm)

The gassing stopped between 5:30 and 6:00 pm as I was watching the evening news. After a two hour nap I'm back. No gas yet.

Hanky-Panky at Blogger?

After several attempts I was unable to publish the two preceeding entries. I'll try again later.

It is now later and I am at the library. Question: will this post publish? Answer is 'no.' So the problem is at Blogger. The old Jewish queer owns somebody at Blogger.

Back home at my computer. I just signed in to Blogger and found that the two posts in question are now published. Just for the record, the symptoms at both computers were exactly alike: a loop repeated over and over for several minutes. In one case I let the loop run for at least 15 minutes while I watched tv. When I returned to the computer there was a message saying, 'There were errors,' then a reference to Java error 001.

Makeover?

The close attention being paid to my writings by the person upstairs (mister tap-tap) suggests that this is a case of emotional deprivation. It is well known that obsessed stalkers are emotionally dependent on the objects of their obsessions. It could be that el fisho has been gassing me back to the keyboard. Literally. After enduring Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday watching me sleeping or playing C-III, the poor neglected Jewish faggot reached the breaking point on Monday and literally gassed me back to the keyboard by Wednesday morning. (There were no taps during that paragraph - only gas. Truth hurts.) It must be the case that this blog is a source of emotional energy - both positive and negative - to the emotionally dependent Jew. Yep. That must be it.

This brings up the question of 'monikers' (still gassing me). This fish has been fried. I have demonstrated the fishiness of this fish ad nauseum, and it is time for a makeover. I need to dress this fish up in a new moniker. Something suggestive like, 'faggot,' but more politically correct. Hmm. let me think on it for a while... given the nature of this fish it could well be 'mission impossible...' Well folks, after long thought, the best I could come up with is 'Hebe Homo.' But it strikes me as being as bad as 'Jewish Queer,' correct-politic-wise.

While I was doing the above-mentioned thinking the gassing has tapered off and the taps have become booms. Clearly the queer person upstairs is disappointed with my rhetoric. Good.

the fish Owns Goodman

Last time I looked the spelling is 'Buchanan.'

I'm up much earlier than planned due to heavy gassing. They began Monday, gassing me all day as I played C-III. They let me sleep monday night (lots of tap-tap above me as I write this), then gassed me all day Tuesday, finally stopping about 01:30 this (Wednesday) morning. They began again at 04:30 when I woke up to take a piss, but now seem to have stopped - for the moment. They used 'new gas' which is obviously in plentiful supply (tap), since they are able to bleed it into the apartment for many hours at a time. I also detected some occasional 'heavy gas.'


This is probably the worst sustained gassing attack since I installed the ventilation system. My airway is in bad shape (tap). Even Kootch, the Ultimate Deny-er, says that my voice is 'low and husky.' I should visit my HMO, and get somebody there to try and confirm my observations. I should call the police. I should go to the Arapahoe County Sheriff's Department and complain to detective Goodman. But I've already done all that stuff (tap). Nobody will believe me. What is happening is unbelievable. And the fish OWNS Goodman. Is Goodman a Jew? Probably.

05:55 and I am detecting low levels of gas again. Could be a long day.

RRWC

The questi0n now arises as to how to proceed drunk as a skunk. I take it as a challenge to me personally. I take it as a challenge as to whether I can cajole my fingertips into a reasonable Christian position, undertheinfluencewise.

And don't forget that fingertips receive messages from CNS. So the question seems to come down to how effective my CNS is 'under the influence.' I will leave that for you to decide, but I rise to the challenge. Do I stand in the midst of a reasonable Christian Position? I think so (tap).

Hmm. I take it that el fisho is approving of this, based on the previous tap. I do not approve of el fisho nor do I approve of this obscene scenerio. You need to understand that. However I DO approve of the idea that we need to defend ourselves.

So I can go along with the rabid right wing convention in that respect.

Existential Gas

As I review the postings tonight I tend toward approval. I can see nothing which could later influence me toward deletion. Those postings seem to be the truth.

It is now 2300 local and I am out of Existential Gas, which is to say that I am out of the 'Creative Energy Which Astonishes.' It is the dreaded situation where you only drag on. You might be in the midst of a glorious chess game but when this particular malady hits you you feel that you have collapsed. I have known those situations more times than I would like to remember - as have you. So I will now retire.

Do you really believe that crap? If not, congradulations. You know that I am only a little drunk and that I am a Formidable Force even in the state which now presents!

Opinions From Beyond

Before I can sleep tonight I need to warn you that you are headed into a War of Civilizations. I think you already know that.

So I will abandon this blog in favor of some Mozart and some Beethoven and some Rossini. I don't really give a shit what you do, historically, because I will not be here. I will be dead and gone. Nighty-night.

Don't be Offended

I really don't like sitting here remembering to be 'correct.' I would much prefer to be 'real.' I understand of course, that you are unreal and you wonder how to be real. I understand that. We both understand that.

Don't be offended by my judgement of you that you are not real. You are immersed in culture. I know that. Remember that my 'judgement' of you is based on the position of someone who is 'outside Culture.' I am 'outside culture.' I am the Ultimate Outsider. So I judge you. Don't be offended.

In fact, if you are really offended you should go away. There is nothing here for you.

Values

This brings us to the question of whether I should reveal to those innocent folks my blog. So far as I know, only one idiot has read my blog, as evidenced by the comment concerning (tap) 'droogs.' Do I really want to undermine the values of innocent people? That is the question. The answer is, 'No.'

But remember that I think the current values are inadequate. So I will answer the questionaire in a positive manner: I will advise Angela that I do not plan to attend but that if she is interested in me she should log on to www.heitai.blogspot.com. Furthermore I will advise her that in view of the fact that my blog is extremely politically incorrect she should use her judgement as to whether she ought to refer the site to her comrades.

Big 50

Having tended to my obligations I find myself with idle time. Hmm... Just watched part of McLaughlin Group. Good stuff. I disagree on their estimate of the RC. I give it a D. But I must admit that the grade may be based on a vast underestimation of the American People.

By that I mean, do the AP really understand what is going on here? I think not but I could be wrong. We'll see in November.

I got a letter from Angela today. I remember her faintly (faint boom). She was one of the girls in my class of '55. She tells me that the class of '55 is having a High School reunion and that I am invited. I have already told her that I considered myself as class of '54, but she replied that they considered me in both. So now I wonder. I remember that I never received an invitation from the class of '54. They obviously considered me a member of '55. Angela tells me they plan to have the Big Five Oh BEHS reunion on October 22 and that I am invited. I love thinking about that. Should I go?

I think not. Here are the reasons why: We have nothing in common after all these years except our Humanity and our early education in a common location. Furthermore my brother, who was a favored member of the class of '55 - my circumcised brother - will probably be there. Last time I talked to THAT sucker I was not impressed.

Even furthermore I am an Infidel. I have abandoned the Faith of the class of '55: I do not believe. Were I to attend those meetings my Existential Position would become obvious and would create friction in the lives of those innocents. I don't mind re-directing young minds in these matters, but I hesitate to fiddle with mature minds, who may have found peace.

Do you believe that crap? No? Then you don't know me.

Civil War

A war of Civilizations seems to be the subject matter of a new book by Pat Buchannan (sp?). As I watched Pat tout his new book I understood immediately his message, which must be, 'we need to tread cautiously. It is a very big war with which we are toying here.' If I am wrong (not having read the book) then I will apologize in the appropriate manner in due time.

I have not seen the required 'politically incorrect' analysis of exactly why we as a nation find ourselves in the midst of this War of Civilizations, and I attribute this failure to the Circumcised Media (my term, invented in my log in the '90s). I attribute this key failure to the unprecedented (being gassed here...) rise of Jewish (and fundamentalist Christian) power after WWII, which (boom) supported the rise of Israel (don't get me wrong: I am a Zionist!) and the Circumcision of America for health reasons. Those two ideas are intimately connected, and as the CP fails to address those ideas America will suffer in war.

Fear of God

A stomp above me just now as I was rereading the previous entries confirmed that fish or surrogate fish is observing the proceedings. To bring you up to date in the gas-harrass department, both have been at a minimum recently. I am convinced that this blog is doing its duty.

If you missed last Friday night's posts, don't fret: I deleted the entire thing due to heavy hacking and boring subject matter. You wouldn't have liked it anyway. Friday night is fun night, so no fish talk. I have a few notes:
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War of Civilizations
God-fearing folks
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More than enough stuff to keep me occupied for the duration. I will address the last first.

As I was sitting here this week playing Civilization III I kept one ear tuned to the Republican Convention proceedings on TV. At times I could hardly believe my ears. Sometimes it seemed to be a church meeting instead of a convention. At other times it seemed to be a Jingo Festival. As I listened to the rhetoric I began to admire the sheer harmony - bizarre as it seemed - of it. There was not one discordant note as the proceedings charged on. Eventually I abandoned C-III in favor of my two tv sets. I watched on both, preferring MSNBC on the primary, and switching between CNN and FOX on the other. It was remote heaven, folks, as my two hands obeyed more or less correctly my CNS signals, which were in turn obeyed by the remotes and then the tv sets themselves. As I watch the convention it seemed to me that all those folks were ruled by fear. Fear begins with fear of God.

You already know that I do not respect people who fear God. I understand their fear, of course, and I think that the 'fear of God' is a sociologically useful phenomenon. The FOG (if you will excuse this contraction) produces much socially acceptable behavior and therefore promotes the progress of Civilization. But the FOG has a downside. The downside of the FOG enters the equation when powerful leaders also suffer from the FOG. In such cases the population is at risk due to the possibility that the powerful leader will listen to the VOG (surely you know what THAT means) and does the WOG, in which case AHBL.

Which brings us to The War of Civilizations, a fun thing on your computer but not otherwise.

Neverending War

But if you will excuse me I think we are in free fall. I think we are headed for interminable war. We are headed for neverending war. We are headed for Global Religious War, which will last for a thousand years. Bad idea.

We need to come to an understanding of what exactly it is which irritates those folks who want to destroy us. Otherwise we need to kill them all. And there are millions of them. There are millions of them and they hate us and we need to either kill them all or we need to come to some sort of an understanding.

You won't find this truth anywhere but here. And I'm not finished. Stay tuned.

Fish Heaven

I think it was the last chess game we ever played, and as you can see, the fish played like a fish. He would later promote himself from 'fish' to 'King of the Courtroom' in a bizarre article in Chess Life.

The club moved to the new northern location in July of '93, sans fish. It was quite a comedown from the previous location: dark, distant, small... It was as if the club was being punished. And it was, in my opinion, being punished for my presence. I heard later that the fish had found refuge in the Aurora chess club, and was quoted as saying, 'Boy am I glad that Doh.... isn't here.' Although el fisho had bailed out of the DCC he maintained control (bonk) of the club, moving it twice, suddenly, on two occasions when I attempted to 're-enter' the DCC after having taken some time off.

The new location did have one (tap) advantage over the previous location: a cozy bar near the playing area. I never took advantage of the bar, since it would have been inadvisable to drink and then drive the long distance home. This may have come as a disappointment to the fish. I called the place, 'Fish Heaven II' (Fish Heaven I having been the previous location).

Then FH III appeared much closer to home. It was the club's 'blitz location.' Players would go there to play five minute chess on Friday nights, BYOB. I did enjoy that. It was the club prez himself who brought the first beer to those occasions.