HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 140114 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.106)

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and sixth entry

I spent a few moments looking back through last year's journals. I know that, on more than a few occasions, I deliberately left out my involvements with the police while, on others, making near full reports to the journal. I have had different reasons for playing both sides of the line in the past. I did find this, speaking of the differences between indoor and outdoor karate champ, and is likely that the prompting was an involvement in a fight. The entry afterwards also indicates that I had a recent encounter with the millionaire fight club.

Last night, after writing about the hotel resident idiots stalking me, there was indeed a fight. I recall this from either last year or the year before, because I live a religious lifestyle and the irrigation schedules around town change more or less the same with the seasons from year to year.

This year, as the irrigation schedule changed in the past two months, I remember that my move to sleep in various locations has been the same. I do recall, last year, that the residents in the apartment above the catholic church school were involved in several scenes of bothering me late at night or as I readied for bed. I did recall the night in a previous January when I had found the half-full bottle of wine, the half-full bottle of wine had the prescription grade throat lozenge in it, and a soon following night featured the absence of any of the local residents while random other "homeless people" provoked a midnight fight. I do recall, on the previous occasion, pleading from the blank local windows for a 911 call, I recall not receiving it, I recall going to the pay phone to call 911, and I recall the officers on that occasion indicating that, without witnesses, there was nothing which they could do.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

So, last night, as usual, the gang of five or six idiots came walking over my head in gangs of two and three five or six times over the night again. In years past, before my pilgrimage walk, there had been a winter when I had to plead my case with the church office, and they had to call the police, to ask the police to stop driving by to ring up the homeless man with their air horn buzzer five or six times nightly (millionaires do have fake Hollywood police). This year the millionaires have their hireling idiots to do the work. On the side,"sick and dying" is vomiting and pooping everywhere. That would be all of the fake homeless drunks that have been staffed here in gang teams year after year after year. Someone could call the better business bureau and the health department and report that many of the businesses around midtown La Jolla are dutifully manicuring piles of human feces on their premises. Many of the piles have been around for four or five months, and are repeat instances to keep an area filthified. The entire midtown, corner to corner, entryway to entryway, lavatory to lavatory, has become nothing but a grand display of millionaire right to filthify whatever is possible. There isn't a soap dispenser in the town that hasn't been tampered with to break the air seal and render them practically inoperable--the millionaires do not want the homeless man washing his hands and face unless they can bring their filthy f*ck toy animals or display their pedophile priveleges.

So last night, at about 2 AM, I awake with three of the gang standing a half block off. They had been slamming the dumpster lids to awaken me and, as soon as I moved to indicate wakefulness, they stood staring at me. One of them was "Sparky", one of the summer's lovelies. I began to wonder to myself how runtlings with prepubescent voices procreate, and Sparky began approaching me in a threatening manner. I called to him to stay away and he approached and began swinging. I began razing the hell hoping for a neighbor to call 911. What a surprise. No help. Sparky chased me off of my blanket with a few swings and then, as I was calling the area for assistance, he returned to my belongings to begin throwing the blankets around. Have I recorded this tactic in the past? If the fight is unsuccessful then the next target is always my belongings. Did I happen to write the incident a few months ago when Sparky choked me near to death? A passerby on that night said they had called the police--they never arrived.

So, as I recall happening in the previous year's incidents, when the assailants finally left and I was pleading the area for help, a vehicle entered the church office parking lot and the passenger ignored my requests for a cell phone or assistance. The vehicle then leaves and, when I return to begin sorting my bedroll, then the vehicle returns to the church parking lot to pick up a passenger--as if to taunt that they moved around the corner just to get away from me. That is when I head for the nearest pay phone to call 911 after packing up my belongings.

When the police arrive they are indicating all of the anger and blame to me. I am almost near positive that it is the same pair that I had seen on the previous 2 AM 911 call evenings. Over the course of the interview they tell me that they have already talked to the other parties (really? you managed to find them at 2 AM before you arrived at this stationary pay phone where I am?), and that the other parties have a "different story". REALLY? No kidding. Surprise me again. Year after year, month after month, call after call, the millionaire crews always have a "different story". There is no end to the lies and excuses. I counsel this to the police officers, that my adversaries are constantly offering up new petty excuses and lies, and that my line has been the exact same since day one. The officer responds,"You're the only one telling it." Oh, that's rich. Does anybody else in the world have a compilation of works to detail and explain the entire world over time to you--without needing constant excuses and lies to doctor it up? You know, how about the picture of the dome of the sky in the Bible--what is that, that's a misprint, just something they made up? How about the footnote about Fr. Abram having no camels; that's another oversight, something a few thousand years of monks just happened to photocopy rote because it was there? How about the concept of a "passover lamb", any idea what that could actually be? How about the concept of mummification, they dont' teach that in school, do they? What's with all the artwork of wings... that's all made up? Jobbies have always wondered that they never get a straight answer from "rich people" or the "well off", and it is cultural folklore that million dollar money stinks--s'pose there's any real world rationale for that? How about the second temptation of Christ, what's with the riches of the world, and what does that mean old devil make you do to get it? And this vocal thing, maybe I am some sort of superhuman, or maybe everybody else only has a tenth of a genome in the nose, right? I am the only one telling the story, what, because all of the seven years' of telephone calls to San Diego PD have resulted in "millionaires have a 'different story'"?

The officers also query,"Why don't you just walk to Barrego Springs?" That is also a repeat. Maybe the people stalking me could pick me off on the open road in the 90 mile walk, not to mention that Barrego Springs is, as I recall, an eleven mile detour from the 78, the only road through that area. I recall the big desert rock outcroppings by the road sign.

So I look at the officers and mention that I have already walked a pilgrimage and they respond "maybe you should walk another one." This comes complete with the taunts and jibes,"the people here don't want you" and "the people here don't want to see you any more." Well, does that come from a referendum vote? Would you be willing to testify to that in court if a prosecuter would pick the incident up? We have a full year schedule of near daily mayhem; animal masturbation, infant anal digit rape, animal assaults, and near weekly physical attacks on the same homeless man... but they don't care about me because they always have an excuse that makes a "different story"? You take a "different story" from meth losers and drunks with histories of fights and thefts over the report of a man practicing a daily religion well enough to teach the rest of the world about it? Exactly what is your plan to make your voice drop?

Are we to expect that the millionaire sex whores will now establish their yearly routine and we can expect the exact same repeat again this year? Maybe we should begin calling the police at 7 PM and asking them to be ready when the millionaires provoke the problem overnight. I have already suggested to the church ushers that we summon the police before the 7:30 AM mass begins that they may decide whether or not I'm being crowded, spooked, and jumped... or maybe they'll just repeat Ole Miss and be on hand to tackle the "nigger" if he protests the assaults.

At this display of chicanery I decide to play level and comment,"One out of six people is part of the millionaire system, maybe the two of you are part of it." A quick visual check showed both police officers staring at their toes.

I know. As the finest breathing and walking individual on the planet (listen to the robot swine in the back room taunt at that... we could prove it with a breath and a step, fools), the cities' "finest" are jealous, right?

This morning, as has been the habit in the past, the method for the hireling idiot mob to "apologize" is to wait around the corner for me to sit down with the morning coffee and donut and then, just before I actually begin the repast, walk up and begin demanding attention, saying their sorry, wondering if thngs are okay, bringing their most broken down drunk with them and holding him around the shoulder as if they are suddenly kindly caregivers (and again the robot swine in the back room cackle with glee... as I have noted in many many many other journal entries, they get to listen to the words I type as I type them, before I send them to slashdot; they have been dutifully trying for three sessions of the express use network systems to chase me away from finding that reference in my former daypage and the scripture and then, suddenly, when I found it, then for the first time in an hour the library is quiet!). Naw, I don't want your apologies. If you had a gift, you know, maybe a bud or something (they have never had a penance), you could leave it at the door and GO AWAY and I'll think about it myself for a while. That would be unthinkable for people orchestrating a conspiracy to effect (not quite commit) murder.

There is currently an ad hanging on the church bulletin board featuring a picture of a fellow on a horse. I'll need to go find it. Does that horse _LOOK_ like a man and a dog sewn together in green eggs and ham? The guy on the back of the horse _LOOKS_ like he's sewing. The guy on the side of the horse _LOOKS_ like he's rolling the sushi. The head of the horse is turned and _LOOKS_ like a dog humping the body. The only thing I couldn't glean in the early morning dim light was whether or not they included the living eyes. Here it is.

Notice that the fellow sewing has the falconer's arm (the odd looking geese underneath the sewer's arm represent the wounding of the quail). That is from carrying the sewing basket. I, at one time, had an enormous collection of falconer's arm patchwork on two different shirts in my "coat" assembly--I have since replaced them. The falconer's arm also leads to the statue of the king's dream from the book of Daniel and Zechariah's brand on the inside of the forearm as part of the sewing project. The assembly of patchwork down the arm will leave the point diagram of the head, body, legs, and the tile feet represent the constant work necessary down on the cuff (paying the rents, repaying the rents, calendaring the rents, fixing the rents, prefab is adding new strips of fabric over the rents without bothering to pay, repay, calendar, and fix them first). Zechariah's brand on the inside of the forearm is one of those fortune cookies--if you are doing it "the right way" you will pick up tiles of swatch catalogs (because you'll be homeless and devotedly shunning any form of signature or contract income) and, due to this that or the other fortune cookie alignments in the scripts of the sphinx, the swatch you will wrap around the bottom of the arm (when it needs it), and the way the wear is, the positioning, will leave one of the ring grommits of the swatch fabric (or maybe only the hole from the swatch book) on the inside of the forearm right where Zechariah's brand is.

Modern day "Zechariah's brand" is common to teenagers who, at drinking parties, hear this story about some guy that put a cigarette out on his arm. Then, some day, when stuck at some after party with one or two people, waiting for a ride or just hanging out for lack of any place else to go, they may become bored enough to try such a stunt.