War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-second entry

The Mi-Ami sound machine and the super bowl. The miami sound machine is the method by which the rainbowtards cruise around from veal box to veal box to execute their special seven hit combo on the lamb inside and get their special sound. With the construction of the brain canopy and the law of Tor is much easier to see how this works. The brain canopy keeps your frontal lobes in check, and the digital music sounds newer and truer every year. The seven hit combo move is the method to maneuver the lamb into one of the corners and assist them in finding the special little portal to receive a microsound with a little bit of frontal lobe in it. Each and every individual has a few portals available, and in the most stressful times of your life maybe you will be able to plead your case with a little ring of truth. The ring of truth from the Mi-Ami sound machine is then useful to heat up an advertising blurb or a scene in a production because it has that extra ring of truth.

Hate words and excuse channels, the key to the super bowl.

People hate things. Things they hate have a ring of truth but, under the canopy, they are trained to move air around the things they hate in forms of excuses. Hate words,"vanilla milkshake" (for millionaires, that has been mapped to make them think, under the canopy, whether they say it or not, to "green eggs and ham"), "homeless", "raised heels", "drop voice", "grow up", "soccer" (europeans hate "nfl" because that's all messed up, should be "alephen"), "christmas", "birthday", "beer" (you love "whiskey", so the ladies may make you drink, but you will always hate "beer").

Excuse channels for millionaires. "get new", "have more", "fun", "oh okay" (a combination of "get new" and "have more"), "get to do", "dog means it", "hate will stop when you go do it" (rather complicated excuse channel)

The game is to light them up with pressure from a hate word and then precede them with the excuse channels they need to make. Maybe you can make them scream and holler releasing the pressure. WIth your girlfriend eunuchs they play this game. Talk talk talk until you say something they can "hate", "honey I hate that". So you, wanting to make them happy, parrot back all of the things she loves to steer her away from the thing she hates. Those are the excuse channels. She may then go through the roof, get you into an argument following all of the excuses, and qualify you for some tough points.

Take your stressed out friend, drinking alcohol preferably, you know they would rather be someplace else doing something else. Talk about "soccer" until they hate that. Then begin to reminisce about all of the old glory super bowls past. Talk about the hats, the clothes, the punch bowl, the popcorn, the bbq and the hot dogs... and see if you can make them light up their excuses from the thing they hate. As the Hebrew topspin to local dialect for interpretation, the ladies like to manage you with six hit combos.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Previously I had found the treasure in the field (Melchizedek's heart) and the pearl of great price. Today I found another pearl of great price, even larger I believe (have not directly compared them), and today's pearl was smiley cut like a golf ball. So I thought to peel the onion chip off to prove that it was a mere crushed bauble. The onion skin chip peeled off, quite beautiful little lens, and the remainder is still a pearl of great price.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-first entry

New front page material, should assist with the clutter, may go through the present page later.

The world's first patent dispute. Everything leading to it is boondoggle in the setup, everything after it is boondoggle in the filibuster. Patent for "gun which started fire". One side claims to have the "gun which started fire" and the kiln to prove it. The neurodoctors counting pharaoh to death. The other side of the same monastery (boondoggle) has "gun which started fire" on the linen as the bicycle setup for the spindle sticks to keep the thread moving through the linen.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

From trees packed to the dome, trees espouse birds, birds develop as humans (take whatever amount of time to do that), humans begin to become semi-sentient and practice modelling the world around them, picking up leaves and pressing them. In the rehab routine, don't forget to roll your tongue against the roof of your mouth and press that--at the tip of the tongue there's a trick to squeeze your salivaries, that's a paper presser trick to clear the siphonies from the numb spots in your tongue. Humans, without fire, except for perhaps a lightning strike (and humans were marvelous at allowing theirs to go out) or the oracle with the eternal methane glow to them, had already walked back and forth and surfaced what they thought was the planet. They were eating the best baklava, they could warm and press the dough for the bread without a problem without fire, they had plenty of sugar and honey supply whenever necessary. They didn't have juice pits yet (coincidentally). This is a really good template to cap to Template TImeline's introduction.

The humans became bored. They could walk the routes and pick up the leaves and press the paper, but why? They had plenty. Sit back, relax. Enjoy. Breathe. Say,"Ah." They became bored.

Sit still and we'll try to knock you out. Here, start counting. Just sit still and we'll walk around you do stuff and try to knock you out. Try counting while we do it. Just keep counting. Sit still, keep counting, and we'll try to knock you out. What else are we doing? Just let us try this. We'll wake you right back up (this time, until we all, as a group of idiots, get bored doing that, because we've already done that last time). See, he's starting to skip and miss. Oh, *plonk* there he went. Okay, wake him up (this time).

Eventually, after enough this times, then you can walk through all the things you get to do to wake him up without quite waking him up yet. Sure, you could throw him to the birds and hope they carry him to the phairies, but the birds are good at knowing how to make him wake up or the trees will make him roll into a dog and then he'll never quit going. So you may learn to take him apart, all the ways, and all the things. Now the brain. When he was beginning to skip and stutter, see these boogers here? That's where he was counting. Maybe the boogers are spaced differently than the last one I showed you, but these are the same ones because we knocked him out the same way. You may learn all of the things you may do to help him get knocked out, which ways to wave your hands, how to direct his eyes, and maybe you set up some of those lines ahead of time. Begin with a throne and a canopy top, eh?

So learn where the counting boogers are. Is that speech? Well, because this is a boondoggle from a patent dispute between the neuros and the people in the linen factory, you know that you already roped the monkeys together to help you pat down all the paper. You know how to steamroll a whitebrain human. Give us one of those white-brains, and we'll put a little booger in their to begin with, warm him up, and then you can work on him like this pharaoh we're taking apart right here and you see if he counts the same numbers. Maybe he begins to limp a little on his walk, too. We'll work on trying to get him to kick out that booger, and then we'll work on knocking him down the same way we did this pharaoh we're taking apart right here.

The humans outside the model are breaking each other down and making noise from bad air. The humans managing the model break down playing with their model inside, the whitebrains get setup. The humans outside run out, the humans inside run out, the white brains staff the positions.

The history of neurological revolvers in the world. Packed, counted, numbered, prepacked, prepacked hard coded (siphon), prepacked hard coded regions develop into barns, barns develop into r-sides, r-sides develop into laws, laws are arranged in kingdoms, kingdoms in Tor, Tor into a net, a net pulled back to a canopy, the canopy topped to the stem.

The architectural lines in the model work with the position of the throne and the lanes of the canopy top.

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

The R-side and dental whitening

The r-side. How do you staple a booger into a brain? How do you staple boogers into a white brained steam pressed new baby? Take your tongue out of your nose, bite it. Use these teeth, bite this much. The modern edition managing the lineages to the table of the nations do not even need to know exactly why the book for this box says use these teeth to this depth of tongue. That's the way it's done. As a white brained baby you are run through rows of progressive boxes of various architectural lines, left wall, right way, ceiling, floor, biting various teeth and depth of tongue, and *BANG* stapled that one on. As a white brain that will leave enormous impressions on you. Staple enough r-side together maybe you make a barn. Staple enough barns together maybe to make a curtain. Work on perfecting the curtain and moving it to the greatest possible severity level while maintaining a living functional individual able to accept job training. Then, when shipped upstairs, the women are able to observe the settings for your "ARRRR"-side under the curtain. White brain trained babies, before leaving heaven, are checked and calibrated to ensure that, after the r-side has been set, they will indeed adjust their neck and floats (eyes) to accomodate their r-side settings in quality assurance boxes. Shipped upstairs the ladies, with plenty of room of exuse to not know anything, receive the baby with the r-side.

And that's a good excuse. There obviously is no r-side because you are obviously a naturally grown baby.

With the r-side, they find your best box, the box where your eyes and neck and head are most closest to what they consider "normal" or "good start" (and really, you're stuck in the middle of the mummies' tomb, and that should be obvious), and teach you a word. Then they watch your r-side. Your r-side may be full right, it may be full left, it may be some combination of getting the crap stapled into you at scientifically predetermined paths and routes of settings, but your mom is obviously not looking for it because she's just playing with you as a baby, and she loves you, and wouldn't know anything about any r-side setting and this ridiculous thought that it would have enything to do with your floats (eyes), the way you hold your neck and head (when you're happy, when you're sad, when you are under 15 foot ceilings, when you're stuck in a woodshed).

With your r-side, at your delivery (this is chronological), if you're not a rainbowtard, they can watch your r-side settings change when they hit you with the isopropyl, when they hit you with the multi-amine mix, when they hit you with the grammy of silica. All very important pieces of info for the database tracking you, individually, in the matched eye brain smile r-side system.

Your mother may watch your r-side setting with your first best desalizized breakfast, and the smell you make for it.

Then maybe we work on your r-side settings in your home, in your various rooms, in your relatives houses, teaching you these words along the way. Watching for any side excuse to develop. Because you have not only an r-side, but an entire law of Tor of stapled r-side making a net over some potato chip section of your brain (a cap over about the very surface of the brain stem).

Then we take these yearly photographs of you growing up, because your speech is yet quite simple, and we will match your speech with your smile and work on that neural configuration for you in particular on the r-side.

Then your dentist may give to you the dental x-ray carboard inserts. Of course your dentist is not watching to see which side you wince more on, because you don't have an r-side. Then the people you begin to meet at that time in your life are obviously paying no attention to the changes in your voice and excuses you make for the laryngitis and common colds you get, how your smile falls and in what boxes, after you begin to experience visits to the dental assistant. They're working on your teeth, did you know they had so much interest in the r-side of your smile?

Then... after the database for the r-side configuration and usefulness and scenarios (along with your breathing secret password and its changes along the way), then we can take your wisdom teeth out. We can both work on the material determined to that data and glean new extra information from the common cold, laryngitis, and social setting modifications after that.

Plenty of room for excuses and nobody knows at every level, plenty of room to keep passing the torch and building on historical victories.

But that's all ridiculous, and has been for years since the beginning of BSM and before, because there is no r-side law of Tor potato chip slip capping your air off under eight thousand hertz. That's stupid. That loud voice, that guy must have three genomes in the nose or be a freak or something. Nobody has a voice that good. Even rainbowtards accumulate decay to their golden throats. Everybody has an r-side and, if you ever begin to work on it, then $THEY are the people with the D, and the K, and will show you the G, and they get to check as often as they want to see if you're A, okay?

The t-ru-t-he of the matter, the prophetic interpretation of the saying of the word t-ru-t-he, is t-ha-t you are ruining yourself for the money. and you know it. the flavor of truth, the metallic tinge, is on the glass when you acknowledge that,"Yes, maybe I am going to hell." swill.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

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

Hell
- Phairies
- Dogs
- "Did you f* the dog?"
- Stop crying or lose your eyes
- Stop whining about hungry. You have kept these frontal lobes in cold storage all of your life, they must be food for you. You have never moved any air through them, they will taste like vacuum cleaner bags. In the polymorph carnival the crow is all frontal lobe. How much you hate any particular crow is related to how far above your voice and it what direction the crow is. Games may be played profiling you vs. different crows and, though you may have bad days and misbehave--overreact to one or underreact to another, you do mostly follow the crow profiling quite well.

Interpreting most anything is similar to finding driving directions. Begin with an Hebrew topspin in mind (s, t, p, f), have a knowledge of the transformations in numerical counting (garden counting with alephel's wingtips--ancient eunuchs weren't counting by ten or twelve but closer to two thousand three hundred and twenty-four at a time, melchizedek one hundred, sons of israel, apostles) over the ages, remember Latin and the Bible, and then finish up in regional languages and local dialects. Works very well.

Balance your speech. I have written of the stressed ah system, ah stresses to oh, especially if they're riding your shoulders, ah massaged politely turns to ee, but watch out for cramps in the ankle and knee, that's your clue that they're pretending to be nice and clipping you off. That develops to the en el er o u, eventually to a e i o u with syllabylic construction, and on into split languages in the talmud.

Begin with (exhale) "Ahhhh" (inhale) "men"
Then ex "Ham" in "Els"
Stress that more, as time goes on, humans become more stupid, the drunks are whining from the juice pits, ex "Home" in "less"
now, over time, "what's the password" becomes a complicated game, with all sorts of allowances for excuses. The further stressing of the oh and the necessary balancing could enlarge and have large ridges cut into the top, for example,ex "Hear O Israel" in "t-he Lord is God".

You need your Ahs and your Ohs (keep your EEs to yourself, we're Hebrews around here, no need to go interpreting dreams for the drunks and the witches making wild excuses), your Hams and your Els. You want a Ham-El, not a Ham-Er. If you have too much R you will need to get your boos, and ladies have whiskey heels to make you drink. They heal you like the phairies, the only way they know how, they pump you full of it and then go-ssssssss-ip it out. Part of the rehab program is training you to keep your s and your t to yourself.

With the in out nature of the human social development, turns as the complixification of the regulated breathing password system descended through all of the available combination and permutations, with a limit set by how much air the humans were taught to move in the regulated breathing combined with the extent of the brain canopy and its progression, and the rewrite, when God wakes up, after the entire world has been sent to hell and failed, is people claiming kingdoms of "the right way!" on their particular Talmud set of broken down approximations.

Full glyph rehabilitation

Are you finger painting or touching up? Did you do the real work first? Has your voice dropped? Is your voice continuing to drop? Are you continuing to work on it? If I attach a light bulb to a microphone, is the glass half empty or half full? Well, the glass is very dim, but it's your special job to help fill it. HAHAHAHAHA! What would you do if you began walking into the contest dog boxes one day and the very dim glass, explained for thousands of years as your special part in the world to help fill it, is suddenly half full, and you can't move it anymore, because the new standard is a pubescent human? Here, blow into this tube, we're checking to see if you're drunk. HARDER HARDER HARDER HARDER!

After you have gone for the walk, after you keep the goose egg wallet balance and residency time, after you begin working on the left right to approach left from right breathing control, have a notice clearing in your voice, probably made it through the two or three months of daily barns, then perhaps you may begin working on the glyph system to accelerate your participation in the Fifo2ed mantra system for rehabilitation. A glyph is a structural arrangement as a quick reference guide to an enormous amount of material beneath it. After the entire field has been filled then, if a high throughput form is necessary, a glyph may be created to maintain particular focal points and important structural lines. A white brained steam pressed individual is very sensitive to adopting glyph methods for passing social situations through the day--which particular points of the shoulders and elbows are necessary to avoid abusive criticism (animal sex perverts take any criticism they can get, from any end of the food chain, and that's a big fault to the tree of life), what constitutes "hurry up" when walking, what constitutes "try harder" and need to fake it because you can't, what exactly is "mind your own business" when all the adults are constantly looking to you for a response?.... You learn both the right and the wrong as a new white brain and the first four weeks of training have beaten you out of really wanting to work on it that hard.

After you have reached a particular level of expertise with the basics of life, in out, up down, open close, left and right, then develop systems of cycles to remember all of the muscles through common daily tasks, much of the small time general maintenance may be then approximated as working on the lips and face, mostly the sinuso region of the Fifo2ed mantras. Batman is a good glyph to hold the face wide up and the eyebrows up. Superman's diamond is another method to remember the shoulders and the outsides of the eyebrows. The Oriental glyph system is always looking for new faces while the old reliable ones have already been set in stone and cut up into dialects. The USPS eagle on the side of their transport vehicles is a very good glyph to remember to keep the cheekbones up and the eyebrows in a sharp line with a good chin. A detailed diamond is a good for the fine tuning of the sinuses. Families and lineages have their own important lines, regions and cultures have modifications, local areas and individuals make their decisions. Nobody goes through and finishes the whole field, everybody is trapped under a brain canopy, possibly hampered in additional ways.

Even if you have a frontal lobotomy, you maintain yourself on _the_ program to make your voice drop, and a larger number of the boogers filtered from your sinuses and nose will collect like tetris. Your body will give you the right ones (because you will be working on it) or you will play tetris and rearrange them on the way. On the other side, cut the tether (Zechariah's out to get you too, if he's too strong, maybe you could be the one, when he wakes up, and we all know that Mel never made it past the door, so Zech gets comfortable in the cart like everybody else always has), kick out the dog, plant a garden (if you really want to play tetris that quickly and are that absolutely obsessed with it, otherwise you will probably stretch out from the inside especially when you learn the left from right compression breathing, with the gurgling abdominal actuator to give yourself confidence and faith that it is working), and go for that walk!

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Paschal lamb has always had a ring of truth. Even in his darkest hour, paschal lamb has always had a ring of truth. He's been sized with an antenna so many times inside of his run with cinderella's carriage. That has always been his ring of truth, that nobody else in the world would have, because nobody else in the world has been sized with an antenna for $count_rooster_tail years. The really really really pompous asswipes overseeing the idiot process around the paschal lamb have seen that as his greatest benefit and (hopefully, for the evil ones trying to make money) his greatest downfall. "You have that special ring of truth about you. If only you could build on that you would be just fine." If he builds on it like a barn then maybe it will lead to a slip, trip, or fall somewhere. If he could build on it like clearing out the boogers (go for the walk, get a handle on any open space you have available) then maybe he could make it.

The ring of truth is similar to the isaiah spinal adjustments and the paschal lamb's shoulder. Mummification does wonders for resurrection, but persistent repeated injuries, even if repaired, leave small lines and characteristic artefacts.

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

Lift up your heels. Why not? Well, because it's funny. Learn some excuse, learn some set of excuses. That part of your brain is alive, keep learning the excuses. Humans come preinstalled with that particular "barn". Thousands of years, tens of thousands, of research from the earliest doctors on the earliest pharaohs, and all of the later doctors on the steam pressed white brain new ones, have allowed the practitioners to know within lineages where the raised heels are and how to inflict an injury massive enough to target that section of the brain without leaving an enormous swath of dark matter in the years to follow. That point and many others, together, may be known as the law of Tor. Minor injuries to a fully functional human settle to the surface of the frontal lobes. Injuries may be deeper and more massive, leaving various trails and patterns of accompanying dark matter coordinated to the physical location of the injury. Enough injuries piled on all together, while training and leading the human away from necessary self-improvement practices, may form a surface wall to block out entire regions, even to form a physical plane top to bottom and left to right. Study to the nature of the surface of the plane, as with the raised heels, allows practitioners to inflict the point pattern of the plane and allow the remainder of the frontal region to clear and heel, diminishing lung and vocal capacity while retaining higher functionality without terribly cramping down muscles and joints and motions; blocking out only specific corners and angles, gestures and sounds. Humans tend to be a competitive lot, especially when they box themselves in to close quarters, excuses to the way things are done never cease, and over the years the "coming of age" procedure includes a complete application of a law of Tor. The remainder of aging builds on that and the process is excused as progressive bouts of laryngitis and minor aches and pains to accumulate over the years.

What is your excuse? Make any excuse you like for the dead spots and silent regions in your brain. You will. You will learn, in your language and culture and local architecture, all of the necessary excuses to never need to raise your heels. It is always a joke. You will laugh, you will chuckle, you and everybody around you will never even consider it as the excuses are pushed to earlier and earlier game finales in life. The are many such jokes built into your language and into your culture. Tor modeled a set of six hundred of them reliably known to accomplish the goal. White brained humans, initially for experimental model purposes only, were increasingly being used to fill the population both outside the modelling agency and, coincidentally, the earliest replacements inside the modelling agency could be trained to flawlessly complete the task to steam press a new one and complete its necessary training for its role in the running model. The roles in the running model required progressively worse white-brains to model the real ones hanging out in the juice pits, branding scourging and deforming themselves to hell (would you like to get cut up into twelve pieces all at once or would you like the million dollar payment plan for your stay at the house at gerar? would you like to pre-order your last box of eggo, pray you are able to pay for the extras you want, pray you make it that far), and the real ones denning up and rotting to hell with perversions (melchizedek's two week notice breath; you begin to bore me, get the hell out in two weeks or that guy by the fireplace is beginning to look like a sultan, the light is low and the lines in here are odd).

By the time the real ones figure out many different ways to avoid going to hell (qualify to get poked into soap and make wax, qualify to be rolled into dogs, too many dogs, qualify to be sewn into horses, qualify to make camels, qualify for the experimental monster derby dashes, qualify to be pressed into a brick while we try to figure out how to end the madness and ship everything left to hell), the steam pressed new ones are completely brain capped to the stem and with lifespans to match the models being used in the running model (brain capped to the stem, with a line of sh*t to cover it up, and then brain capped on the stem again with the same law of Tor) the entire time. White brain replacements in the world being modelled went through stages of improvements, there were complaints about behavior and complete lack of any sense, but the real ones kept denning up and dying off, so population vote brought white brains to near equal rights with the ancient real ones that couldn't raise their voice above a whisper.

All their lives long they crave and hope and plan on that final box of eggo, it's selection, it's quality, the side dishes... and the gunboats come upstairs loaded to kill mowin' 'em down.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Breathing. In BSM I calculated a breathing cycle "final anaesthesia and prayer" for in out cycles. Based on Roman Catholic Latin chant modes in the Christian Prayer; the chant modes seek to balance the syllables and the tones used for them across swaths of text and scripture. Sudoku, read these syllables and observe the numbers above (or count the numbers, or elevate the tones, if you wish to be working on the ranges of your voice and the pockets in your brain). Recently the demonstration of the rainbowtard access to brain cannon (there is no global brain microphone, there is no suicide by prophet, st. steven, first martyr, suicide by prophet, had all of the finest jokes but they kept sniffing his speech because they were planning to burn those barns anyway--if you resist a barn you add up pressure and accumulate other blockages in other resonance routes leading to and around it, that's called hatin' on somebody) encouraged me to think about the breathing again. What could you say to at least fill the vocal chamber of your brain scan and create some noise for the idiots with access to the brain cannon? IOUDOCLR... "Aaaaaahhhhhh" "meeeeheeehehheehhehehen" "Aaaaaaaaahhhh" "meeeeehheheheheeehehnn". That sort of thing

Then I began thinking about the doctor with the stethoscope. He's not listening to your breathing or heart, so much really, he's listening to your "password". What do you say on the way out (when you're not thinking about it), and what do you say on the way in (when you're not thinking about it). Doctors then would have a generalized method map for how your brain canopy affects your trained in and out syllables. Knowing how that changes, and how it has changed for you since the last time you were listened to, may give them clues about the entire brain system. They may not have the direct map to all of it, been a long time since the pyramids, but like anybody else in life they likely have little tricks and things to watch for. The doctors do have a game on your recovery. "Ha. You only nicked him that little extra bit with that cut, but he's so stupid, I bet he'll never get that back from the pt he gets in that place." Place your bets. The tricks may then be policed and hoarded and kingdomed by tracking your breathing password. Did you fix it on your own? Did somebody else give it to you? Do we know it well enough (probably) that we know exactly who out there could possibly give it to you and help you fix it? Do you look like you're working on a total improvement program to fix it yourself? Place your bets, follow 'em around... while they go to work on the paschal lamb's underarm tendon with a sawzall. "You only nicked him that little extra bit..."

So then with the breathing password and brain canopy I began to think about sizing the antenna. The telescoping coil spring loaded zippos that the gunboat is packing. Sizing the antenna. They're trying to knock you out, by talking to your doctor and listening to your secret password, knowing exactly where that big dumb spot is, knowing exactly how much your "raised heels" barn has built itself up, knowing exactly how tall you are. Then maybe she missed. Then there's cathetar therapy, a little to the left honey, slowly, okay, now move a little harder, uh-huh... you're not helping her so much as she's helping you around the bend and past the voicebox.

Continuing on the wax museum with booby trapped stage models... there are the "pets" again. Did the amoeba EVER think to walk backwards? Mostly positive that, as a baby, even you walked backwards because it felt funny. The eyes are on the sides of the head. Watch your fishtank. See those fish? They don't swivel their neck around. Fish cannot really swim backwards so well (though even fish get bored enough to try it on occasion, and you may watch if you have the fish tank), but you watch them pivot their eyes, because the eyes are on the side of the head, and it doesn't need to swivel the neck. For having the eyes on the sides of the head your dog directs attention like a human... and it never thought to walk backwards? Maybe in play, maybe tug of war, maybe in fright, but it never thought to walk backwards? Cat, maybe twice I've seen a cat slide backwards a step or two... but they don't do it either. Cats have more forward eyes for that swivel neck attention span. You train your dog to play dead, you train your dog to fetch, train your dog to smile and laugh, train your dog to shake hands, train your dog to pop up out of the woodwork and laugh at your joke so as to surprise you, but your dog has never on its own thought to amoeba backwards a step? If it passed "something" on the sidewalk it will swivel its neck like forward facing attention and turn around like a fish?

Look at those eyes, stupid.

One of the finest tricks we taught the white brains was regulated breathing. Play dead. Now stop breathing. You will need air, eventually, but no time soon. Air is like water on talmud. I decide I need water, but it's around the block, so I decide I need to pick up water. So I walk around the block and drink, and am no longer thirsty, but continue to need to pick up water because it's a good idea. I don't do so at the time because I do not want to carry it. Then I later become thirsty and remember that I should have picked up water. Eventually I pick up water, but am never thirsty at the time, and somehow never really become thirsty for another three or four days, when I drink the water to avoid carrying the weight on the arm. The next cycle of the day (night, day, night day) I will become thirsty again and decide that I need to pick up water, get the drink, and continue to need to pick up water, eventually pick up water, carry the water for days because I am no longer thirsty, drink the water to remove the weight on the arm, and promptly become thirsty again. All week all month all year long. That's air, too. You could rot away quite a bit on methane dried soap before you really play dead enough for us to throw you into the box going to hell.

We taught the white brains the regulated breathing that we would know the moment that they broke through the training, and to keep down all the crap noise in the model towns, and later real towns, being increasingly staffed with trained white brains. Humans are like that. To the bottom of hell you will be asking "WHY?", still trying to blow that smoke ring and work on it.

Because you will never open up your brain canopy, overcome that sphinx, you will allow yourself to "go wild" screaming for air on cue long before you ever drop your voice to move any of that air through your frontal lobes.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and seventeenth(a) entry

The brain canopy model has been working out very well over the course of the day. The brain canopy model for the brain blockages; hard coding in modern day is using rumplestilskin siphons in the bundle of hay down to the brain stem before the table of the nations. The running joke model for the languages, the languages written as yearly paths through the talmud; every language actually has several thousand jokes available to it, from which a pool of six hundred plus are running your local area, from which a pool of six hundred plus are planned to be built into you to assist knocking you into power save mode. The eiffel tower model of six hundred plus scripts, about 120k phonies and 20:1 jobbies, all actors part-time-sharing a wardrobe in the middle. Each eiffel tower proven ahead of time in aqueduct arrangements, mosaics, groomed trees to flagpoles, and all the money for any size arrangement of eiffel towers cross-checked by three-stage rocket paschal designs of nation:corporation:shelter level allotments, stack eiffel towers side by side as necessary.

Morticians have progressively lost their art over the years. The degradation of the adult mummification process, the need for tear gas and bleach in sodom and gomorrah, the need for the model to have her own prep trailer and modern boys don't know what to do with soap anyway.

The cuing system in the sphinx. Cues that travel between the lifetimes counted on mosaics, grouped in aqueducts, choreographed into eiffel towers, from a larger pool of cues prearranged in houses of servants acting in day of atonement parties, entire day of atonement parties of masters packed together as a brick, entire pyramids of bricks arranged into lawn trolls and great garden walls. Take the model area of mid town La Jolla, the design district of 92037, with the chicken witch pole viewing area against the great wall of Jonathan's. Abe Lincoln and Ronald Reagan were sitting right there on the back steps of Evertt-Stunz, each talking with Elijah and Moses about the walk they needed to go to, and the prophet cannon is lined up right there in the wires crisscrossing the chicken witch pole, if you view it from Melchizedek's chair (adjacent lot) slumped over as if secret asian man just popped you out of your skin and is getting ready to take your carcass on a different route over to the german rebuild factory when they continue on their journey from the orient. JFK rides in the car down Torrey Pines, waves to everybody in the babylonian furnace when they reach Girard, turns up to pearl, and makes a lane change to Bishops. She's not putting his head together, she's sitting on the curb there at Bishops and is looking over her shoulder to receive a bag of groceries; messy delivery and the groceries spilled everywhere, including the jar of aromatic nard. Martin Luther steps off of the soap box behind the BevMo, walks across the stage, exit stage back, down the hall, round the corner to the parking garage and BANG!, right there in the cold corner. Martin Luther is like a reincarnation of Moses; doesn't know what's in the bread box, objects when he finds out, "Martin, as you are leaving due to bread box objections, tell us, how many times did you contribute?" "Uh, rr, NINETY-FIVE THESES!". Martin never gets hot with the bread box, he gets clipped in a cold corner, and afterwards they ship the bread box to his congregation and tell them to make money like they owe for startup fees. Sounds like five-loaves two fish to me. How much do you owe, Nathan? Master, even three hundred days' wages wouldn't be enough to keep even a few of them from calling after nightfall all night long.

Peter, Peter, if all of this is true, what are _WE_ to do?

Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

The booger canopy lines up well with the history of the world. The trees begin to the roof and the trees espouse, then the trees espouse better, and soon the trees are putting out birds; your spouse is like the opposite of you, not terribly useful, but they take care of the interface between you and the universe, the things you really cannot do. Soon the humans realize some sort of sentience. They do well for a while pressing paper and collecting all sorts of good things to eat, rolling dough and honey long before they heat things up much; the cover of the Koran is Melchizedek the mad confectioner dripping honey everywhere. Some modernization is required, as Mel is really Arp v2 with all of the structural units in place around the firepit, and you wouldn't dare call a Koran a Mel. Modernization to paschal lambs has the mortician making minced ginger on paschal lambs chest and then going crazy and wild; a compression of cues which have stacked up to his life. More modernization has the adonis arriving for late night consultations with paschal lamb during the passover, the crowd is going wild on the baby, looking for any remaining keys. The mortician, earliest, arrived to take his first at the passover and leave the rest for the dogs. Modernization brings Herod back again and again in the script. Modernization of the script includes the "head mortician of the dogs", the guy brought in to knock the paschal lamb down between the first few segments of the script. The head mortician of the dogs is the second in line (of those bearing palm branches with clothes washed white in revelations) after the baby is reheated, and John Saul Paul "it burns" Atreides, but they are yet the head morticians of the dogs, and even lardass tetrarch Herod is above them.

And all of that is pretty much sealed up and written in stone before the paper pressers put the trees down to 90%, the world is a multi-layered dagoba upon dagoba. By that time, though, everything has already been done, and the drunks are beginning to hang out in the juice pits. Then fire hits, and those oracles (if you know where they are) already have an eternal flame and soap dried over methane vents. You shouldn't become addicted to soap over methane vents, that'll give you a bad booger and that'll grow into a barn if you don't know it and work on it before it gets too big to be too late and then you'll need a pilgrimage to work yourself up again, but DAMN it is _cold_. By that time you have paper folded up approaching twine or thread, too, so maybe you'll find fire from fast thread on spindle sticks and gearing ratios. The scarecrow is the project to sew it all in 2D, have those people fold it up, fill it with seewater, and zap it with lightning. That never worked but the monkeys figured out what we needed and slipped a few into the paper rolls to help us figure the rest out. Along the way mapping all the 2D the neuromorticians figured out where the key boogers are and began screening the population to find out how to assist those in accumulating, like too much methane dried soap for example. We don't even need to make much sound to get this done yet. Humans are scary enough when quiet, when they make noise they're downright freaky. Modern times sees that humans are freaky enough when quiet, their voices are so thin weak muffled and low already that they're downright spooky when they make noise.

Over the course of cutting down the multilevel dagoba arrangement, because the drunks were getting meaner with fire, pushing on zechariah at the door, the morticians were retreating further into the basement and staying there, losing their art-of-training along the way, you found all of the really nasty "soap over methane vents" addictions and booger arrangements. Then you found how you could pound those in ahead of time. Then you perfected how you could those in ahead of time, deeper to the brain stem, thicker, tighter packed. As society turned around it they connected prepacked arrangements with degradations in the people, that late in life injuries could be known to assist a prepacked injury, and the prepacked injury could be increased and adjusted to imitate the entirety of the late in life injury. Aaron's golden calf, progressively to now with remote control jiggly blobs and push-button poop, on one side and taxidermied beat-to-death and reanimated from the other side, meeting to beauty, splendor, and the excuses for the prince of lies in the middle. It cannot possibly be a lie because you cannot prove it.

Are you able to train that guy to walk in his sleep? Sure. I can train him to walk in his sleep. How about talk? I've been training him to talk in his sleep so long, what do you want him to say? Walk and talk, we make the dead do that. Dance, do tricks, chew gum, type with Braille. Make Lazarus rise from the dead. No problem. Modernization sees the loss of the art to walk in the sleep, but we now have wires. Everybody had a neural net when we knocked the head off the sphinx, but then we put the headdress on for triangulated wifi. You don't need the actual metallic neural overlay on your brain anymore. Now we booger up a canopy over your brain stem and call it a day.

There's a table game called Ker-Plunk. About six hundred sticks, prearranged, inside of a social game that stares at you too hard and makes you put that stick back in. How many boogers are in the brain? About three pounds worth, but don't squeeze them out all at once or you may blaspheme, cause an aneurysm, and play ketchup too quickly for your nose to filter it.

Humans slowly degrade, day of atonement parties (designed to help screen out and identify lost boogers) begin to provide nothing but excuses for the missing sounds. Some humans keeping a model of the situation identify the key missing boogers and meticulously characterize their development and ultimate completion. Six hundred plus booger positions are identified as key necessary to knocking a human to power-saving mode, and the day of atonement parties are grouped into languages to assist with their completion. Repeat as necessary in a fifteen step double-blind matched clinical lifetime circus. As the entire six hundred point canopy becomes hard-coded, as the route to completion becomes more well characterized and more quickly established, then the starting position for the entire canopy may be moved further and further back along the frontal lobes, as experimentation provides and as the adjusting society allows. If an adjustment is ever too wild, or blows a hole in the canopy, then the resulting human begins moving way too much air in way too many wrong ways and sounding completely out of whack within the social setting and architectural arrangements around them, all given zoning ordnances and codes applied. Over time the real humans themselves run out, and the entire set is staffed with the trained white-brains, and the trained white-brains do have a kernel layer which is devoted to white-braining new ones and training them to fit the set, including the booger ker-plunk sphinx canopy applied as near to the brain stem as possible, with hard-coding. And not entirely coincidental, too, as the model needs their separate trailer to keep away from the healing itch (and blow their model career), and the life expectancy of the white-brains before they fully accumulate the six hundred point configuration has been dwindling as the day of atonement parties have improved their efficacy.

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

Your brain has been canopied. Your brain is shaped somewhat like a kidney bean on end. You have a brain stem on that end. Between your brain stem and your frontal lobes is a canopy, a network canopy, a network of canopies like umbrellas stuck from the stem to the top of the canopy, preventing you from achieving your full frontal lobes. You are able to hear in that range, and digital music sounds better every year, but your voice and your air are trapped underneath the canopy and, by some but not all coincidence, in the lower section of your mouth and none of it in the upper chamber and, by some but not all coincidence, none of it resonating the air in your frontal lobes. Doctors (some, most, not all, obvious red herrings for plausible deniability and scenes to support the same) profiling your hearing, obviously, have never quite achieved the data points necessary to determine such a canopy, and digital music sounds better every year. Priests, similarly, knowing about sins and retributions and improper interactions and loud voices in ancient scripture and neurosurgeons taking pharaohs apart for thousands of millenia, never quite envisioned that there was a canopy keeping your voices down. Tor's law was, at one time, a logical puzzle game for the rich kid to figure out as he took over command of his legions and regions of vassals. Long before that, Tor's law was the gospel proof that there associated subroutines in the background would indeed produce, reliably, each and every time, these six hundred (plus some) enormous blocks in the brain to result in this canopy effect.

How to make them perpetually exploitable, yet retain functionality for accounting purposes.

The festival of booths. The beginning of the year kickoff party, contests of wit and witticism, plenty of jokes and skits with espresso and cheesecake, picture Robert Deniro opening the World Series,"How many of these are you able to pick up in one night [over the course of the week of parties] and still make it to the end of the year without declaring bankruptcy!" That's true almost back to the first real ones. Tor's law was the game of day of atonement parties, day of atonement parties being compressions of musical chairs sessions, and every year the humans went through the whole bit trying not to get knocked out and shipped to hell by the end of this year. That game was too severe and wore out as the humans developed and refined and expanded all of the methods of idiocy between those six hundred (plus some) boxes. Now the end of the year bankruptcy isn't being fully shipped to hell, but maybe you offload some of that debt to your vassals, maybe you have your servants pick up some of those barns for you. As a whole the community managed to lengthen the game and make more options and more fun, as they en totale lost their voices, lost track of their voices, and developed and refined the method for applying this real canopy. Enough time passes and the communities' entire voice is wore out and thin, the last of the real ones are dying out (accumulating the last few touching edges to the final few barns and achieving the cold-knocked state) from aging and not from too much cheesecake and bad jokes, and the priests coordinating the model of the losses never make it through the door and they keep playing with their model.

Soon the real ones running inside the community are running out, and the priests trapped inside the door playing with the model of how the community goes to hell are also running out. So the priests beginning staffing the roles with fill. It's a model of how everybody is going to hell, everybody kept going to hell without replacing themselves, so little by little over time they staff with fill. But inside the door the priests are still going to hell, because they never make it past the door, so they begin staffing themselves staffing the model of how everybody goes to hell with fill. Soon the model staff and the model are all fill (after the end of Ninevah), and everybody is going to hell. That was the beginning of Sodom and Gomorrah.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Mortician, midwife, anaesthesiologist. In modern times staffed with replacements and fill. The brain canopy is the sphinx and, like the hamster maze, is really only just barely large and thick enough to ensure that you will not break through it. Your frontal lobes lie just ahead if you could possibly clear out that staged brain canopy. The brain canopy is a self-replenishing system, within the architecture of your cities and the social games of your languages. It takes time to clear each booger, it takes time to clear each umbrella, it takes time to clear each layer and portion of the canopy. If you wait too long to clear the boogers then the sections regenerate; keep riding that turnip cart, keep denning and lairing (lair 'n' get us) in the subwoofer boxes, keep falling for the same old jokes that are trapped up as posts and guides and, whatever you cleared in the steam room, hot shower, or nasal scrape this time will reaccumulate, if not by tomorrow, then definitely by the next time you clear your register.

Your brain stem is your rank on the food chain, your frontal lobes are mostly just for show and glam. But you aren't really born, and you didn't do the work to press the paper, mummify babies, and cut down the trees to set it up. If you could get to know your beginnings then you would have no problem clearing out the brain canopy. Eating your own roots is not getting to know them but, if you like that sort of thing, go ahead and have more on your way to hell.

Removing the brain canopy, rehabilitation. The ninth Egyptian plague, the people couldn't move, and neither do their voices. In your system of breakdown your voices deteriorate slowly, bit by bit, all six hundred plus barns in the brain stem. If you had achieved real puberty then your voice never really quits filling, never quits expanding, continues to improve bit by bit as you heal and improve--whatever you wish to argue your top end to be and, if you could do the work to get back in touch with your intellectual side, you would agree with me. If your voice hasn't changed today, if your voice hasn't improved today, then you didn't make it, and you aren't currently making it, and you likely have no chance of ever making it. If your voice is not changing today _and_ you already have the weak and thin voice of a brain stem then you are also likely not going to make it.

How much money is this voice worth?
All of the Melchizedeks that never made it past the door
All of the Noahs that could not forgive and needed to get more
Everything beneath the boughs of Adam's tree
And all of the carrot sticks at the gates of hell before
Eleazar refused to eat pork
We signed the phairies to the downstairs
and gave the old woman her chore
from Ninevah to Sodom and Gomor-
Rah changed many things
And all of the dead dogs since
That is how much money this voice is worth

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

I gave the "-eer" styled rhyme over to PM Lewis Ha-IR-pinblu. This is the beginning of the "-or" construction, and likely the finished product will end up in mapfortu's section.

How much money is this voice worth?
I know how much money this voice is worth.
All of the Melchizedeks that could not make it past the door
All of the Noahs that could not forgive and needed to get more
Everything underneath Adam's tree
And all of the carrot sticks at the gates of hell before
Eleazar refused to eat pork
and the phairies were signed into the downstairs
And all of the dead dogs since.
_THAT_ is how much money this voice is worth.

Notice that Moses needs to stretch out his hand during the plagues. Samson, also, asks to be placed where he may stretch out his hands (in the babylonian furnace, as it turns out). Delilah is noted as being one of those storehouses of evil, and, Samson, you don't live here if somebody else cuts your hair. When Samson goes Jehu he forgets to step out of the way.

See how this silence, the cracking frog of (real) puberty, gives rise to this plague in a world full of prepubescent sodom and gomorrah servants? They never repent, they never know why, and at the earliest possible opportunity the derision and the scorn and the denial racks up with "what's wrong with your voice?" Well, there's nothing wrong with my voice. This is the cracking frog of puberty, I didn't lose it, I lost track of the sweet spot where it is. I am able to whistle anything up to way past your top sopranos. Speaking the words is going to take some more work on tightening up the lips and cheeks, just like real puberty. What a surprise. Most of your "men" never even experienced the cracking frog, but only heard that maybe once in a while they're voice rasped on the laryngitis. If you can't hear the enormous high end of air that I am moving you must be waiting to get the plague.

I do hope that it is so easy for you. For seven years you have fucked your dogs and your children on the sidewalk in front of me, staffed the entire area with drunks and shitters, waited in your little rapunzel windows at all hours of the day and night. You have watched me kick out every booger one by one, pushing your car horns and beginning the calling and yelling from around the corner to compete for my attention. What is not to believe? I do hope that, now that I have done the seven years of hard work for the Lord, demonstrating how to kick the boogers out and regain your voice, remove the aging, get over your aches and ailments... I do hope that the Lord cures you with a word, that all will be forgiven, that you can be made whole and new simply by the good grace that _ONE_ of us did it...

Are the millionaires trying to make somebody scream and holler, maybe lose their voice? The ninth plague is you coughing up all your excuses about all of the other sounds you never knew anything about. Maybe, if it does work out to that magical one word cure for you, maybe you will ketchup all at once.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Returning to recent days' observation about the nature of fish and fishing poles, power arms with hamster wheels (polymorph samosa) and lots of thread, consider this footnote. Now why the hell would the fish be differentiated to those that did and didn't have souls? Because even samosa contributes to multiple personality disorder, and we know all the different things the lampstand says in the various technological levels of the pirate party. Fish, we sewed them together, they polymorphed, they were ugly, we tossed them in the water, they didn't die.

Your languages. They are composed of many different sounds. Stenography, shorthand, are practices of studying that breakdown. Nobody really knows what exactly those different sounds are. Try your alphabet to begin and then work on diction and enunciation. Built into your languages are jokes, faults that you will fall for. If you hit a joke that you have fallen for repeatedly in the past then you will cough, you will sneeze, you will spit, you will choke, you will laugh, or anything else that means "you can't continue with the sound you have been prompted for." Conversation is a game trying to back each other into walls and make them choke. The barns you build in your brain are your personal choice of jokes that you will fall for, each and every time. You must, to fit in, to get a job, to make friends. Give and take. Tor mapped out his language and determined that it only really takes six hundred jokes to kick somebody's ass to hell. When they qualify for all six hundred (plus a few more as necessary) then they've probably been knocked out and shipped already (it takes fifty of those boxes to move your knocked out ass from the surface to the hell).

If you follow the method properly then, around year five to six, you will hit a multi-month stretch of kicking out those fireballs two or three every morning to day. I made it through about two months of fireballs. One twenty to one fifty or so fireballs out of six hundred, by age thirty, is about right. Look how ugly you hecklers are. Those are jokes. Don't fall for those.

--

In most coffeehouses and shopping malls we know how to get rid of idiots. Most libraries, too. The places are set up that way. If there are a large number of idiots arriving to make industrial level noise (seriously, jack braking down herschel, jack braking down every alley, jack braking down girard, cement mixers running back and forth between bird rock and the shores all day every day, every single diesel three-quarter acceleration and back off real slow, the screeching seagull has been replaced by the smaller birds and the crows, and as the sidewalk parade dwindles and gets checked the birds fill in... the back parking lot of Von's sounds like a mad aviary all day long, while I am there, the hummingbird that you think is so special stops to claw at my eyes and play the mechanical owl sounds and actions eight or nine times daily)... we usually funnel them out. Malls are great for that. There are posted cannons in malls. If you are a mall regular, and you indicate to the mall personnel (practice makes perfect) that you are there to admire the product, not touch a thing, look good on the way, stay the right amount of time, and come back on a somewhat regular basis, spend a little money each time... then the mall cannons take care of the shitbags for you. I love going to malls, when I don't have the millionaire mad mob devoted to killing on me. I go to malls and watch the shitbags line up around and behind me as I walk around, and then I watch the mall cannons pick the hangers off my ass. That is loads of fun.

So usually that happens... but here, this place... it is so obvious that the whole town is a glorified state fair park staffed with three dog pedos and worse up and down every alley on rotating three week visits.

Fi fie fo fum, I smell the blood of an englishmen.
You westerners. How you lose so much face? Same way you lose so much voice. Eat so much shit.
Semper fi, in my perception, is similar to "there can be only one!"
Seven eight nine ten, which plague is it again? The book of Exodus or Revelation?
Maybe the healing will be a magic cure for you, a one word healing, and you will kick out all of the boogers at once, be well, and ketchup.

In the bible there are often sections such as "and lifting his eyes to heaven" and the prayer which follows is formatted differently. The book of psalms and proverbs are nearly entire in such formatting. Those are DATA segments in a BASIC program. The prophet speaking in next weeks gospel for the presentation has a similar format. Zechariah, too, has a speech in such a form. These are quotes. In the gospel Jesus performs healings, magic lock and key boogers (the nature of the joke game in your languages to establish and build barns in your brain), but the reality is back in Ezra's day... YOU MUST CLEAR ALL OF IT! Between the two they lost track of "when is your voice going to drop". Slowly, surely, as the final men of Ninevah degraded and the newer experiments (later to become cities) were staffed with more and more white-brains, and then clashes over rights and shared lavatories and motel rentals, and they kinda lost track of when you actually make it (Revelations didn't really lose track). But you, the remainder of you, kinda lost track of it. Buried it in those funny religion things that people go to church to sleep through or maybe pick their nose. Could you people please establish a score higher than 4 for the entire mass? If the person next to you is scoring higher than ten the deacon is probably studying them as a potentially intelligent individual and counting their score.

So other notable DATA segments in the scripture, because over the turns of the carnival, in the transitions along the ages of the world, as the money goes from carrot stick to green eggs to green eggs and ham to dead green eggs and ham... often words change to reflect various role reversals. Jonah's Lord relented because he never actually dropped his voice. Sodom and Gomorrah uses tear gas and bleach to clear the stage (on the bell rope light switch mechanism) because they wanted it to look good, but they couldn't drop their voice and give one of the white-brains the plague. David gets taken apart and pirate party chicken gloved into submission because the morticians have progressively lost the art to tell them to just go ahead and sit still for a while.

Do you people even know what an "animal f*cking faggitt" is? Do you? You are not an "animal f*cking heterosexual". Society so apologetic and liberal that they style themselves free spirits and millionaires.

Father, there is no need to forgive them for what they do. They cannot even face themselves in the mirror. ... If you cannot face yourself in the mirror then you are likely not sentient enough to need forgiveness.

When you go to hell, the bugs have a way to help you. All the time you've spent going to camp for weeks as a youngsters to learn to answer "no" to any form of "did you f*ck the dog?" will work against you. At the end of the day the bug headmaster walks in. Asks whatever is todays form for "did you f*ck the dog?" When you say no they leave and do not pay you, no chance even for the blue blanket for you tonight. New job training. Bugs up to phairies cannot breathe left from right. They are straightforward people. Very honest.

The hamster labyrinth is built, scientifically, one step at a time, to be just big enough to keep the hamster. If we put the green eggs oil salt lick in there then the hamster does the same thing you do. The sphinx, similarly, is built, scientifically, one step at a time, to be just big enough to keep something with a bottle in front of them and a frontal lobotomem. It really doesn't take much to walk out. It does, however, take about the full seven years. Your language is a set of jokes, arranged in a game to score points in many columns and keep you away from the ones you need to free the older ones. What color (pick from 25) is David's last box of eggo? That's one of the ways we rope you around and get you to hate each other. What side dishes (arrangements over eight hundred) does David need with his last box of eggo? Again, one of the ways we rope you around and get you to hate each other. As you collect boogers the language game naturally rewards the people around you for not giving to you the sound you need, next to the booger you have, to make it itch and give you a chance to kick it.

The day of atonement parties are compiled editions of minor judging, a compiled edition of musical chairs... so specifically defining the system is a lost effort. Describing its functionality is the only reasonable way to communicate it. The structure of the daily movie set setup for your lives inside of the sphinx near necessarily dictate that it will take the full seven years walking through all the scenes the right way to score the lock and key boogers and clear those, give you the range necessary to clear the area around it, give you the chance to qualify for clearing the next lock and key booger in the next scene. Dealing tricks, playing cards, bidding and winning and taking and losing. Mauering, some scenes allow you to load the boat and sidestep out of the way as it cruises to somebody. Even if you begin working on the method it will yet take near the full seven years, and it will take the walk, because some of the lock and key boogers are locked out there on the road. I have described that effect in the eiffell tower model of the scripts. Key phrases or key sounds from one eiffell tower may be shuffled to adjacent groupings of people, and the scripts inside may still reflect that the sound exists out of play. The language has thousands of jokes built in (every booger out in the range is another available joke, and we took your tongue out of your nose to be able to beat every one of them out of you and know how), we only need six hundred to ship you in particular to hell, and there's a whole lot of people walking around in an eiffell tower of six hundred or six fifty movie scripts. In earlier years (after the pilgrimage) I have previously written (in earlier journals) that the scripting system of the sphinx includes boogers out on the road.

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

Be sure to maintain your voices at the prepubescent level while in Sodom and Gomorrah. In the story of Jonah, he obviously leaves in a huff and finally decides to make a million under the big fat gourd. The men of Easter Island, the final men of Ninevah, Alephel and Alephen taking care of the cut-up; Alephel goes to hell to figure out why everybody is dying off (long after the phairies have been signed away) and Alephen stays behind to take care of Mary. The next holy trinity setup features Gabriel, Michael, and that new guy Raphael that does nothing but read all the time. None of those guys never made fast to drop their voice, either. "The Lord relented". Uh-huh.

Bottle in front of them, then a frontal lobotomem... back of the brain musings, predestined bullsh*t, your sentence will finish up somewhere below eight thousand in the basement. That hurts. How do you know the talking eunuch is smarter than you? You talk with them all your lives and never lift your voice. Hey, Levites, are you still wandering around that tomb with all of those idiots following you? Watch out for those talking walls, there's an eunuch behind them. You'll know by their top tits. Spend more time knowing this from that, bread from wine, check girder, check short girder.

The latest "top spin" in my knowledge of ancient Hebrew. s' me, t' you, p' bug... and the new one... f' prime. Top. Big. pfft. You're a really big bug. With all available uses for inside jokes and humor and such.

Nerve agent. Good for you. Your surgical cut-ups like to mark you if you think you're getting tough. Usually when you begin telling them off for acting like a faggitt, repeatedly, incessantly, knowing full well what they're doing and still pushing for it. Then they begin to bait you for "you think you're tough, huh?", and then, if you think you're tough, they'll begin counting it up. Bait, bait, bait. In medical situations or government situations the male will usually back down, or rack up a little tough and then compromise. If you qualify to "think you're _REALLY_ tough" then they may lock you down on the bed. If you're not tough, but being stupid and crazy, you will probably pull your arm out and really hurt yourself. So, after determining how tough you think you are, then they point you up (let me check your pulse and temperature, hold your hand, stranger takes you by the wrist... any number of ways) with nerve agent on the outside of the wrist. If you are really that tough then you should be mean enough to break it down and squeeze it out. You should notice your voice dropping as you approach the point that you would be able to do that. If they locked you down on the bed it was because you scored to think you were really tough. You have your chance to prove how stupid you are before they point you up and part of the purpose to lock you down like that is twist your shoulder. You are not supposed to notice when the nerve agent goes shooting straight up your arm to your neck (lymphatically).

So, if you "make it", then you will have proof of how tough you have ever thought you were (looking down at my wrist; that is a science fiction ton of nerve agent), and if you are mean enough to break it down and squeeze it out. If they locked you down to hit you with this much you would probably think you had a full stroke.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

What are you trying to do with your heckling idiot mob? What is the point of the 24-7 Chinese fire drill, loud noisy parking lot? Are you trying to make somebody mad? Are you trying to make somebody scream and holler? Are you trying to make somebody lose their voice, cause laryngitis, make effect a murder? The plague is waiting for all of you that never knew anything about all those other sounds.

Maybe your parents were defective. Maybe you had family problems. Maybe something in your life was holding you back. I'll be your surrogate and teacher. I will teach you how to make it to puberty. It's not going to happen for you here. You didn't make it. The community just didn't pull together enough for you. Maybe you don't know where you are, or where you're from. Maybe you just don't fit in with the local language. Your real nuts, your frontal lobes, are about 2500 straight miles away, plus lots of hard work after that.

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

Breathing left from right (pair of compressed nitrous fifteens). Improve the Fifo2ed regimen (I, personally, continue to work on mantras similar to the fifo2ed patterns, but improved and updated as I ratchet out all of the injuries and gain more points of perception along each limb, coordinated, in proper time, able to separate from the breathing and the facial routine and change rhythms). You should be able to breathe in and out, compress and decompress each side individually, left from right, double pumper. The phairies cannot do that. Is also the earliest definition of "funny" in the brain. Stupid (idiot, runt, faggitt, etc.) is boogered up enough to miss pubescence (Adam, et al. and all of the religious carrot stick chewers before that, and all of the other basic vices, alcoholism, true perpetual sloth, and others, in the times before it's all lumped together for ya, and you need the money to count it on the way), crazy is wet and blubbering about it.

You're missing out on real pubescence (my custom koss takes twenty minutes to warm up). Adam, toldja, kickin' yo' stupid butt out of the garden (in whatever age and frame of the world at the time, true vices, carrot stickers, city slickers, city slickers that must keep their own dead animals as props... why do they need to crap?), you will not be able to procreate, you may beat up your brother and cut him up in frustration, to keep up your story scripts, would take way too much to go back and change all of your lies, eh? like father like son, and seth will sit at the gates of your temples begging, and they'll take him in and practice all the ways to cut him up, too. Adam promptly leaves the garden and begins steam pressing new ones to spite the lord, never goes for the walk.

Fish. (my morning cerwin-vega) What is a power arm with a hamster wheel and lots of thread? A fishing pole! (my dual voice coil rockford fosgate) Hamster wheel, simply siphon, that simple airplane stick with the ridges cut into it, just get it going the right way. Fish. Take spongeblob ritz and sew him to an arm, any arm, maybe a hand, what do those fins look like? do they look like the polymorph position of your fingers or something? as a glyph, maybe, as a pattern. you should know how to walk the fish, walk the dog, know where you've come from. What are fish? We threw the dog in the water and it wouldn't drown. That's the polymorph eunuch carnival!

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Lately, if I ever take a second sitting at the library computers, the symantec smc pops up a box asking about this that or the other. I already know that the ladies around the place listen is as they type. This is a perfect area to demonstrate that the different kingdoms of the stalking mob are separated. As john the baptist is told to watch for the remote control seagulls (and, in modern days, they listen for "the horns", if "the horns" sound as if they are riding on everything you say then they know that you are the one to get), they know that such things mean that other components of the stalking mob are on you, though they may have no individual knowledge of how where or why. Jesus, why do some not marry? And he says for this, that or the other. Jesus, where are the remote control seagulls from? Well, kingdom of heaven, rainbowtards, eunuch management supervision techniques, etc. etc. etc. How about the brain cannon? I don't think the bugs bother with it much. It all worked out in their favor way ahead of that--they have keyboard network access like everybody else. Heaven and the rainbowtards are really the only people to have brain cannons, though the rainbowtards may subcontract and employ as the "people that make dreams happen, baby".

So, to demonstrate. If you wish to find the hecklers, they are always around me. If, however, you wish to find the people that keep popping up the symantec box on me, you should find these people and these people. Good efiin' luck.

Happened upon a book of pottery. Google images is okay for "pottery" plus "yalalteca" or "zapotec". Look for human faces, heads. Notice how many of the faces and heads have a slight sneer on one side of the lips, and a relaxation in the face? That's a combination of cain slugging abel and setting his ose, the hot steam blast to the face, and cyanide. The modern day persian culture has retained a trait of the cyanide. Their particular dialect, their definitive female voices, are the characteristic pull of working on the lips and squeezing out the cyanide. The south american culture, and the table of the nations assigns the traits of "soap" to the mayan looking fellas, features quite a bit of good pottery to show the earliest stages of the combinations of the scripts, the culmination scene as the "Ham" tree in the sphinx viewing area. The steam blast to the face, how often (by the firepit), how bad, how much is he working on it, the cyanide in the food (or anything else known to be that bad, by whatever method), which one, how bad, how much is he working on it, getting slugged in the face and shoulder by his older brother (or, for Ham, dear 'ole drunken dad), how bad, exactly how much is he working on it... etc.

A good demonstration of the EAZ corporation dancin' on the altars and rewritin' the books after killin' off the old soap pokie staffin' the door... along with no mention of "food chain" in any internet scholar pages about the millionaire method... the caption here in the book reads "969. grey pottery head, on a damaged funerary urn, possibly belonging to the category known as the "Goddess with the Regional Coiffure of Yalalteca". Zapotec, Monte Alban, Oaxaca, SOuthern MExico, Classic Period. Ht. 12 4/5 in. (32-5 cm.),

and then...

The loss of part of the figure reveals the method of construction with the cylindrical urn behind. British Museum, London."

Every one of them, eh? To fit along with ths ridiculous and obviously crazy interpretation of the planet?

--

When is your voice going to drop? Predestionation, prepubescence... predestined bullshit, ignorant noise. I know about what range your sentence will be in, eight thousand after they ship you downstairs. Today's world features the kingdom of heaven as a proxy, but the comparative difference between hundred (Lotus 1-2-3 degrades over time, Notes! does nothing but keep checking on you and bringing you down) and eight thousand is silly. The paschal lamb, however, is possible to spend four thousand in the foot pedal box in heaven and then, as a withered husk, be shipped to hell and checked in around year five or six thouand. What's the difference, eh?

Free will is perhaps when you begin to clear out that upper room, get that air chamber back, keep working on it. You do not finish improving until you grow your wings back and stick your ass to the dome and help everything else grow back with it. Little by little. Over the last year, in the months before the supra voce, my voice improves the same way over the course of the day every day. Every morning there daily creep to clear out, and every day the same full round edges come back by nightfall, and every morning the same thin daily creep settled in. Day by day, about the same, but once a month the daily measure kicked "into overdrive", and then again the next month, and then again the next month, that the last month's daily increase may have been close to the first month's voice... and then the supra voce works the same. Same daily level, but about weekly now, the daily level increase on the supra voce about doubles. You never quit improving if you actually make it.

You could backslide...

Millionaires are cuckoo for cocoa puffs! You know what they call "pussy whipped", but is really green eggs stupidity settling in? Well, okay, but think of how stupid that makes you... you want to get back to it, and you'll cut every other decision close to do it.

Millionaires are green eggs oil stupid, and their green eggs oil nipple is the cocoa puffs. Like you going for the miracle whip, the millionaires will tell any little lie to get back to the d* d*.

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

Over all of time, over all of caller log, the incident of "dogs at midnight" is a large data set. If you mad lib the data set "dogs at midnight" in the caller log, you will find a blinding "looking for steven" within a one year range. Notice the center triangle on video games such as strike eagle, the white triangle in the middle of the console for flight sim 2, the aim pointer for leader board, and such pixellation which was stylized by that format is the fastest way to draw triangles. Modern day video cards picked that route to draw planes because it is, indeed, the fastest way to draw planes. The millionaires have never found anything else with their dogs when they are "just out walking their dog" at midnight.

During the day, the millionaires are never doing anything. Across the entire caller log, for the world, really, the millionaires are never doing anything during the day. Over the report you may find that they were out walking their dog, but they were never doing anything. It is only at midnight that the millionaires are "just out walking my dog", and that really presents an elite data set, about n=1, "looking for Steven".

Innocance does not sound like this. Your voice did not drop. You learned to cut and paint your brother for various excuses. You learned to press new ones. You used the new ones for games in every possible way. By the time you actually needed the pressed new one because your own were running out, then the standardized boilerplate method to press a new one includes the first four weeks. Because the cut-up painted brethren were given the kingdom of the pressed new ones to play with and test in every possible way, and that's the way they kept count of everything that it took to cut everything down to this level and set it all up. The first four weeks are more or less the same for everybody. Over life you may "get more" (farmsex), but everybody is 20,000 boogers down by the time they see daylight. We press 'em and pop 'em, press 'em and pop 'em.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

The path of the Lord, puberty. You need to go for that walk. The method (man) knows if you cheat.

After the walk, the walk to plane up your metabolism and trim down the edges, there are another four years devotedly "working on it" to kick out the remaining boogers. Your languages are trained to keep you away from that, if you have indeed participated in those sins.

How do you know what nationality king David's final box of eggo was? Well, that's kinda of one of the ways we rope you against each other in the cards. How do you know what particular side dishes David demanded for his final box of eggo? That, again, is one of the ways we divide and conquer. You will hit that last box of eggo. This was set up to ship you to hell when you've had too many.

There are, formerly, many ways to ship you to hell. You need not only become involved in farmsex to make your way to hell. We have alcoholism. We have laziness, elevator and turnip carts. All have their own taxes. If millionaires would devote more time to the stairs they could work out their tailback but, why?, they'll make another million and buy somebody to push the elevator button for them.

--

Hm. Well, the millionaires are not proving any measure of innocence by arriving for one of their little boys to lap his dog in the computer room. Yes, the first honest word I have heard from the peanut gallery in a thousand years,"It really is kinda tragic." In the honest voice too. Appreciable.

Revelations, a few more to continue from yesterday's collection...

2:17 hidden manna. paschal lamb's elbow. How do you do that? How do you make somebody's elbow pit for their entire life? Leader Board golf tee with every pirate party and other events, packed full of the same sea-p-honie mud that they use for the rumplestilskin.

19:16 the wounded thigh, while we are talking about wars and insurrections and blood and guts and how we go about naming thngs... that's actually on both thighs of the paschal lamb. The right thigh displays the enormous packed scar for the hot rock, the scar tissue "banana" was removed for safekeeping on the left thigh, but the rumplestilskin sea-p-honies have indeed collected in the places where the hands were installed.

On the medical note...

The number of times that I have held a position somewhere in this range "Moses, stretch out your hand" or Jesus, stretching his hand over the water... now just let the hand and arm move around a bit from there like a spaghetti noodle. The number of times I have, in that more-or-less situation and position, looked up and thought,"oh, it looks like you again" and then dropped my head back to the right shoulder thinking,"I'll figure it out eventually..." as I drift back to sleep. You see that big 'ole blob knocking out of the back of my wrist. That's the nerve agent, another one of, in addition to, along with all the others... Aladdin's lamp. The nerve agent mark that's so beautiful because, to this point, it was once and done. These others keep coming back yearly for more treatment.

--

Since the time I have been telling Adam, and adding up all the time since then, you need to leave (Melchizedek's disease), go for the walk, and get the perversion out of your head. We cannot use you to make horse if they eunuch you.

You know these are your ancient cousins, Adam. "If you ever see one of the boys hit one, remember to pay reverence to the dead."

Old times. Hey, pharaoh, what is that master-servant relationship all about?

Pharaoh, you'd better bring some herb or I will roll you into a dog and ship you to hell.

New times. Hey, pharaoh, what is that master-servant relationship all about? It's about whether or not you have three hands (WAAAH! Eunuch and adonis sack Zechariah at the door, raid the temple of the sphinx, wear all the headdresses, dance on all the altars, rewrite all the books for the rainbowtards; no mention of the food chain in material about beastie perverts, millionaires "just out walking their dogs" at midnight find, exclusively, "Steven").

Pharaoh. [are] You better? [yet] Bring some herb, 'or (heh). (eastern dialect) I roll you into dog and ship you to hell. With three hands I can't even roll you into dog and make a horse. Obvious you dropped out of the mosque. Most I am able to do is make a siphon out of you. I am going to make you quit your job and go push that button.

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

I know what the truth sounds like. It sounds like reading a joke fire drill notice in the toilet. HO! HO! HO! Green giant!

People have wondered for thousands of years what they would do if the Lord came again. Well, now we know. They would pick up their faggitt festival double-time and try to freak him out. It's not the second coming of the Lord, though. It is really about the twenty billionth coming of the Lord, but humans fell to staying inside boxes and sexing animals. The tree of life moves enormous amounts of air; if you do not keep up with the tree then the tree drops you. This is not your fault, this is not the tree's fault, this is the way that it is. This is the path of the Lord. The path of the Lord is not about assigning fault and blame and punishment and retribution and "things we get to do now". The path of the Lord is about,"Are you going to make it or not?" The tree of life moves enormous amounts of air. Keep up with the average. Try to make it to puberty. In Tobit's time the popularity c-ah-ntest was much more forgiving, and half-dead bodies, practically zombie decrepit, were lying about everywhere (because they wouldn't get up and go for the walk necessary to stay alive).

Scholar's note: Tobit remembers the words of a prophet, Joel maybe, which dates both characters towards the end of Sodom and Gomorrah (before the next iteration creating Tyre and Sidon--the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah was really a test run for the tear gas and bleach to clear the stage when necessary, after the test run then the show continued for so long that the light switch was long broken and the bell rope long tattered and inoperable). Interpretations of various bits of the story of Tobit continue to have relevance to all stages and ages of the world. How did Tobit go blind? Well, maybe he dinah'd himself and ate too much farm sh*t for the money. Or, there's an even older joke (from the time of walking upright on your legs, if you know),"What happened, did you hurt yourself?" "Naww, sat on a patch of old eunuchs." Tobit went blind because he was using one of the rumplestilskins as a crying towel.

When the truth, the tree of life, is _THIS_ obvious... well, they continue playing the faggitt game showing off their animal sex toys. If you didn't look like you were approaching me to show it off then I wouldn't say anything to you about it. But when you're approaching, tiptoeing, leading the animal towards me as if you're running on one of your children,"Are you ready to do it yet? Are you ready to do it yet?" then I am fully going to advise you of your lack of voice to debate the matter. Jesus made note of this: up to the days of Noah, up to the end (heh) of Sodom and Gomorrah, they were eating and drinking and partying and having sex with anything they could wrap their hips around or stick their dickie into.

Until your voice drops, do you know where the babies come from? First, you go pummel-fuck one of your cut-up brothers, and then your brother takes the points to add up and qualify (yes, like aluminum recycling, their is a game sieving, lining the pockets, diluting the solution, increasing the volume, go figure...) Do you know all of the uses for mummified babies? Is not really necessary to dogfuck the baby to death after mummifying it to animation, but it's an old system, an historical system, and that's just the way they do things. Jobbies haven't been going for the walk, either. The path of the Lord: Are you going to make it or not?

Laryngitis. Your brain is an enormous cavern of crevices and passages. That's your instrument. You're about twenty thousand booger pockets down by the time you see daylight, enough to ensure that it will take seven years walking from one lock-key mechanism to the next, plus the bulk work and daily creep, to clear all the boogers. Of the booger pockets remaining, if your brain should get dried, in any particular pocket or region, by your own festive exertions, or by a box fan, or by a blowgun (pulsing air cannon), then, especially if you catch a sudden jump or fright, part(s) (or more) of that brain will stick together. That stuck together region causes a problem, because your instrument has been tuned differently than it was the previous day. Have you seen a pinball machine looking for the lost ball? Your brain is trying to unstick the new pocket(s). The common cold is your brain ratcheting through all the available spaces and attempting to regain your ability to make sounds without cracking, splitting, whiffing out, or other terrible such scratches. When you have managed to put together a full twenty-four hours of unhindered breathing (with all of your activities and talking in the time), then you get over the cold. As you are doing it wrong, on the downward slide, you will now have more booger pockets filled and less voice. Your religion, your path through life, may as well be "laryngitis".

How does she know that she is okay for you? Will you "make me sick"? Will you give her laryngitis or make her sick if you get to breathing too close to her nose? Well, stop breathing so heavy on the telephone. Are you able to contract laryngitis from a telephone? Not with your little prepubescent boys. But, as a test, sometimes they will spend hours talking to you on the telephone, going through all sorts of emotions and situations, to ensure that you're not going to rattle one of the boogers stuck in her brain (heh) and give her a cold. The other method is relative. Your voice will never drop, you like to use your dogs for attack because your dog has more voice than you, your (dead) dog is the most air your bed will ever move. They spend all day long getting a run in their stockings so, while they keep you prepubescent, they know that you aren't moving near as much air as the motorcycle ride. No fear of laryngitis there.
Remember when you learned how to whistle? You were counting more numbers back then, weren't you? The practice of learning to whistle involves, exactly, doing what? Pulling your face up.

Laryngitis is the "stuck ball" in the pinball machine. The common cold is the method to release, as much as possible, the stuck ball. The plague is when the entire machine is filled with stuck balls. You don't die. You get into an infinite loop in a boogered "dark fibre" section and then power save there until we ship you someplace else. As a population popularity c-ah-ntest, while the entire population degenerates at the same level, then your brain is never bothered with the sounds that are boogered up. Should somebody happen to go through the motions to clear it all, though, especially the upper room (from 20k down you will need to go through the seven years of lock-and-key boogers, each booger is a cramp on a muscular position, before you can even shove your tongue up the back of your nose without going into a day-long sneezing fit), then perhaps you can replicate Jehu at the temple of the Baals. Or the plague. Listen to all of these stuck balls!

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

If you would stop picking fights and telling lies... I am trying to teach something about nature to you.

The ten Egyptian Plagues
The book of revelations includes seven plagues because the Egyptian method to puberty was back at a time when the seven year process was still the seven year process, but people were only five or ten thousand boogers down to begin with, and the gamut could be stepped through in a more methodical fashion.

This is not hard and fast one hundred percent. As with all scripture various scenes may have multiple interpretations given surrounding settings and desired applications. This analysis will turn the Egyptian plagues into your route to manhood (puberty).

Water to blood. Your income goes bad, your family goes bad, your friends go bad. Time for you to be a man.
Frogs. That's the jericho idiot mob of animal sex eunuchs. Moses will speak of the daily extras,"pay no attention to these, you will never see them again in your life"... or, as I like to say,"The daily extras are CANNON FODDER!"
Gnats. Go for a walk. Life was tough before mosquito netting; and the phairies ate the smaller bugs.
Flies. The beginning of this plague is a toilet mobbing. Return to the games of the frogs. Religious scholars may be able to read more with the hint to "Goshen".

Notice that Moses keeps stretching out his hand. We don't necessarily _NEED_ to beat newly mummfied babies to death but that's the way it's done, and Moses would have been a paschal prophet and have the same shoulder and arm problems, and probably got his pulse and temperature checked with nerve agent, too.

Pestilence. Not that it's really important to your puberty, but when the spirit of truth comes he will make known all things, and if you're clearing out the boogers and releasing your neurons then you will figure it out. What's with the difference between these animals and those? Maybe has something to do with the eyes? Notice all the animals are of the furry kind. Father Abram didn't have horses, father Abram didn't have camels or donkeys. Yes, it is worthy to note. Why did they not say cows and chickens and dogs? Not so much as one of the Israelites' animals had died? Maybe they already were...
Boils. Realm of the dead.
Hail. Applications both to vocal range and the ability (not size or bulk) difference between voting and runtling. Do not send any little meatfest boys to a c-ah-ntest with a real man. I will blow your ears off and you won't even be able to tell your friends how you lost.
Locusts. Hungry. That's one of those inside out maybe jokes. You shoud be fasting, you should be tightening up, hunger pangs are good for you... but, yeah, I am hungry enough to chew my own eyelids. As I have been doing this for so long, though, one full size meal (say, the usual $8 burrito and pack of peanuts) packs me tight full like thanksgiving and I need two bottles of Mt. Dew to bring my sugar to where I wanted the meal to bring it. The honey roasted peanut plus maple brown sugar oatmeal with muffin or cookies or sugar-biscuit broken up into fares better for the sugar (and perfect for the brick) but not quite as well as the satisfaction.
Darkness. The rest of the people don't know WTF to do, because they're voices haven't dropped, and they don't want to believe it. They like having sex with children and reanimated animals. Along with the pestilence, why the need to make such an assertion about the animals in the darkness? Maybe it's a hint to their eyes... See also v 28 and 29. "Pay not attention to this Egyptian, you will never see him again in your life." That's Moses knocking on your tailback while you're eatin' it. The mechanism here is a scripting nuance. Pharaoh rides it on Moses, Moses will need to go ride it on the people. See also Jesus telling Peter "get behind me, SATAN!". So, as a movie producer, try to figure out who said that to Jesus just prior to that, and who Peter will need to go say that to after that. Humans are like that. Whenever they get a real good new jab they turn around and use it right away.
Death. Jehu knocks the temple of the Baals into power-saving mode, they develop the plague from too many lost balls in the machine, or else you're gettin' the hell out of the house and goin' out on your own.

When is your voice going to drop?

The book of Revelations. Again, many different ways to size the scenes against the scope and breadth of history and ages of the world. Again, we'll take this as your route to manhood.
The first vision. Actually, John is locked up in a viewing room as he watches the festivities over the newly mummified baby. Here, record this script for us that we have a running account of doing it the same, or noting what we've changed. I'll try not to get hung up on these nuances which are not directly applicable to the plague system to manhood. Lampstands (1:13), arms and legs (pirate party).
1:15 voice of rushing water
1:16 keep track of your tongue while working on all the rehab... work with the Melchizedek one hundred
The "seven stars", and other stars. These are the talents and shinies you will find on your route to manhood if you're walking the right path. Today's scripture describes Melchizedek's heart (not real impressive, but with plenty of stones) and a big pearl (I have other pearls, not just the really big one).
Letters to the churches. As you wish, cross-reference with either the table of the nations and the heirarchy of financial superiority. Lots of talk of voices. Notice how the churches being written to appear to have this little trick or trait system over each other. Whoever has ears ought to hear the difference in your vocal range if you're doing it right.
2:9 Pretending to be this and really blowing dogs and eating farm sh*t. a Satan rose against Israel, causing David to call for a census. Satan is an affliction, not an actual personage. Their high anxiety lifestyle from eating farm sh*t. That 102 degree lust for money. David's plight was also attempting to follow Ezra's route to clear out the realm of the dead... "how many of these f*ckin' things are there? YOU! KEEP COUNT that we don't get stupid on anybody else trying this." "But, sir, when you work on the rows and patches, we can't hardly keep up!" "COUNT BY TENS OR SOMETHING!"
4:1 another trumpetlike voice
4:6 another one of those crystal shiny things
4:8 living creatures covered with eyes... not so much eyes this time. You're looking at the any port in a storm jellyfish that the eunuchs make down in heaven. They also have groups. They'll put together more than one asmodeus and then writhe and twist and bring them together and apart in a dance. Imagine this playing overhead while they all get together and move around each other, entering, leaving, entering, leaving, bring this one (entire group of conglomerate jellyfish) over to this side of that one, etc. etc. etc. Covered with eyes, in addition to the number of people involved in the clusterf*ck, covered with places the paschal lamb was hit with the hot rock... modern day Asmodeus has lots of eyes and hands.
5:2 who is worthy? (Isaiah) And the Lord spoke to Ahaz and said, ask for a sign! And Ahaz said,"NO! I am an animal f*cking faggitt! My voice can't do that!"
6:15-16 Jesus has also been known to say,"Days are comin', says the Lord, when you will look on those mountains and say 'fall on us'" Top tits are the call sign of the eunuch. Man's inhumanity to man... racks up... every time you think you're gettin' yours.
7:13 Who are these people? Those are the rainbowtards, lining up for their shot at the newly heated mummy baby. The letter to the city of Philadelphia
8 Much talk of stars. "A third" of the stars, a third of the sphinx's nose, about 200 hundred to 300 of these talent shinies (each square on the sphinx's nose is a managed script in the eiffel tower scripting setup, if you continue to live then you will catch their special attention and they will wish to keep a close eye on you) by the time you make it to the supra voce.
8:11 Wormwood... many people like to think "Chernobyl", but I believe it's much less important than that. Some of the shinies you pick up will have already been tested in master vs. master rock crushing contests in the hydraulic press. A knight is a tried and tested talent, but perhaps the diamond crystal has darkened from microscopic transpositions in the crystal lattice.
9:7 PHAIRIES! Bugs out of hell. Samuel recently fired Saul for attempting to find a mutually agreeable contract with them. The phairies yet have statues and figures in the world. Frosto, for example, is a phairie straight out of hell. The kingdom of heaven works mostly with the oscillating crystal transceivers (diamond talents and shekels) and the remote control robot video game arcades, they have a small and rudimentary hook to the digital network world when necessary. The bugs, on the other hand, have full network capability, as we went through all the trouble to sign them into permanent apartment dwelling. SSG has the network of world dark fibre under control. Our dark fibre network has confirmed the presence of frosto, and other phairies, from hell, on the network. Frosto's always been pretty cool.
9:20 Of course they didn't repent, as in the time of Noah, Sodom and Gomorrah
10 Believe me or not. The smallest scroll, the smallest servant, sweet in the mouth but sour on the stomach, John the baptist was stupid enough to eat the locusts (have you ever attempted to digest and pass, say, a bee?).
11:2 the forty-two months... three and a half years coping with the forty thieves before you get up the nads to go for the walk (Jesus settled for a forty day fast--see how that turned out for him?)

Much of the interspersed verbage has applicability to the scenes of making the jellyfish, the scenes of making the mummified baby, the scenes of participants after (and before) the paschal lamb is heated. Some of the characters are the doubles and the roles used by the groups of assailants in the forty thieves system, should you personally be on the path to try and make this work.

11:8 these corpses that don't get buried... because when they catch the plague I am not going to do the work to clear them out. I will wait for the phairies to notice how quiet it is and come up and pick up the bodies themselves, like they did in the old days when they would knock somebody out with the neurotoxin on the carrot stick at the gates of hell.
12:1 woman giving birth, producing the new paschal lamb to take the place of the one that they're currently "preparing" as John watches. The "next in line". The rooster tail on my tainted naval adds up to much more than 2000 years. The baby is taken away to a "safe" place. Uh-huh. All wrapped up in Cinderella's carriage, going from one well-protected bread box to the next.
13:3 mortally wounded head, the boils, the realm of the dead, specifically, the patch at the top of the crown of the head provides a real tight place for the fasting individual to press the paper. That is the "hit this light switch" region and many many many of the siphons will be pressed to it. It's not a patch that you sat on, it's the tightest and thinnest part of the paper with rows and rows of sinus-lined pez dispensers feeding it.
13:4 Worshipping the dragon... the dragon is the temple system prepping the mummy baby... which gave authority to the beast... the kingdom of heaven now makes you eat green eggs and ham, no more seeing the phairies, they have the interface layer for the money... Eleazar refuses to eat pork.
13:13 from time to time the patches will heal--winter cold and dry (with damp mornings) is a great time of the year to just naturally keep pressing and tightening and pressing and tightening. I am guessing that, towards the end, eventually the laws of the dead begin to run out.
13:14 the major money maker is the gypsy caravan carting the dead bodies off stage and propping up the new replacements in the great grand show of the sphinx. Forrest Gump is the chosen rich kid that swoops in to claim all the credits and laud and glory and honor after Lt. Dan is successfully driven up the pole against the storm and moved out of the way. Lt. Dan never knew how profitable he was. Gump gets to enjoy it.
14:7 not only does he have the loud voice, but he managed to regenerate the wings on his ass, too.
Spend some more chapter time walking through images of the egyptian plagues...
17 Now we can start hearing about the harlot.
17:8 beast existed once, exists no longer... look at the dark eyes... and yet it will come again (the dogs in hell have living eyes)
17:10 Looking at the chicken witch pole and remembering that asmodeus has LOTS of eyes these days (not just seven or nine, like a hannukah candle holder), "we three kings plus the fourth dead one", but the fourth dead one is the old model that still looks dead. New model reanimated props are practically indistinguishable (except the eyes) from the formerly living polymorphs. Perhaps the passover described here is not three plus one but five plus one. Like it would really make any difference in a 36 hour beating. Likely the increase was not because of any severity, but to keep track of the numbers and the increase in nations and differentiations necessary to keep the whole network script system together and lined up properly.
17:11 Yeah, the dog is the picture of desperation... get that damned sinner away from my firepit! Has been a long time since any (living) dog actually walked through the process to put the ritz back on and twist back up to human. As the old priests used to tell the dogs,"We don't know why the trees grabbed you. If you're not part of the community of witches hacking on the trees then you will do what it takes to twist back up to a human. If you are part of the community of witches hacking on the trees then you are all going to hell, anyway."
18:2 Not only are they cut-ups, but there's a big historical process keeping track of milestones and landmarks. Here, hold on to this for us, will ya?
18:3 Mild cases of green eggs oil brain damage stupid, millionaires faire better because they already have it... there's a reference to the poo for brains in here somewhere...

Somewhere in Rv (21:10-14) was a city of avenues. That's one really big shiny. I have it on my keychain.

18:21 That millstone is a number of things. It does represent a shiny. Also the millstone $500k payment for a box of eggo waffle, a sprig of hyssop, to play with. That's not the millionaire's child, or their neice, or nephew... that's their eggo! They paid good money for that thing and they will do whatever they want with it!
19:20 false prophets. Rooster tail? Blood of the covenant hand? Solomon's temple on the chest? Tainted naval? Voting voice? Any talents or shekels or other diamond or other crystal shinies not insured by somebody else? Walk with raised heels?
20:8 Gog and Magog, dogs and pedos, dogs and pedos
22:15 See how those people are outside of the Lord's chosen city? Going to hell...
22:17 Jesus, in the gospels, also talks about the gift of life-giving water, the water that will never die... like frozen crystal ice? Diamond, perhaps?

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

Today's scripture was uninspiring to me, a repeat of the baptism (in some visions John the Baptist is looking for a fall guy, and the remote control birdies tell him about the next most appealing available target--the Forrest Gump routine, the target goes one-two-three through the schooner blender at the bottom of the chicken witch pole and then the favored rich kid faggitt slides down the guy lines and picks up the christmas presents left behind by the fallen, and all the millionaires banking on their head leading up to the fall) and a few references to where the Lord formed you (the anvil of the world, the diamond core, has already been cut into pieces and the massive leftover hung up as the moon), in which particular mother's womb, because after they cut the trees down and mine the place out then your mother's womb is the kingdom of heaven, the mine, where they take care of the real intricate sewing work.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

I decided, with the voting voice coming on, to have another look at the Egyptian plagues and the book of Revelations. Read those two and make whatever excuse you like for puberty. The Egyptian plagues, ten of them, at a time when all of the checks and systems could be spaced out and clocked through by the numbers. The book of Revelations, now we have only seven, because they somewhat blend together and run over each other as you make it through the metabolic fast and achieve the sufficient levels of healing (remember Ezra the priest-scribe? He wasn't concerned with miracle healings and lock-and-key mechanisms to cure particular ailments... "You gotta get _ALL_ this sh*t out!"). I have always talked of the "kill with a word" or "power word kill" as the seventh plague. Worth noting in the Egyptian plagues; Moses, stretch out your hand, and after a few more months of the _REAL_ puberty I will be more than happy to hail (the eighth egyptian plague) on you when you want to get your meatfest on. Faggitts may be big, faggitts may be strong, but there is little doubt in my mind that nature long ago took care of the problem of runtling vs. voting. The law of Moses calls it that master-servant relationship.

The book of Revelations is another good readthrough. As a jobbie you see these lines "people pretending to be Jews but serving a beast and Satan" several times. As a jobbie you think maybe infiltrators, pretenders, the disingenuous and the few really evil people, maybe in some enormous corporate conspiracy together. As a jobbie you never quite think that all of the millionaires (and "rich kids") are sucking animal dick and eating farm shit for money. Well, now those parts of Revelations aren't so hazy anymore, are they?

The "loud voice". What is this "loud voice"? If you were to audition for a part in a movie, depicting a scene from Revelations, would you be the individual with the "loud voice" or would you be one of those people pretending to be Jews but serving a beast and Satan?

Okay, you don't have the loud voice, 'cuz you didn't really make it through the egyptian plagues the right way, and you didn't really achieve puberty. Face it. Now that you know that... what's up with these harlots that have become storehouses of evil? You mean evil? Like Zechariah's other hand, Father Abram's blind eye, spongeblob ritz, and all of the medical modifications necessary to keep that war machine running in order (they feel like 2500 year old football players at an inch tall psyche... they're window dressing. Don't give them a hard time, they have it hard enough). Drunk on the wine of harlotry? Every boy has thought "pussy whipped", but did you know that millionaires faire better on that angle because they're already swillin' down the brain damage for their club membership? Do you know what a dog really is, do you know how to make a dog, do you know what would be left over? Do you know that the leftover spongeblob yet continues to be "alive", and does secrete? Like every other cell in your body, even if the whole organism is reanimated corn smut, the individual blobs will continue to function as tissue components.

And the dead dogs. In the Egyptian plagues, what's with the difference between their animals and our animals? It doesn't matter which way you feel like swingin' the joke... read the egyptian plagues and honestly consider that there are a few tongue-in-cheek inside jokes in the bible (more than a few). In the book of Revelations, there's this king that existed before, but is dead now, but the one coming later will be like him again. Or something like that. Read it. The dogs with live eyes are waiting for you down in hell.

The city of Philadelphia, the ones given that special chance, the rainbowtards that don't get the grammy of silica gel shoved up their nose at birth. But they're lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, and the Lord will vomit them... because they go through life making money at cocktail hour, hokum zoocum cocktail hour, and running around from one veal closet to the next chicken basket to pummel, beat, and drive whatever sound they can get out of that half dead festering thing locked up in there.

The 42 months... the three and a half years before the pilgrimage.

And that part about all the people dropping down but not being buried. Knocked into power-saving mode. Jehu at the temple of the Baals multipled by none of their voices have dropped.

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

This morning I saw the special police "Investigations" vehicle drive by. Is this on a yearly schedule? Of course it is. I have written it up to explain it to you if your life is too haphazard to notice the religious recurrences.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Previous evening once again featured a repeating scene. I have written that all of the refurbishing projects in midtown La Jolla have followed me around the block. The contractors work mostly at night, making a few day endeavors to keep up a show, and some nights they don't work at all but only stick around for a few hours to heckle me from around the corner.

Last year, sadly I did not write it, featured near this exact same scene. The bank at the corner of Girard and Silverado is being refinished. As the yearly irrigation schedule walks me around the block for naps we saw again the scenes attacking me closer to Girard and Herschel at night. Because the Girard and Herschel scenes are so idiotic, I move up the alley a block or so (because the remainder of the town is filled with rapunzels, and part of the rapunzel game is control and monitor the available spaces to move to), and the contractor team refurbishing the bank building provides the trouble. They wait for me to arrive, then they wait for me to lay out a blanket, then they wait for me to light a cigarette, then the heckling begins. I hear the voice begging on my ear and so I ask, at no audible volume, of the woodshed across the way "are you hired to be here to pick a fight" and the voice begging on my ear replies, loudly,"YEAH!" Okay, fine, I will continue whispering to the woodshed that you need to go f* your dog. Then the beggars appear from around the corner.

Wait, you're on a jobsite two hundred feet away. I have never been on a jobsite where we were allowed to go poking around the corners of adjacent property looking for trouble.

The beggars appear and begin taunting and jibing, openly. I stand up to shoo them off and the three beggars (with coworkers waiting in the backgruond) begin puffing up their shoulders and advancing for a fight. Back and forth, exchange, raise voices, one of the faggitts will, just as he did last year, take out his box-cutter razor and begin lighting up sparks from the concrete as he advances towards me and his coworkers keep up the heckling. When I advice him strongly to put the knife away the entire area erupts with laughters and cheers from around every corner.

When the construction crew begins taunting,"We called the police" then the lead box-cutter will begin with,"I love you", "I love you", "I love you", "Can I give you a hug?" Well, okay, when you report to the police your innocence be sure that you include this forty minute scene of you begging for a fight and finishing up with your confessions of sexual perversion to a complete stranger. It will help with the report.

I do not remember if the police arrived last year. I somewhat remember sitting on the hood of the cruiser as I did last night. The police received the call that the homeless man was threatening the people with a knife. In that "yelling c-ah-ntest", you will be hard pressed to go to your green eggs and ham box and claim that was you. You're a faggitt. Your voice hasn't dropped, and I know it.

I don't need remote control birds to keep up my game. I don't need a thousand idiots with various excuses and lies to cover up for the truth. I don't need to play weird little freak games showing off dogsex perversions and passively stalking people around the block. I tell the same truth when I give my report every time. They've taken me down, they've taken me in, they've tested me with the doctors and with their own inner sanctum, and I give them the same truth every time. You, on the other hand, need new little lies and excuses every time (even when it's obvious that you're replaying the same scenes), and you need new people with new names, new phone numbers, and new addresses (which will never be found or verified) to keep up the scam.

Oh, and millionaires. Every single one (okay, it's a big world, there are some token coverups just for show) has that magical million "one dollar" transfer to their bank account (if you could cut through the medical excuse and get their information), and every single one (okay, near, it's a big world) has a routing number that looks like "M177109ER".

Now, go f* your dog.

At the exit I did humor with the officer (after the handcuffs were off, I was under investigation for being a knife-wielding lunatic for a moment) that he should be ready; wherever I go to sit down for a nap after that will probably feature another scene of idiots begging for a telephone call.

Sure enough, after I walked around the block and made a decision for an area, then it wasn't ten minutes later that a police cruiser (different officer) was indeed called by the adjacent rapunzels because they were "worried" about the homeless man's night life.

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

Every achievement, every award, every merit. Every trophy, every certificate, every milestone that you have in your culture must be stupid as sh*t because you think you have reached puberty. I hear that your culture has a ritual, a rite, a set of tasks, a method and a path to walk you through to your way to adulthood. What would that be? Does it include a plan to have your voice drop? Mostly positive that it is your constant animal sex perversion which is holding you in prepubescence.

Today's scripture What are these "eunuchs"? Any particular reason why they're mentioned on the line with slaves? Is that some job occupation? Maybe they passed a law, said it was too cruel and unusual to do that to a person, now you run around in an animal sex idiot mob eating farm sh*t for your money but you don't have eunuchs, right? Why would you need eunuchs in the first place? Entertainment? Historical purposes? A relic of some system and that's just the way it is?

As the guy doing the work I am telling you: it is your animal sex perversion holding you back. No need to lie to me. I hear it quite clearly. I don't need hundreds of people staffing the areas to keep up a lie. I don't need to pick out single lone individuals, isolate them, and flagpole on them to prove my point. I don't need to make excuses. I don't have a secret sound system assisting me and supporting me. Does your path to adulthood include teaching you how to breathe? Maybe you're not doing it right. Maybe you're doing it horribly wrong. This breathing rehab routine makes me the most successful individual, in any occupation or profession, on the planet. You don't even need the background or supporting material: for love of life, faggitt, do the work and make your voice to drop! (I am not preaching this is advice for your own good you don't even know lose money and FAST!)

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

I suppose all of my gemstones are still fake?

From yesterday, the mentioned volume of cabinetmakers... I picked it up again. I have long given up any hope of reading more than five or six words at a time in the library. The entire town is a faggitt circus mob staffing a state fair park, and the library is always packed with animal sex whores waiting to begin blitzing and gnashing their teeth at me (other homeless people are usually left completely alone, like staffed clowns). Also becomes quite obvious that the MRI cannon is at work. Not today, not just recently, but for so long it's stupid flippin' obvious. I scan pages, and I scan pages, but if ever I begin to read a paragraph then the usual witches hiding around the corner are all too 100% on the paragraph I am reading. If you don't believe it you don't need to... work on your voice and you will figure it out if you make it.

Towards the back, from a section titled "COPIES AND IMITATIONS" (and the faggitts know which paragraph I am writing of before I type it because they've been heckling me since I read it ten minutes ago... how could they know which paragraph? in earlier times I theorized that the spy cameras over the shoulder gave them a large enough swath of possibility, but that's just been way too many times, on way too many pages, on way too many different paragraphs)... "Furniture was entirely manufactured by hand in the eighteenth century. Any trace of mechanical instrument should immediately give rise to suspicion".

Okay, how tall were the trees? And did they have bicycle crank chainsaws before the combustion engine chainsaw?

--

Another fantastic demonstration of the MRI cannon. Again, not today, not just recently, but for a long long long time, and due to the nature, dozens if not hundreds of times daily. As I page through this book, as they will not allow me to read without prowling on and isolating the target, as I page through this book, as I turn the pages and scan the pictures, as I go from book to book, as the days and weeks go by... if I ever have a "thought". If my brain changes because what I am looking at has caused me to remember and think of an idea... THAT IS WHEN THEY STRIKE. Every time. Comical. If you don't believe in the remote control heroin whores attached to the MRI cannon system, you are a f*cking fool.

People unwilling to do the work to remain alive... they plot their slow course to hell wishing and begging for the lightning bolt every step of the way.

Yes, if we could just disturb him enough then we could tell our lie and get more babies to rip apart. They're faggitts. They don't want a homeless "man", they want more babies to rip apart. That particular homeless man (me) is worth quite a few babies for them to have tear out gobble up parties with.

--

I know you hate mathematics. Math puzzles are hard for you. This one's easy. Velocity, acceleration, if you drive an automobile then you will get this one.

When you were born, how many millions of dollars did you think you would make? Notice how that number has changed over time. Up, level off, flatten out, and fall... make excuses or games complaining about your lot, everybody has more or less the same curve.
As of now, today, how many more boxes of eggo are you looking forward to eating? How many of those do you think you will really get? Notice how that number also changes for more or less everybody. Even King David hit the final box of eggo.