Seven Mary Tree

Samahanand Akahn, a doctor in Libya with 19 wives and no children slowly felt despair that all his seed was dead. He thought he could not have true eternal life without at least a daughter. So he trained to be a cop and became close with police women who were ten years younger- at least his fatherly caring came thru. He never inappropriately touched any of them. He was rich and could have any woman. But he wanted to risk his neck for inner peace that a police officer woman or two would be little sisters.

Members of the Hifa sect of Bedoin cultic christianity accused him of lasciviousness. Called his polygamy totally immoral. Picketed his house with signs. One sign read that he had sex with a police woman.

Samahanand called the PD on THAT day, resigned verbally to an operator and shot the man holding the sign that said “Samahanand and Mary… porking in a tree”. Two powder sprays of blood misted dark red out of the christian’s head, skull-pop resounding… followed by a shot to the abdomen. Samahanand, who DID have a close relationship with Marie Itzakrantz, a half- Jewish sniper, he was falling in love with her. They only had coffee. He was going to put his wives in a bigger house and honour them as mothers to the orphans they took care of when they were not drinking ouzo and sunbathing and living wanton.

 

Marie was like no other

 

 

He expressed his love as fire and slipped. He knew he had to cut off from the police. He thought then, he had commited love suicide… he must have! He turned around and went to Arder Well in Hajraan by the charter school, put a Lelu blade over his head strung to a line of rope and dropped a brick down a well. A Lelu, I will not describe because I cannot prove he used a Lelu razor halo. A beheading tool. He was not seen alive. His deceadant body missing a head. Skull is in the well. Dental records show a mouth full of gold!!

I need 2 volunteers to fly to Abaandanandi, Nigeria with me around January 15th, 2017 to retrieve the skull and teeth. Also- there is a 10 million dollar reward for catching the killer. It was the Lelu and gravity. All tragedy. Big deal. I WANT 10 million dollars. I will share $800,000 split two ways. You have to trust me.

Trust that I bullshit brown chocolate whipping cream outta my ass

I am golden! 🙂

Did that move you? It moved my colon

I gotta shit more poop now

See ya…

And message me… I really am going

Its a $100,000 reward and it happened in Congo. 6 wives, not 19.

We will hold funeral services for the doctor…

Neeyaa neeya WEE WOO blee blo …

You have entered the Twilight zone

Get high on me and you are

Not alone

Golden Gate Lemming Drops

Mapo

Mapo

Mapo

South

Korea

Mapo

Bridge

Mapo

Has

Solutions

Railing photo memorial

San

Francisco

Bureaucracy

Blocks

An American

Sacred

Memorial

For survivors

For loss

For prevention

To decrease

Deceadant

Body

Scoop

What

About

Coast Guard

ptsd

??

I think

That what I think

Matters

Very

Little

So I web log

Weblog

Blog it

Today

For the 8th time

Not including city e-mails

To nice ol’ SF

That living photos

Permaposted

Would be

The greatest American not-blog

Logging life

Before

The deceadants appeared

Broke

Fell

Back

Up

Back

In

A Christmas home

A real heart wrencher

To a lost sheep

TO MAKE THAT MORBIDITY PEEL RIGHT OFF

Or do we enjoy

Autonomous autoviolent video

On YooHoo tuber?

I do not

Suicide is too “too”

For that Bay Area

I am guessing

A weird freedom

It would be cooler

To die

Of cancer

Cooler to challenge

One’s own spirit

To stick-with-ship

As it is

Everyone

Is getting

What they need and want

Insanity sugar coated?

Looney Tunes “Now I’ve seen everything”… Aaaaaaaaaaa… * BURST *

Bloat

Float

Ship cruise up

Scoop

Why not leave the fallen leaf

Like Autumn

Why scoop up biological mass?

120lb female

310lb male

167lb young male

110lb young female

Brady Bunch it

Why not have Mike Carol Alice Cindy Bobby Greg Marsha Peter Jan and Tiger all go over together?

Like the great accident in 1824 AD during the Great Depression

Casualties did not exceed what was expected

Yet now

They have

The bridge glory

Illusion of grandeur

History

Is natinally known

And seen

Help has arrived

From the East

I am Thich Quack Duck

The non aqueous non immolater Mayahana crimson lotus maybe-maker

I say YouTube: Mapo

Or we will never see a decrease

Or just “hope” elsewise

Never too late

No fear

No shame

Writing this kills me

Its so boring

And I am not sure jumping is ultimately bad

But for Coast Guard ptsd I write

Rice, Dish: Abramovic

1478065244264486734995 Abramovic therapy is to count them

I count an “all”

I keep an “all”

God bless bloody young babes and meaty ladies I go “gaga” for

I am spoken for- yet my sibling chivalry proceedeth in the romance of lotus, wine and thorns

And visceral CARING ladies of China wall-walk… where do they come from?

Enamoured ME

I Twittered

“EarthAndy”

Got.. Shut down

IDK why…

I’d crawl the wall just to see her 1/16 of a nano meter away, pass thru her vision of fleish as a Casper and… I don’t know…

Ask her to tango

She looks young

I’d like to discuss a few brands

Of mine

I’m not sorry

I am just

Performing wild and vividly and not often

The words I use are hell branded air anyway

I adore sangre essence

It IS IN MY visceral all

It is living messenger, liquid, warm, tacky, sticky… IN MY residence

Rice

Where did she pick that idea up?

It is white blood

Dry white blood food

You can eat a dry grain

It takes a while to simmer in your mouth

Essen

Toy

Person

Happy little maggot mummies

No wiggles

I am prone to auto-hallucination, knowing it is not fly babies

This HELPS, Marina

I have very bad ptsd

I have hereditary angioedema and at age 14- I bled internally.. my blood plasma in AGGREGATE entered my abdominal cavity circumcising my hara

Auto hara kiri non suicide hypovolemic shock

Phoenix in me flashing

Heart in spiral

Fear greater than pain

Sheer horror, luminous sibling…

You are part of my salvation experience

I love you

 

If You Truly Are Worse Without Them…

    Then you are better…
       …on drugs

    Don’t be a dipshit
    Pay your rent
    Go to church or don’t

   Be legal. Why be illegal?
   Why run?

  Run for freedom

  Don’t run from it

  Paid by Harrison Campaign for United States President fund blown back in time to young me.

Oh, I am 40.
I would comb my hair like Obam-Bam but I am a whitey spud man. Reddish outside, white inside.

We are all bright white inside… at least all us children of the truth… is it hard to tell who is a LIAR?

Well, step outside of THE GAME, friend. I am afraid for 3 reasons that someone at any given time could kill me or one I love and I would love to just make you some crazy pancakes and tell you that I do not smoke weed.

    Hell, I would if I had the time and weed and it was legal. I have. That toke isnt halping me now iz it?

    For shizzle my brisket fears getting shot wrong. There is a clear view into my bedroom and if I get shot then that is cool. If I live.

     If I die I prefer not to hear people crying and glass in the eye would be annoying. The heat sensation from a new tunnel in me would sting. But the lack of nerves around organs if shot through the collar bone would ensure I would scream.

     But as I know pain- as a patient of 5 decades since ’74 or ’73, however you wade I would say if I am screaming, my ‘sabrosa’ (soul unit head piece) is ‘atop’ so as to peer to center earth as Christ on the Cross would instruct if you ever took private lessons in his DYING school.

     I despise my individuality.

     People who say shit and shizzat like me get punched, shot, raped, molested, in all seriousness- because we are beautiful and someone makes a sandwich out of us when we are weak.

     Who fears leading?

     Leading the way?

     Gandalf is real in your imagination. Put him aside.

     Ghandi was skinny.

     Mother Theresa had a nose.

     Jesus had a temper.

     Mohammed had a lot of wives. And was perhaps key to the Eternal economics of a perfect modular soceity we all reject.

   Now remove the polygamists from before the altar of the High god of gods and so forth, being quasi-specific about the verbage of Hebraic “Elohim” Dr. Phil- not YOUR Dr. Phil- my Dr. Phil who died but looks over my shoulder now, right this moment as we acknowledge that Jesus sits directly behind me. I am sure.
   He never left me.
           And by his power I am being myself which is to make a paragraph huddle like
       North and South America.
           And then say I don’t
             know what to tell you
               about boys who
                 almost die and go to
                    heaven.

Because I can tell you with certainty that it is what YOU believe that matters. Not funny blonde bowl cut kid. If he did see Jesus it would be for you and not him and maybe he is super nice or autistic. Children do not tend to commit massive horrendous blasphemy. If a child was sin you could say it like a baby is a poop machine, but see- even poo, though it IS decomposition of dead shit literally… it can be funny.
Praise God, congregates.

    I am annuling my personal divorce with the word ‘shit’ but I won’t sat it in church. Much.

    I have to live with shit.
I am friended by Joni Earekson Tada who now suffers. She is motherly age to me but if we meet, that’s nice. I would tell her she is sister and share the glory. Of our accomplishments. The invisible ones. Well… one. Drawing in Jesus.

            How this works the Whole World around- don’t you worry. Be with him. Live with him. Believe in him. Like Joe Nameth. Only catchier.
Jesus.

Jesus

Jesus

     Protect me from the FEAR.

Amen.

If you want to send a love gift- pay it back, forward, left and right… and you will have quadruple-crossed yourself.
No. No.
   My math… is wrong.
Don’t even double cross yourself. But DO cross yourself, Jesus. Cross me over your heart in a heart of worship, safety and thankfulness. Protect my way from pride as I HAVE been mouthy and used the mouth I have to talk to police about public safety.

     At least that is what my prayer usually consists of. The public domain is a modular representation of God’s wisdom, kingdom, power, authorship… this WORLD is his BLOG.

NICE blog, Sir.

“Señor” is the word for lord in Spanish. Olé? Times up on that time honored tradition. For me anyway. Cannot tell if its pee sea. Oops.

That’s me. Crude. Elemental. A percent. But my eternal self is perhaps beyond percent? I’ll settle for 400%. It’s the new 98.6 & so I do not overheat, I am going to finish by saying
thank you for reading my blog.

  My health and circumstances suck and I am paranoid I will die. Well, in 0 or 100 years I think a casket will merge with the product of my eatery-ness. (U R what you eat). Also- there are a lot of American heroes that are NOT American. Like Shakeel Afridi. God bless him! He is persecuted!!

Gnite

I Just Wrote The Most Amazing Piece

    And God let me overlap it as an e-mail to my local Police

It is raw grit heart without fart

I am not sure if it went to the city or what

I was suicidal this month, but honey (not my wife, all of you… well, her too), –

I am a writer

I am a writer

THIS IS publish

THIS IS publish

Take me to a book pub

I wanna guzzle a pint of Frost

I love you monkey-bootsers and chunky rankers

What the hell

Euphoria? More guiltless than a Gorbasm

I could live or die
Am I in trouble

Epilogue

In all seriousness, my consistant bp is high
Never say die… they say
I could be famous away
(Fame after death only)
But YOU were my fame all of you my eyes touched

I want to see Jesus

Those are the last words I would want Syntaxsinner to text-utter if he fell

My heart, rhyming still, beats like a chestnut bell.

I want a holly jolly xmas
O heaven

I will get at least ONE as I count to eleven

1, 2, 3…

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”
(I wrote this correctly. Hard to
do. For me. Yes its true.)

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell. Kidding. Define ‘hell’.

Define, define
Detail, detail
True it up

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it.

As for eternity,
if you want to
know about
it…
stick around
forever.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell.

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it. As for eternity, if you want to know about it… stick around forever.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell.

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it. As for eternity, if you want to know about it… stick around forever.

||||