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Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Let the most absent minded of men be plunged in to the deepest of reveries

Stand that man on his legs, set his feet a going, he will infallibly lead you to water… (Melville).”

There is a magic in IT

Black Sails
Black Sails 'You're ether unkillable or way overdue "No!  MyDeo is the target"
No Intellectual content shall be exported without customs compliance

The Brits Will Take Whatever They Want
Not on My Watch Hacker Identified with

No You Are Not Unkillable it is the Death Penalty in Both Countries
I Am Sure Glad I Said It and the FBI Saved It

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Reference: Mark Owens Lives in Seattle 

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First Attack See FAA Responder Report

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Under 100 ft Number Three Reported Witnessed 2790 
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When Children Elderly Oh Hell no nobody needs a helicopter on top  their house in the United States of America

All Witnessed by several people 

Chapter 1
Benghazi Solved

Can Elephants Actually Swim
When To Water-board is Pleasant

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Senator Zaffirni Linguistic Link

Not Red Not Blue Rosie
The Sea Gypsies

It was just another bad exit from another third world misfortune, “Thirty Days and a wake-up call” was all it really said, the twelve page ex-pat contract describing the terms and conditions of a work aboard agreement for a U.S. wetback seeking livable wages outside his only country. Why did I expect more than a blackball one way ticket to Hong Kong, a pounding alcohol induced migraine that beat to the rhythm of “Kum Bay Ya” as a group of graduating hippies, class of ‘1992’ sang and clapped their hands seated together in the back on wooden benches of our 1930’s 1st class passenger rail car, encouraging everybody to join in with the singing. 

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In response, I turned in my seat and look back toward the group and all it took was one glance at my pale face, blood shot eyes, and the music stop as everyone’s eyes rolled to the view of passing scenery through dirty windows; discarded plastic bags, garbage, and sewer soaked rice patties as if it were the mountain scenery of the Italian leg of a trip on the Orient Express. Then Bam, it hit me, an epiphany! How much did I hoard away in my Hong Kong bank account? It must have been the glow of inspiration that set the whole car off to singing once again, “Kum Bay Ya my lord, Kum Bay Ya…!”

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Bipartisan Disgusting

The money, that’s what it was all about wasn’t it? No, if it was the money I would have spent it? Now I remember, I am on my way back to the U.S., that’s the depressing part, a one way ticket back to the USSR. No, it’s not the land of the free my father fought for at the battle of Chosen Reservoir, which by the way, all he has to show for it is a lift of the shirt to show three bullet holes through the chest. When I talk to him again, I am sure he going to tell me the veterans administration turned down his disability pension again and repeat the story of being stranded on a frozen lake as he watched his fellow comrades get mowed down by Chinese gun fire, U.S. generals, still today, say did not cross the Chinese border into Korea.

Wait? That’s it! It is the money, just enough for a bungalow on a beach on an island in the South China Sea, somewhere, anywhere, I wondered? “How far is Thailand from Hong Kong” I ask my better half, still staring me down for my three day alcohol binge as she packed our belongings to leave China before pouring me on this train. “Bad exit O’Dell,” that’s all she said, then chimed in with the foreign exchange students, “Kum Bay Ya my lord, Kum Bay Ya…!” 

“Remember our honeymoon stay in Phuket Thailand last year?” She refused to acknowledge my presence, so I continued, “You know, you remember, you got in an argument with old Frenchie, the stuck-up hotel proprietor and we left the next morning on a ancient bi-plane to Koh Samui Island and had the most wonderful time, stayed there for two weeks for the price of a one night stay in Phuket!”  “I am not flying on bi-plane again!” she said, they chimed in again, ‘“Kum Bay Ya my lord,…!” “Let’s take a train to Sarantoni Thailand and then a small boat to Koh Samui and rent a bungalow on the beach and see how long we can stay until I land another contract, say maybe Hungary or Saudi Arabia,” I suggested what she had already planned.

Bush mandates cannot have it both ways!

The Brits Will Take Whatever They Want
Not on My Watch Hacker Identified with
[I did not write this essay it was edited by a Brit on and posted it so forensics got a true copy]

My mind satisfied that my sins of the past were now water under the bridge, jet to the ancient past, wondering if it were true that elephants actual can swim and routinely made the trip from main land Thailand to the scores of surrounding islands, swimming low in the water with their trunks high taking in air going places accessible only to me by boat or aircraft. Then bam, it hit me, the original motion picture version of “Moby Dick” as the lad leaves home with buttons in his pocket, his mother hands him the family bible, and by faith followed the nearest stream to the sea where he found adventure signing on to a whaling ship. The words of Melville’s “Moby Dick”, first publish in 1851 is much more inspiring, “Take almost any path you please and ten to one it carries you down into a dale, and leaves you there next to a pool by a stream. There is a Magic in it. Let the most absent minded of men be plunged in to the deepest of reveries – stand that man on his legs, set his feet a going, he will infallibly lead you to water… (Melville).”  The sunlight dimmed as the train came to a stop in Hong Kong station and arrived at our hotel within minutes by cab. 

The next morning we boarded a Thai Airways Boeing 737 on our way to Bangkok and the Stewardess Recognized U.S. from Boeing a short exchange then transfer by cab to the domestic train station with a prepaid first class sleeper tickets to Sarantoni waiting for us. We waited, and waited, then finally about 7:pm  a station attendant told us the sleeper was canceled, but we could use the tickets for bench seats on the last passenger car leaving the station at midnight or wait until 3:00 am for the private sleeper. Fortunately, my traveling partner had a first aid kit disguised as a carry on makeup case, two Dixie cups, napkins for toilet paper, a ream of saltine crackers, a wedge of imported cheese, and a bottle of gin, so we decided to wait for the 3:am sleeper.

The station was packed, standing room only but we eventually found a place on the steps to the platform to sit and have a snack while we waited. My partner unfolded a silk handkerchief, laid it on the dirty steps and sat down gracefully next to me and said, “One of those guys in the maroon robs is starring at you again… don’t turn around,” she said. I whispered back, “I know. They have been watching me all day. I can feel them burning the back of my neck with their stares.” A few moments past, then I added, “These monks don’t seem as friendly as the Buddhist in Tibet or maybe it’s just me?” 
No it was not my personal opinion belief is not necessary

I turned back at to take a look at my stalker and when my eyes hit his we knew each other instantly that he’s concern were several bandits casing us out for some quick cash armed with knives.” 

Then in the native tongue, the station speaker announced, “All aboard for Sarantoni. I grab my partners arms and said let’s catch this train now, forget the sleeper.” We stood and she bent down to get her make up bag and I pulled her hard toward the now rolling train and said, “Leave It.” We both jumped aboard the moving packed bench passenger train with standing room only, grab a standing strap secured to the ceiling of the car and moved on to Sarantoni in the night as I look out the window for my would be attackers.

Sometime passed until a bench was available and my traveling companion, a little on the short side, lay down to sleep as I stepped out on to the platform between rail cars and smoked. I watch the shadows of the jungle passing by, the silence, then some sound by a creepy thing, then silence again, wondering about the Bengal tiger that has haunted my dreams with its sudden attacks only to awake in the safety of my bedroom. Maybe this is the moment, maybe he is out there waiting for me or worse, sprawled in a tree branch waiting for the train to pass as he lunges at me and we tumble to the jungle floor. Well, on the bright side, he can only kill me once, or was I dreaming again? Time rolled by quickly as I stared at the shadows until daylight broke and a beautiful landscape of high mountains with sides that shoot straight up like the desert in the Midwest but covered with jungle foliage and occasional coconut tree.

Daylight just broke the horizon over the South China Sea as we bumped and clanged to a halt at the small rail station of Sarantoni, a fishing village that resembled the Mississippi delta but the Thai faces and colorful fishing boats seemed out of place. These people, I coined sea gypsies,  live on their boats and beach wherever they please for an occasional reunion, the men sewing holes in the torn nets as the dry in the sun and the women chartering around a communal fire roasting shell fish and boiling fish soup. Then once again, an epiphany, PIRATES!

Yes pirates, a decade ago they were unheard of outside of fiction novels, a few months from our departure from the orient, a fellow ex-pat found temporary work aboard a surviving boat and told me they had to stand guard for fear of pirate attacks; especially at ports in Indonesia. I could understand more easily now, getting among the sea gypsies that lived a free communal life without any documentation or patriotism to hold them. We boarded a small wooden ferry for the one hour trip to the virgin island (at that time 1992) of Koh Samui.

We secured a palm leave roofed bungalow made of coconut lumber, with a small kitchen, bedroom living room area, a small shower, not hot water, and a seat less toilet, the kind you run into in Asia that consist of a porcelain plate about 3-4 inches think flat on the floor resembling foot pads that one stands, squats, and uses a small water hose squirt a stream said to me more sanitary then toilet tissue, which by the way was a hard to come by commodity in those days. What a bargain, eight U.S. Dollars a day for a house by the sea and it included TV satellite and “Mash” and other American sitcoms were still running and we watched nightly at 7:00pm sharp Monday through Friday. 

As stated, the shower water in our bungalow was not heated and even in this tropical environment it was freezing cold- most of foreign visitors just bathed in the clean, blue, salty sea that was much warmer or seemed that way when up jump in head first. This is where I met Bert, a large dog of unknown breeding would swim out to me and dunk my head under for fun, which was irritating, but once people started calling Bert my dog, families, and children, locals complained constantly about Bert and kindly asked me to control my dog. My usual response was, “That is not my dog, see he speaks Thai and I cannot utter a word of it!” Never-the-less, I did not feed Bert who followed me wherever I went and stay at some other bungalow, I thought, in the evenings. 

At that time Americans and Europeans ex-pats spent their time, swimming, drinking, and bar-b-qing Thai Style on coconut charcoal which I could never successful start and paid a young school girl that live in the area to start mine- then one day she just said “no” just like that and I resorted to gasoline from my little Italian style looking motor scooter which was also eight dollars a day rental. Another pass time was playing chess, a game of patient and strategy. Punishing the remaining Gin, it took all day or at least we prove that we knew the name and how to move each piece. 

Another pastime was beach combing. No matter what time day or night if I wanted to walk the beach  Bert would come out of nowhere and he if saw somebody in the water as we walked along the shore he would go out and sink um as the swimmer would yell back, “Your Dog, control your dog.” “I would yell back it’s not my dog,” until the small population had a communal meeting about MY Dogs’ behavior. I thought his behavior pretty keen as we explored virgin white sand beaches. 

Anyways, not much to do on an Island in the South China Sea fishing for a job, any place but the U.S. Don’t get me wrong but I hit the job market in the recession of 1975 after Vietnam, and could never make monthly ends meet no matter how prestigious or technical the job was which in my case was Jet Mechanic. So, you go where the jobs and money is if it does not come to you which was Asia and Europe for me during the Clinton years, then a disability put me on the rosters of Social Security U.S land locked and nothing left to do but go back to school, which I did and graduated with the “Fall Class of Economic Crisis 2008” University of Texas.

Each, Moring Bert and I would comb the beach each day we would extend the trip a little longer and occasionally we would run into obstacles that blocked a direct rout by beach and the undertow was powerful tug. One day, Bert led me to his owners who I first called Sea Gypsies in a kind’s way of course. I tried to explain that their dog’ behavior is getting me in trouble with my neighbors and a young girl passing the other direction and not a part of the Sea Gypsies group said, “Our dog? Why we see your friend Bert always with you?” “You, that bathes with dogs!”

The sea gypsies ignored the conversation gathered here and there around at least eight thirty foot hand carved [word of the timber that stretches from bow to stern] and the wooden planks pegged or dove cut without nails, fishing boats which they lived their whole lives with an occasional beach reunion for weather or a repair of fishing nets or to trade the catch with the local fish mongers. The term gypsies came from a Thai trying to tell me in broken English that these people live off the sea and have no place they call their home, and I said, “ you mean like sea gypsies,” and he said “yes, yes, yes of course.” 

I have known of many others cultures that lives in boats, such as the east coast of China, and was told that the daughters never step foot on land outside of marriage. And there are cultures that live on junks, such as the mooring of Hong Kong, mostly unusable except they do float as floating communities forever moored in the same place, which are these people’s homes because they cannot afford an apartment or a home. 

I guess we could include the Peruvians of Lake Titicaca who had been evicted from their homes in Northern Peru and the only space available was floating refused such as plants, dead trees, logs and mostly grass, called the floating islands of Peru. There developed a floating Island building technique that is wonderfully developed over time as more people, became skilled in building these man made Islands that were evicted from their land because they could not afford the rent. 

The sea going vessels in China may be the homes of the fisherman but they are registered and have special visas, and government licenses to fulfill a function on the coast, be it fishing, towing, transporting goods, are rescue to name a few.

The poor moored in the Hong Kong harbors would really be considered house boats or the junks only function. I guess we could call the arctic Eskimos Sea Gypsies but they do not live on their boats, they live in sheltered communities with postal addresses and electricity; although there is a connection between the Eskimos and the Thai Sea Gypsies, they consider the sea their garden and their God or a better word would be Divinity. 

The earliest evangelistic missionary to the arctic were surprised to find out when translating words from the Inuit vocabulary, the name or term for ‘God” was nonexistent. They had a difficult time trying to establish a God in a sense where he gets involved with everyday affairs, which include good and bad aspects of an absolute Deity much of is tailored by Christian beliefs. 

With these beliefs along came the idea of Animism - belief is not necessary. 


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