Sleep in two chairs, feeling (for once!) comfortable. But I am near
the door where chairs are stocked in the morning. I am not on the way,
they door is clear, I am resting, I chose that place because they
don`t need to move me to make way for all the furniture moving. But
the moron insists. The chair dissapeares under my feet. I end up
waking up in the floor entangled in the other chair... all thanks to
too many years in Mexico and a bunch of thieves...

Definitely the Bistrains Are Wackos. Luis Bistrain Gonzalez. His
father Luis Bistrain (at least must be aware too). His uncle Gonzalez
Apaolaza, syndicalist with money. The confirmation are the two
Bistrain clones I`ve found so far in NY. Complete with cheap brown
long jacket. And people yelling at me his name in the streets. He is
MEXICAN. And his uncle belongs to the corruption family in Mexico, as
any decent analyst would confirm. I still remember when this wacko
wanted to blame me that he had trouble in college changing careers
because the coordinator was teacher of one of my girlfriends and he
was jealous of me. So the coordinator had revenge on Bistrain, because
he was my acquaintance. Can you imagine such an idiotic guilt? Fact is
he lost his scholarship in that university because they discovered
that his family had a lot of money. I know this because I had friends
in the unversity senate. It is a disgrace that after robbing me this
man comes to MY COUNTRY and pretends to steal the products of my mind
and even DARES CONFUSE MY IDENTITY! That`s why I left Mexico: people
are not sane.

Very funny. Halloween. A man in a jail pijama. Then a Bistrain copy,
with all and the pronounced hunch. Same corner. Who is already
psychotic?

Not me,
certainly.

A senior in the shelter, a wacko, 56, aparently decent. Another
impesonator? Short and blue eyed with English accent. A wacko. Very
offended because I use the terminal . He punched it twice. Smeared the
ashes of his cigar.He is inviting me cigars. Then spit on the touch
screen. Now I can`t use that terminal, it is revolting. And he was the
decent guy in the shelter. Now I have to evade a wacko in the shelter.
Hope it is true he will leave soon this luxury as he calls it. He
offered me to gamble with him. A gambler. He has a system, and it
seems to involve me as a croupier in connivance with him. And this is
the people I have to meet to please the idiots. Which is now their
excuse, they are doing this to me because they are stupid. They are
pitiful. Feel stupid, act stupid, are stupid because they heard of an
intelligent man. And instead f showing intelligence helping me, they
prefer to make themselves stupid. But I am certain they received some
message in my name sent by the Bistrains of their gangsters...

Pitiful. The prove they are stupid. And being stupid, why are they in
the place they are now? They ought to be removed. That is showing
intelligence, to remove people who think themselves stupid and act
thus before they do more damage. Isn`t this reasonable? Who is more
stupid, the stupids or those who let them stupidize?

What the people reading these threads can`t understand is that I own a
masterpiece(s) and will die of cold to save a criminal moron called
Luis Bistrain. And don`t say it is tragic, tragic is a forced self
choice, not an enforced whim of self aggrandized egoes comparing
themselves to a well integrated ego. On your conscience, because you
do have one, only it is not nagging you... yet. Don`t expect
satisfaction: your path is autodestructive even if you want to deny
it.

I still can`t believe this mess, but the dark iceberg can`t help but surface:
*an orange helicopter was flying over the hotel in LA Skid
Row, stationed right above 5th street. The same helicopter `visited`
me in evening job while I was in the parking lot having a break. It
confronted me for a while, quite obviously and then departed. It was
one day before the news about another helicopter that fell without
victims.
*I lost my job after going to the Aca Fest in 2000 to show my new
instrument`s feats; it was then when the toilet started blocking...
*And their rumors are that they were feeding me arsenic in the sugar
in my appartment, that they had me shot (?) and tried to make me sick
and drug me with psilocibin in the water.

Here starts in chronological order:
*my toilet started blocking persistently; an engagement ring
dissapeared; couldn`t invite any girlfriend to the appartment....
*Luis arrived with the contest after I had already dismiss him (had a
good job), but convinced me to compete... while his commentaries
would
put me in trouble with the neighbors...
*Luis would make me stay the whole day and part of the night out of my
appartment; leaving me just time to sleep in the mornings, after
spending the rest of the night programming the rest of the night; he
would get nervous if I tried to come back earlier...
*Luis abandoned project, living me with the responsibility; stole
amplifier and other things from workshop, including the mycrodine he
bought
*old news of a shooting in the Rochester; worried glanes from th
acquaintance, but asked no details
*the thieves from Rochester followed me to my mother`s home, they
yelled my name
*the old porter was desperate to engage the mover when I finally
picked up my books and furniture from the abandoned appartment
*long time dwellers left in a hurry the `best` appartment in the
block we were living in in Veracruz; in the process they burned all
electronics from our place, including my precious GR30 guitar now
stolen
*the gang (best children) loitering outside started taking interest in
my mother and I
*a car crashed us from behind, obviously on purpose, and we couldn`t
get them because another car blocked us
*my cat Sombrita dissapeared and never came back; most wonderful cat,
gray, superintelligent and trustful... had special diet
*woke up to find the door open; lived under three locks then
*the gang started following me when I went to buy cigarrettes
*the day they video me going to buy cigarrettes, left the place;
almost two years locked taking care of my computer
*nightmarish travel to San Antonio, one week... last hotel wouldn`t
let me make phone calls
*a known name heard in the back of the bus; almost recognized the
thieves, but didn`t pay attention at the moment
*trouble in the San Antonio place, too subtle to explain (the known
name)
*some awareness in the T-House of trouble ahead
*people shouting private mails in the street (about my old
girlfriend), agitators, loud music with directed content
*definite trouble in Weingart; kicked out two days before first
paycheck; mistreated, treated as a criminal; even forced to sign
suicide note or street right away; a convertible seen sometimes
*rumors and photographs in my job; no mail answers, NO MAIL REPLIES;
people shouting day and night outside the hotel; clearly those guys
outside, a lone guitar line in the hotel cross the street, lots of
rumors, weird anthena in cheap hotel, mexican in next room waking up
with blasphemies, songs with *very* directed content; shouts of
defenestration...
*stopped selling after the system was reprogrammed, forced to resign
after stage of my reporting a body in Mexico after workshop closed,
lots but lots of rumors
*emergency foodstamps denied, even sent to another office 15 days
without food, more songs, song `animales`, previously nice people now
mocking me; turned from Mazzinger to Heil Hitler; weird tv ad with
guy
playing guitar and mockingly calling my name; weird Simpsons episode
promising a big dream of restitution, though of course nothing
happened; weird spam mails...
*definite threat of danger from guy next room, more awful rumors, come
to New York
*first night and already receiving shouts and pictures
*hostility in the shelter, my belongings pillaged and stolen
*trying to get an appointment to the Belgian UN mission found myself
in jail, but managed to see one mail i DIDN`T send...
*more rumors, phrases, some mockery, but no clear approach...
*I am still in the street and the hostility is obvious...
*No recognition to my work, waiting to be *clean* to try again and
speak with people...

fbonsignore@beethoven.com (Fabrizio J. Bonsignore) wrote in message news:<768f7623.0409150116.1f024395@posting.google.com>...

Search `Fabrizio J Bonsignore` in google groups, sort by date
And again, right in the door, `you can`t go in`. So another damn night
walking in the street and it`s cold. Already posted something new,
posted a reply and now I complain. I have no answers to my mails and
the phone is beyond my means. Have to wait to get welfare, _if_ I
qualify, and then lets see what to do next. Of course I don`t expect
people to read this, and if they do most likely they are my enemies
who are poisoning the people that can help me (as I`ve said elsewhere,
I can`t print my own money, somebody must give it to me). I am sure I
had phone calls but in that place I am not worth enough to be called
if I have a phone call. And nobody seems to feel indignation; you can
be beaten down by a bunch of useless people and who cares. This is the
United States but the culprits come from Mexico and trail along the
institutionalized hate of that country and their discriminatory and
gangster like practices. Like somebody is still not receiving the
message that I am a composer and have been preparing myself and
acquiring useful, ready-to-show skills to contribute in the fields I
chose and can produce as much or more than any other useful member of
society and for quite a while yet, being 35 years old and willing.
This is supposed to be the society where time is money and
contributions are of worth to have a comfortable and civilized life
provided you invested enough in your human capital and have skills,
but all I can see is the corruption of an envious country following me
to ensure that I don`t get what that country wouldn`t give me for not
being of the politically correct level of... mediocrity? lameness?
color? ignorance? sameness? Which antivalue I lack? Though the
question should better be why can`t they respect an idividual`s
decision to vote with the feet and go to a *better* place? Why can`t
they respect my citizenship? Since I published my files it has been a
level of harassment that you know there is something wrong when people
suddenly despise you when moments ago they were similing at you. If my
values can`t be turned into a decent and normal life being profficient
in art, communication (at least that must be recognized through these
posting), technology, even science (my field of study) and philosophy,
then we are all living in a most decadent world. What`s left?
If nobody lifts a finger to help they can`t expect better days but
almost imperceptible degradation until some catastrophic event changes
their life for the worse. I praise myself in knowing how to take care
of myself and my health but what use is that for if I cannot apply
that knowledge and have a well balanced and abundant meal, regular
sleep hours on a nice bed (orthopedic? sometimes the floor is very
relaxing but I prefer low beds and a flat pillow), a daily shower!
(hot), laundered clothes, privacy! and of course a warm sense of
security for my person and belongings... If it were an exercise in
survival, under extreme conditions, I would gadly accept many things,
but being citizen of a rich society with original and useful
contributions, definitively I expect MUCH MORE than fighting to occupy
a plastic chair for 5 hours, keep walking the whole day visiting free
internets to *try* and find if there`s actually people on the other
side of the line, waiting on a line at predetermined hours to have a
single dish, worrying if I will EVER have money to laundry my clothes
or buy a soda or a candy or cigarrettes or meet a woman or etc., and
certainly I expect MUCH MUCH MORE than a manual, minimum wage job,
actually something that will allow me to go ahead with my projects and
dreams, build my musical instruments, program my applications, test my
ideas, meet the people with whom I can have really interesting
conversations... in sum, feel like I am becoming a person and not
merely am a human animal eating (little), wandering (boring city),
sleeping (hardly), not even that! for I cannot groom myself nor have
sex, so I am feeling more like a walking plant...
So the question is whether I`ll find the justice I DEMAND in this
country or will have to... what? What am I supposed to do? Do you have
any ideas? At least can whistle, but at this stage I`d rather be
recording it and having someone else to arrange it...
What I didn`t find in Mexico I still can`t find here... and by design
of hateful gray people... and their accomplices.

Visit ghamac.org

Danilo J Bonsignore (are there any homonyms...?) from NY

fbonsignore@beethoven.com (Fabrizio J. Bonsignore) wrote in message news:<768f7623.040903008.51d08db1@posting.google.com>...

I cannot wait to face the cowards and have them tell all they want
straight to my face; like a hammer waiting for the roaches to
unhide...

So, summing up, I created, wanted to come to the USA, a group of
coward thieves set up a trap, milked my computer, blocked my
documentation, hunted me, defamated me (attack is the best defense),
barely arrived alive in Texas, fought for my papers, went to LA,
published ghamac.org, couldn`t sell my music, wrote to the White
House, the criminals started making raucous, messed with my life,
stole my mails, started publishing all I could as is, couldn`t stand
on my feet, people tried to help me (Restitution, for those who know)
but were deceived, help stolen, more defamation, promises of fantastic
futures, came to New York, completely broke, more manhunting, subtle,
man in the middle attack (since when), trying to get help the iceberg
surfaced, was left without possessions, not even bath stuff, I am here
publishing from the street, the criminals are someplace else enjoying
their ambush and crimes, I expect some money to make phone calls...

A *very* big puzzle with lots of missing pieces, a green puzzle, I am
still trying to figure out. I do *expect* to recover and get what I
want from the people who can give it to me...