SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0498

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0498

12:20 AM, JULY 31, 2012

SUBTITLE:

“ONE OF US IS GOING TO CROSS OVER, YOU OR ME”

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I feel like a truck has run over me. I got up late, around late afternoon and am taking the after effects of the brutal assault on my by cosmic WOMO forces, back on Sunday. When this all started in the late summer of 1986, I was just starting my thirties. I could handle a lot of physical fucking bullshit because I was relatively young. But as this WOMO nightmare persisted from the 80's into the fucking 90's, I knew deep in my guts that this would never most likely stop or go away, and that it was just a matter of fucking time before they kill me covertly, as nobody's fucking health can take an endless fucking pounding, I do not care if you are so powerful that you could win every Olympic gold Metal in London. No one is built for eternal physical punishment.

I know I will be dead shortly. I know also, that I'll be posting the missing blogs, back on my wordpress site, and in addition, open some new sites. I have a right to let the world know that I was here, that I have suffered a nightmare at the hands of some KIND OF ALIEN FORCE that I would never be so arrogant to label such as religious and UFO and other folks ave done and are still doing, throughout this entire world. All I know is that what is going on around me is so unnatural and beyond surreal, that it needs to be recorded, and just may save the future from some terrifying shit. I could just be the initial of five or ten or twenty or so 'test subjects', who the fuck can ever know this or anything else for that matter, with certainty? This would be quintessential huberous arrogance on levels, in my opinion, that would dwarf the arrogance and egos of all tree lovely folks such as the Donald, and the two fictional Enterprise Captain's of the original Star Trek and its TNG show that followed. I will not sit here tonight and say that I know shit, as I have been taught by someone or something, with or without any pricelines, futility speeches of other possessed entities, that I don't know and never did know everything, or even close to everything, and the entire United States Copyright Office has a full accounting and record of ALL OF THIS BROM THE NINETEEN EIGHTIES, whether they ever so choose to release these facts to the public world and view, or not. No, I won't even venture any guesses regarding anything whatsoever, only that I do know, my body is dying and I will not be physically alive as Mark Wayne Mohr much longer. Each of these assaults on me like Sunday, are taking their final tolls on what is remaining and left of of my health. It will never stop, it is more than 26 years old now, and this pretty much shows that whatever is REALLY GOING ON WITH ME, AND HAS BEEN, ALL THIS TIME; is not going to ever go away, except through and by, my physical termination. Still, I leave behind, HOPEFULLY, a record on the internet, that all this was real, and not some delusional rantings, but I have no power over who chooses to believe what or even if they don't just remove all my shit after I am fucking dead and gone, but I still have two consolations over my WOMO enemies. One is that I know basic math and classic physics. What goes up, comes down, and what was done to me to get the DJIA to go from less than 1000 points in the beginning of 1983, and cross over into four and even five digits in half of a short lifetime period in time, will all mysteriously appear to just dissolve away, the very day that I am gone, and this IS cosmic justice. Also, my second fucking ass consolation is that THESE MONSTER ASS PRICKS, whoever they truly honestly are, will no longer ever be able to effect me or hurt me again once I am no longer alive as Mark Mohr. It really is just that John Redco Henningsen simple, LLLL.

As for my computer clock, before I shut down last night, I tried setting the time to the eleven P hour, the minutes never seem to be controllable, and then I waited for an automatic reversion back onto the AM cycle, and sure enough, once this happened, I could reset the time to the proper AM hour that it was. My computer clock has been messed with continually for some time now, I thought the days of 36^th Avenue were over Sheriff Monks, guess I had that Pennock miscalculated also, good old imperfect little me, huh Sherr?

Yes, Rog, one of us is going, you or me, and if it is me, then, it is the both of us. Sorry your little plan misfired, but I have my own problems to worry about, and tell Julia that 50 million years should be sufficient time to vent her anger over matters that I can only wonder about. It goes as far above and beyond me, as the endless staircase of fears, tears, and chases, kitty.

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