SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0531
KING
PROPHETNOTHINGEIGHTYEIGHTSQUAT
9:31
AM-EDST-WEDNESDAY-AUGUST 29, 2012
STARTING
BLOG AND UNDER HEAVY ARTILLERY FIRE:
It
started an hour ago, about 8:30 give or take. Yesterday on Tuesday,
the nabes were well behaved and quiet. Now, it is slam bang doors
doors doors and doors. This obviously has to do with WALL STREET, as
this hell between them and me has been going on for close to thirty
years. Still, there is a little bit more involved. Throughout my long
blogs of many years now, I started quite a few topics, promising to
take each one to a more elucidated and more realized conclusion at
later times. Many I have, still plenty, have not yet been done, but
will be, one by one, until these fucking pricks get the hell off of
my back.
The
biggest enemy I have and always have since 1984, was the “Donald”.
This arrogant evil spirited immoral conscience-dead pitiful excuse
for a person, wants to be President of America, and if Mitt Romney
wins the election in November, believe me folks, by proxy, he will
be. He did not do all these things for fun or for winning any
nice-guy contests, such as start all the stuff about where President
O was born. There is nobody I can tell the totally unbelievable story
to, but it connects the great DT jit bag, to many parts of my life,
all beginning late in the nineteen seventies and small parts of the
general story were posted on blogs throughout the years, telling
about my electronic metaphysics, and him being what is known on
secret Astral-Realm circles, as a 'Phase-4-entity', not to get
'entity' mixed up in any way with an 'exploratron'. What I know and
what I can take into court and satisfactorily prove to the system of
justice, taking into account that I would be fighting a billionaire,
makes any further discussion totally mother fucking laughable.
Hopefully, this very statement will show to some of my blogging
audience that I do in fact have my wits and reason, and am relatively
rational, for all I have endured and been made to suffer through for
many decades without any vacation or let up.
I
am not into the crap that others in this generation like, such as
cellphones, apps, notebooks, computers, social networking sites, the
three main ones being F, T, and YT, even though I do have a YT
account, and plan to be removing it later in early September,
entirely, and forever. I am not playing games any longer. There is no
waking up Scylla, in fact, I don't think that she wants to be
awakened, and I am not going to be the one to awaken a sleeping giant
who has the power to think this entire cosmos in and out of existence
in a single fucking flash. You don't have to believe any of my words,
it is sufficient to the cause, for me to know just how incredibly and
disastrously true they in fact all are.
If
the All Mighty HERSELF, does not want me to remove it, she can let me
know in all manner of ways. She has my telephone number, she has my
attention in 'dreams' anytime that she may so choose to enter into
them, and she can use this silly electronic shell game and leave a
clever message on one of these blogs, I'll be checking. If I hear
nothing in these three mediums, then by my mother's birthday, all of
my stuff will be forever removed and totally destroyed forever, as I
don't need these games, and I refuse to play them any more, Robot
Holly.
We
are going to be going back into the last several years of the sixties
and then begin the seventies, and open up some real worm cans about
my first encounters with the LAMIST BRIGGBASE CULT in Atlantic City,
New Jersey, USAESMWG, as well as discuss the three men who all died
of cancer right around the same time in 1973, Al Soifer, Bob Pincus,
and Sigmund Malyeska. Why would a boy in his early fucking teens, be
being followed around, locally as well as in other towns and cities
away from his residence, by strange groups of young persons that were
in no way average in appearance for those times? That is to say, none
were hippie style or type, as they had no long hair, no beads; the
whole deal of the counterculture of those times, and this was non
existent, and had nothing whatsoever to do with whoever and
'whatever' I was dealing with when all of this was getting an evil
foothold on and around me. We will even work our way eventually into
one single young lady who was a flower girl by all standards, and
this would be the recording artist, Melanie Safka, from Queens, New
York as well as Northern New Jersey across the river and in that
nearby area outside of the city, The Big APPLE. An interesting choice
of a description. It is big, that is not particularly of consequence,
but you know; Adam, Eve, the Snake named Satan, the garden, should I
go on, Lieutenant Van Buren Sampson Shangrala? WOW, is Spell checker
a worthless item anymore so it seems, not seemingly knowing a thing
about that other garden type of place either, nor how to correctly
spell the fucking thing. What I'll be doing for a few days is
wrapping this all up, and telling some powerful final things that
will blow society totally away eventually, unless it gets sanitized
and removed once I'm dead and gone. Then I plan to OD on my meds, and
just do a Paula Weston L&O. I don't need to stay here and be a
fool, or play silly teenaged games. To answer someone's query, the
1980 song that was ripping my “LOST LOVE” song off, was called,
“HELP ME”, sung by Robin Gibb and Marcy Levy. Wouldn't it be the
ultimate irony, if the Marcy at the Camden Medical Institute back in
1982, two years later; was the same Marcy? I doubt it for two
reasons, first, there are a hell of a lot of peeps named Marcy. Also,
most people in the entertainment industry are considerably younger
than this woman about my age now or perhaps a little bit younger. In
any event, all kinds of wild people popped up and said strange things
to me, and followed me around. It was out of the Twilight Zone
television show. This is all a big game to these travelers or
advanced TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS of the collective called, EXPLORATRONIC
SUPERMIND, existing as a powerful political type of force on the
Astral Realm or Plane, just outside the great city of Sahasra Dal
Kanwal, across the Teck Bay, not far from where Gawky Gaukauk has
high honor tenure in a giant mystery school, called the TECK BAY
MYSTERY SCHOOL OF PROVINCE OLYMPIA. I'm going to take a stab in the
dark, and say something here. If I am wrong, then I am wrong. Things
have happened to me between the years of 2006 and 2011 that tell me
that at one time, and on varying levels and degrees, the great Scylla
Goddess, also known as SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH
KRASSLE, watched over me, and seemed to recognize that my
motives were honest and pure; and that I was only attempting to get
to the bottom of all of this incredible stuff in my waking physical
and material and caporial existence, or my life. Someone has been
working on her to slowly change her mind about me. I believe it is my
arch enemy who wants to be the back door President of my country, and
I have, all though it is not up to court legal standards perhaps,
proofs of what I say; and I once had a lot more, back in New Jersey.
Of course, that is all gone with the four winds, Tara O'Hara. This
arrogant mirror kissing fool thinks everybody loves him. People all
around the world think he's a sick pathetic joke, but he is a lot
more than that. He managed to pull a gargantuan cosmic trick off, and
used me, in 1979, to do it. Five years later in 1984, I rued the day
that I ever messed around with my first tape recorder as a small
child. But I do plan to send the White House and my pal Barack, a
little bit of damming information about all this. It may not stand up
in court, but it is powerful enough to be used in other ways, and
will totally ensure that Obama wins reelection. Again, the one loose
end is having SSJKK remembering a few events in her life long ago,
and be willing to substantiate it, if and when necessary; to some
very powerful Washington peeps. I know in her human form, she wants
him to get reelected as bad as I do. All the White House Cabinet has
to do, is legally subpena files about how all telephone activity was
monitored in my entire life dating back into the middle sixties and
then forward into the middle seventies when I first got a telephone
in my own name in 1975 from Lindenwold, New Jersey. Once you know
what I know, you can force Trump to stop all his dirty tactics
against you, sir, and he will have no choice, because this bastard
does not belong here, he goes beyond anyone's concept of an alien, so
I'll just therefore repeat myself, “He does not belong here”. You
can be a total shoe-in, Mister President, if you ever need to use
this information. So please do not let the agencies tell you
differently, or try and discredit me. These things are all real and
they all happened, and there was a real reason for it all, and that
reason all had to do with this monster, DT. Just remember, if the
election starts to go bad, and hopefully it will not, and you need to
call on me, I will give you any and all details, but a powerful study
and scrutiny of my many blogs, should also suffice even without me,
but I'll gladly help you if you ever need me, Mister President.
Goddess bless you, sir. It is not Mitt I am against by the way, as I
feel he is basically a decent fellow, not that I agree with all of
his wealth-lover politics that all the big republicans share no
matter what they say. It is just his connection to a man so evil,
that he ranks second only, to my son in law. This prick has tried to
covertly kill me on ten occasions, and I feel he was responsible for
what happened to my best friend as well as my mother. And sir, I
really did know Andrews as a teenager, before he ever came to
Washington, seems this is my eternal destiny with so many people.
***ENDING BLOG.***
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