SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0508, KN

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0508

12:23 AM-EDST, FRIDAY, AUGUST 10TH, 2012

NO SUBTITLE FOR THIS BLOG

STARTING BLOG:

This will not be a real long blog most likely ladies and gentlemen, merely updating things that I feel need to be added for the record, to this life journal, relatively safe from destruction, but then, that is what I believed my original life journal to be, and was I ever wrong, gee. I screwed up and wrote Chapter 607 on the previous blog, it was obviously 507, and this is now 508. If I had a dime for every error I make, I would have all my bills paid off, and a lot of other needed items plus a nice amount of chum change in the bank. Well Bruce, I don't need to steal your spotlight, old buddy. I am the original reason for the wet dream saying, when the military SNAFU started to get old and tiresome. Gentlemen officers recognize this old saying as Situation Normal, All Fowled Up, and the Fowled can be replaced with another nastier word, for the non-gentlemen of the military, count my great wonderful father as one of them. Oh well, all things considered, I'll say one thing for my messed up parents, I can relate to them, and they did try for the most part to get things right, but like me after them, well, let us keep things polite and nice today, and just let our imaginations do the walking.

We will open with a little message to the fine fellow from the bus, a number of summers ago, in Camden, New Jersey, with the weird hat, who spoke to me without saying or even doing anything, my first totally outlandish experience one might say or think, and only the first of so many more to follow. He said, to me, “We are the Lamists, we're watching you all the time forever”. This occurred not that many yards away from the toll plaza area of the New Jersey side, of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, no large monopoly money, no lightning loops roller coasters, and no lovely brunets unremembered properly as of 1978 in the great mafia owned Crissafulli home in Blackwood, New Jersey, USAESMWG. I hope you had a nice long and happy life together, Tony and Mary. Hells bells, maybe you're still around, who am I, God?

I just want to say to please tell laser retraced Donna, in 2294, that I really miscalculated, my ultimate and quintessential Pennock Strike Out (PSO), for future usage, should I desire to do this on some future blog. Talk about the bottom of the ninth inning, bases loaded, one nothing score not in your favor, in game seven of a World Series Playoff, and pow, strike three, clean and clear to see. Still, if I can be wrong with one huge Mitch Williams deal, Jane not Fonatypo, but FONDA, from last blog, I can be wrong again. Powerful and seemingly unmistakable and indisputable evidence is staring me in the face this time, but after the first major game over and an entire world of potential haters, I certainly know better than to repeat such a gross and gargantuan sized error. Still, Mister Hat, between you and the Star Trek Android with the temper, and poor Kirk getting Geico Squished, I just wonder silently, and keep my insignificant mouth shut. I know that if I am correct, there is nowhere to run. The songs, those two years separated by the amount of years that was my age in years when it all began, well, Hurricane Smith, you did beat Jay Jay Evans, and the world does not always have their great Google facts straight, huh, so yes, “what can I say” in or out of love in 1972. Hay dudes, if watching me and copying me, and doing all of this to me, is so urgent in your cosmic grand scheme and overall plan, then fine by me, CHASE ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I won't cause any tsunamis or quakes or even remind anyone of 2008 and China, even though it is all accessible at the URL site before this blog presently, called, and I quote, 'drunkenhive'. As for Lenny, well, yes I have gleaned and learned many things from two fantastic movies, but thenm what isn't beyond fantastic, that my kid is involved in since she was in her first actual 'crib'? I may have put a lot of things together wrong, but it can't all be wrong, and as I said, it makes the term I use, 'unbloggable' not even stand accept all alone in a galaxy of lost stars. I only want the wonderful powers in Atlantic City, from Lee Frailenger to Bobby Mc Gee, to understand one simple thing. When I am dead and gone in June of 2031, who will you ever find like me, to do all of this horrific stuff to year after year, you really do need to ponder on that one, wonderful and awesome lovely folks? Now let me move along with the other non-Harrah sad story of non-Ohio Avenues in parallel universes, Mister Carter Helldeathverifyer, but instead, the story of one, Grace Eastman Mason from the year 1976, a story that took place in the prior year of 1976, written by this god fearing woman, and my mother. No Bruce and Mariah, she wasn't perfect, but like me; she tries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is an insert in the group of pages that I brought down with me to Florida, and I may have not printed the insert part where it need to be. For all of those following this story within a story, my mother and her failed office romance, and my not believing this was some random event but rather, a fixed and controlled exploratronic activity, let me go back a few lines and start from there and add the insert where I now know that it should have been added, see Bruce, another swing and a miss, ouch. What universes are you in right now Mister Callas, hollering out your famous lines of, “This ball is adddddddddddahere”????????????????????

Suicide, Or Was It, by Grace Eastman Mason, 1977, continuation and correction from prior blogging texts.

Later, we were to have a number of misunderstandings and there was an instance when he told me he was going back to his wife. I was shocked. His divorce was already in process. I decided to go off somewhere for a week to collect myself and once again reshape my life. After five days I received a phone call from him asking me to please give him another chance, that he loved me, and would make it up to me. I gave him that chance. The divorce was pushed once again. He began to tell his close friends in business that we were going to be married. We not only picked up where we left off, we shared a closer than ever relationship. The bond between us seemed unbreakable. But it wasn't to be. His wife came on to see him – and AGAIN he told me he decided to “try to make a go of it”. Upset as I was, I steeled myself to go to work with him the next few days. He appeared completely miserable and said he just couldn't go back to her after all. He told her they must complete the divorce. He said he could not wait for me to meet his daughters now. Foolishly, I picked up where we left off and my love still was undying for him. After many months we had received word from both his and her attorneys that they were ready to take action for finalizing the divorce. That weekend we were especially happy and we had a delightful lunch at a charming spot in the country.

The night before I had prepared a home-cooked dinner for him. He smilingly remarked what a happy life we would have together if I just continued good cooking like that.

To this day I shall never know what happened. Suddenly his wife appeared AGAIN the early part of the following week. He told me he was going to attempt reconciliation after all and that it was over for us. This was not the final or or second real shock yet! I had survived the breakup the first two times and now I must overcome it again. Once more, overwhelmed with chagrin, I visited my cousin for just the weekend this time. It was such a lovely home, sprawling by the beach overlooking a bay. Again I collected myself to face the future. My only request of him was that somehow he continued to provide transportation to work. I realize now that what I should have said was - “please give me a little time to find another means to commute even if I have to move”. But, at times like this, he was very uncommunicative.

We will desist for today, the publishing of my mom's sad tale of woe from 1977. Still, all my blogs talk about stuff like the HUNTINGTON CURSE, and similar things with me, with me it was all financially related, I would never ever trust anyone on this planet for a romantic relationship, not when exploratrons can ruin it all and break your heart over and over, and I knew this at an early age, before I ever knew of the word EXPLORATRON. Maybe if I tell her story, to quote the lovely Jenny Hewitt, mine will start to hopefully start becoming more clearly understood. Hay if not, well you know what then world, go to DOGTOWN. I do not owe anyone an explanation for anything, I AM THE VICTIM IN THIS LIFE, NOT THE FREAKING BAD GUY. But go ahead and do and be however you wish folks, as if I can can stop you. ALSO, I AM NOT THE BAG GUY, BRUCE ALLEN ERROR PENNOCK. Watch those Mini Rip notes, oooooh my ears. Bruce remembers it all, don't let him go dam tell you otherwise, folks. Nightsee nightsee people.

THIS BLOG WILL END HERE 4 NOW.