SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0531

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. 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 intro 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, no long hair, no beads, the whole deal of the counterculture of those times, it 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 out outside of the city. The big APPLE, 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, 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, it proves what I say, and I once had a lot more, back in New Jersey. Of course, that is 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 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, 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, 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 nan 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 Andres as a teenager, before he ever came to Washington, seems this is my eternal destiny with so many people.  

 

                           ***ENDING BLOG.***