SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0537
09/01/2012
SATURDAY
BEGINNING:
This
blog will tell why I know there is a real biblical devil. First,
nobody in the world can try as hard as I have to do so many things,
first between the age of ten and twenty, then again each and every
decade of my life. As I speak, a horrendous sound nearly took out my
hearing. I had my headphones on and was on the computer listening to
something earlier, forgetting to take them off when I began this
blog. Fine, this is a perfect other reason to believe what I do,
because this kind of stuff has been going on around me and against
me, since I was old enough to remember living here on Earth as MARK
WAYNE MOHR, and when I asked other people if they had these things
happen to them, all I ever got back were long blank stares. So
basically, all the constant continuous persecution and harassment
that can never be recognized or proven to be real in the waking
tangible material world such as what just happened at a quarter shy
of eleven this morning just minutes ago, and a million other things
just like this as far back as diaper days, and then no matter how
hard I ever try or what I ever try doing to help make my life a
little more pleasant and a little less shittier and hellish, it
literally would be viewed by an outsider peering in, as if I were
trying to actually accomplish the total opposite, because in my life,
you can take the fucking biblical sow and reap harvest rule and
totally reverse it around 180 degrees, and this would be MY
NIGHTMARE NEVER ENDING HELL LIFE SUB EXISTENCE.
Who knows, maybe Roseann Delaney is my god dam sister. I know for
certain that I have got a hundred or more sibs running around
overseas, as my dad joined the military as a teenager, and was I'm
quite sure, a normal sailor, or a horny fucking bastard, same
difference, and had plenty of shore leave, and did not spend all his
time in Portuguese Museums. Still, I am joking about good old lovely
Roseann, even though she was most certainly no joking matter back in
the summer of 1969, but then, so were a lot of other things, NOT
SO FUNNY.
Oh
well, I can mother fucking sit here and bitch and moan all day, but
that does about as much good as Dawn-Marie King's drinking, Ann
King's gambling, and so on and so forth. Well, Alice had her
wonderful lands and rabbits and white/black matter space deals, and
mirrors and even the thing about being on time or not, and I guess so
do many. The strange traveler in 1969 in Atlantic City being 'chased'
on the beach that early evening by the police, told me as he ran by
me, “I'm late, I'm late”, oh well, he wasn't too late like I was.
Real funny, lovely daughter, oh you really do kill me,
sweetie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now as for my mother, her story
will continue, at a later time, friends and fiends, I promise you
that.
***ENDING***
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