SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0563
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2295
SBT-DATFILE:
091812.874
TEOHIV/TMCEAM/MORPRO
BSNF:
“RESIDENTIAL PERSECUTION TIMED WITH VIDEO”
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2012 ALL OF MY URL'S
VOLUNTARILY
SWORN OATH OF TOTAL TRUTH,
SO
HELP ME SSJKK, AND ON MY USA CITIZENSHIP
BEGINNING
TRANNY, YE' OLD TWISTED UP GRANNY:
I
will tell a few things, clear and flat out, straight up, no
subtleties. First, I need to thank my beautiful goddess Diana for
coming over to visit with me this afternoon, shortly after my
horrific neighbors from hell came in this afternoon and begin
annoying me with in and out door banging. I will tell you that the
attack was perfectly timed with what I will more subtly call,
MYSIDERS in this fight against tyranny and global G-20 evil, and
unlimited wealth and conquer strategies long in place. This is a
world of unaccepted blunt behaviors, and to be blunt about it, it is
return raged with heavy punitation, sociological ostracizing, and
given time and rope and adult sandbox play in just the perfect order,
even imprisonment or covert death, after all, accidents can happen,
and a child is aware that all though it is the smaller percentage of
the overall [prison population, people have been and always will be,
able to get framed. I discussed it on my original cassette taped life
journal, even before the almost echoed words came back to me years
later, via the greatest television law show in the history so far of
human civilization, L&O. For all I know, the great FBI is getting
a hell of a lot of aisle rolling laughs out of my original journal on
tape, after-all, approximately seven or so thousand cassette tapes
were left by me in the basement of an active FBI agent by the name of
Steve Caruso. My blogs from about 26 months ago even reflect how
Dawn-Marie King the great, wrote me a very nasty letter while I was
first living here in Florida over at White City, and told me that she
was “going to get the FBI and Agent Caruso after me” for leaving
them, and breaking a lease agreement. Yeah, threatened with physical
violence on a daily basis, and made to live as a human 21st
century real live slave, somehow I don't think the fucking Fibbies
would be on your side, sweetie, but then after-all, we are talking
about THAT-FAMILY, so who really knows a dam thing folks?
L-4,
I am going to tell you a powerful thing right about now. I try very
hard to live in the present, ignore all of my past, get beyond it,
take their endless clever insults, and try and make a new life for
myself, and they just will not allow me to do it, and none of you out
here will believe me, it is a crime that makes anything Hitler ever
did pale in comparison. You have my total permission to hate my guts
for daring to say this, but I am being honest with my feelings, and
you don't even need my permission, or my book, “The Permission
Barrier”, from late in 1994. The problem at hand is REALITY-3 and
my inability to ever prove to my satisfaction, let alone any of
yours; whether this is a reality in my waking life, or whether it is
really just totally about this EVIL TRILOGY
PARALLEL EVENT WITH ME AND THE TWO
PHILADELPHIA SPORTS TEAMS AND THE
DOW JONES STOCK MARKET
SYSTEM, AND ALL BEGINNING ON YOYU KNOW WHEN, BRO. All I am able to
endlessly do is prove one part of this to my total satisfaction, but
it does not in any way magically fucking rule out the potential of
REALITY-3 still behind the huge
monster demon behind the ICPE problem of 26+ years. When 1994 came
and the first of these two absurd 'sports problems' was alleviated
for me via the baseball strike, and later until the end of the year,
the hockey strike saved me as well, this allowed the DOW JONES for
the first time since 1982, a full dozen years, TO ACTUALLY GO DOWN
AND LOSE FOR THE YEAR OF 1994, yes it was a very small loss, less
than one full percent if my memory is serving me at all correctly,
but after twelve major uptick years; that proved to me, that I was
not mother fucking imagining the problem; and it did not matter if
five trillion cock sucking expert psychiatrists kept throwing me up
against walls, and screaming at me, and insisting I am just a looney;
“I KNEW BETTER”, just as Carl Anderton did, on the great L&O
show. But let us divert away and gearshift on the invisibility spoke
bicycle system here for a second or so, and discuss the subject of
the untapped mind, and the so-called great experts in this field, the
head shrinking psychiatrists. I am not attacking a very legitimate
profession. If telling people they are too fat and too thin and need
tucks and lifts every year to stay in this Lambrigger in-crowd, and
pretend that time is not ticking by, with them aboard the train,
fine; but these type of quackery doctors are all over, and especially
in 90210 zip codes, and all throughout Las Angeles, spread around
thinner than onion paper. So the experts can all agree to cooperate
with a new society of total whack jobs chasing eternal youth in an
ultimately doomed to fail endless battle. If this is all the new age
accepted way things are, then so are the head shrinking couch and
drug pushing doctors. I won't have a part of it, because I know just
how Kateyqueenish it all really truly is, Mack Kaiter of 1967 and
1968. Did I hear somebody say this this is all totally and completely
redeeeeeeequlous?????????? Who am I to blame the psychiatric
profession, when I can get anyone up the block to basically disagree
with my ideas and tell me that I need to seek professional
assistance? Hay, but I am aware that they have agreed, deep inside
themselves, to buy into and believe and become a part of, a new world
way of thinking that is so pathetic it cannot be described. All the
folks between 30 and 80 can chase life and youth until they rot, but
one day, people will be gathered at their freaking funeral, and that
will be that. Me on the other hand, I am totally comfortable with all
of this truth; and am not chasing after some non existing endless
youth, or endless life. I all ready know that we all have it, just
not in the exact way that people would like it to be, but as my uncle
Stuart Huntington Mason used to say quite often back in time, “Tough
beans”. I am chasing peace of mind, and know this will not ever be
allowed for me to obtain in the MARK WAYNE MOHR waking lifetime. Let
me tell you why. When the real new age started, it was murdered by
something called, 'nine-eleven'. A few years later, it was gone,
replaced with debates on freedom verses security, what our favorite
celebrated personalities did last night or had for lunch, and how to
be green in a world humans are heating up, or how to stay young and
gorgeous or create the illusion when it is not three in the morning.
Physic or paranormal stuff was out, believed to be a total hoax and
completely phony, all trickery, all a big carney con game for taking
marks, and MARK, back in my FINDING SARAH or else, days. First off,
believing that we can effect the weather and make the world hotter is
a fantastic boost to our sick twisted little egos. We are not all
that great folks, get off that high horse, Marion Wayne Lungcancer
Alamo. No paranormal, huh? Want to disprove that real quick, try
practicing the fucking ass FASCITAR. No I won't reexplain it right
now, if you can GOOGLE it on my blogs, fine, if not, we can just deal
with all this at another time, Jessica Grant Lincoln. No unnatural
events huh, where the fuck where any of you Patty Jane mother fuckers
back in middle 1976 when I was at my mom's apartment in Media,
Pennsylvania, and was grabbed forcibly out of my body, thrown against
a wall over and over, and mocked and laughed at by a very wild
energetic entity who I soon first met in a flesh form as William
Leonard McKinnon the record promoter, in 1980. Don't even touch all
the Pomona, New Jersey and Sarah Krassle's brother and loudness and
the jets and all of this long before I had any way of knowing squat
about any of this, humanly speaking, or the repeating recurring
dreams of the strange school in Egg Harbor city, that really was a
detention center, called Harborfields, forget all that and about a
billion trillion quadrillion other things that I could say, but how
this story got started that there is no OTHER WORLD AND OTHER REALITY
beyond our normal senses, ''''WOW'''', don't get me mother fucking
Eckert Pharmacy started here, please folks. One day David Roth and I
just suddenly are going into New york city on Saturday night the 2nd
of August in 1986. He just wanted to go. What resulted caused me to
write a song that I will live to regret forever, called, “Real Good
girl”, a few days later. When I threw the project into the US Mail
System to the US © Office, on August 15th, my life
changed forever. I know of few people in all of human history, that
can make such a claim, unless they did a particular thing that common
fucking sense would dictate, would indeed alter their life at that
point forever, such as shooting an officer of the law, or threatening
to kill a government official, something really big. All I did was
throw a package into a mail box that had no bomb, no poisons, just a
copyright form and a check, and a cassette tape. But this changed my
life, as though I had pressed a nuke button, and wiped out a country
somewhere. Maybe, I did just that, and only Morians or true loyal
fans of Morianity, can begin to really GET THAT, right sir Android
Star Trek ROCK??????????????? When I wrote the song, I totally forgot
why I wrote it. I was also ETTOS mind hacked and controlled, to never
go back when I had the opportunity to do so, and try abnd check
things out on my taped life journal, that would be somewhere in the
seventeen hundred eighties, and a funny part of all of this exists,
because if the tape numbers were calendar years, as Franklin, when
the 1780's ended, so did I. But in my last moments, I did not care
who humanly was in my room in Philadelphia, I was busy remembering a
tall lovely blond who I have always known forever and ever, who was
just there suddenly, standing at the foot of my deathbed. Her long
yellow hair glowed as bright as the noon day sun. She told me that I
would soon find myself in a room in the sun. I was very happy, and
thought I would be inside the real sun out there in space. She did
not mean that however. She was referring to the year of 1980, 190
years up into the future where I as MARK WAYNE MOHR would be living
at a place called 1802 Robin Hill apartments, in Voorhees, New
Jersey, USA, ESMWG. But there is a little more to all of this still
good folks, so hang onto your britches peeps. What I now speak will
be two different days separated by more than twenty-six years in
time. I definitely spoke the word 'MY' before the song started, on
the original open reel mastering tape, done on the RS-1500-US
semi-pro mastering machine that I purchased from the Martin
Audio-Video store in New York city in late May of 1980, from this
room in the sun, and it was parcel post delivered to me the first
week in June of 1980, one or two days before my beyond describable
dreaming experience where SCYLLA sang HER song to me, called, 'LOVE
IS FOR CARPENTERS'. As they say on the dam television folks, “NOBODY
COULD MAKE THIS STUFF UP”. Nobody, not James Patterson, not the
Spielberg term, none of them, not in a hundred thousand fucking ass
years, AND THEY ALL KNOW IT, BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why
did I speak the word, “MY”? I don't know, I totally forgot why,
but I did not say it for no reason. People don't just say something
helter-skelter before the music track starts and it is time to begin
singing a song that they wrote. Do I have any memory of why I said
it, sure I do, about as much memory as I have about the night in New
York. It is hazy and foggy, and as if it was all inside a drug
induced wild dream, but I'll promise you all this folks, it was no
dream, David Roth and I did go there that night. Do you have any
extra propofol for me, Doctor L&O Rodgers? I know only one thing
about all of this game changing experience folks, and that is that I
was left with about a bazillion fucking tiny jigsaw pieces, and after
nearly thirty years, I am only a small bit closer to putting them all
together. Now I will tell you all why that is so. Before I do, I have
never had the death angel bother me so much, it is off the scale and
off the dial. This buzzing in my fucking ears is beyond trying to
explain it, it comes, it goes, it is very very bad and very loud.
Morty Mortino, you are one huge fucking royal pain in my Hampton
Huntington ass, you son of a bitch. GET LOST. Now a lot of peeps
think that I don't follow current events, or at least those that
pertain to celebrities, as I am so totally turned off by all of them
as a result of being unprivileged enough to have known a lot of them
personally and dealt with them, and know the secret truths about the
Lambrigg Cult that is behind all of this absurdity. Still, you would
be wrong good folks, I do keep up with things. Lots of people tell me
that my curly hair is not the only reason why they believe some of
the things I have said. I know what is going on, how can you doubt
that I would not be privy to things. I told Donna Summer a long time
ago, that I have eyes and ears all over that wonderful city on the
east coast, and I was not speaking of the larger city to the north.
She could not believe that I saw her reach down and tie her shoe on
Pacific Avenue one day, while loving hubby just kept right on
walking. I know stuff, YO. Peeps, you don't have to convince me of
anything, and if you want the truth, I really don't care one bit
about any of this, not after all the shit I have been put through,
and the loss of everything dear and precious to me, as a final
result. Yes, I know about the Mit Romney thing. The minute the extra
part of the video was posted, was the same minute that my across the
hall mother fucking nabes started persecuting the hell out of me
today. Nothing is new here, there is the enemy, there are those on my
side of the fight, there are the MY sounds that seem to just be
somewhere, and then, there are other things that seem to just be
added to other things, am I wrong folks? Never assume I do not know
what is going on. I try hard to avoid it all, but I have too many
peeps all around who tell me many things, some directly, others
indirectly and normally by way of persecution. Still and all, I know
things folks, and my hair is only a tiny part of the proof of my
entire story. Still, after Dawn told me one day, I had the library do
a birth-date check. I knew from there, that that really was the way
it went, and that Dawn if anything, is like MIT, they;re honest
folks, I will even give this to the son of a bitch, Trump. He is not
a dishonest man. He will fuck you to the grave, but he will tell you
openly that he will, and he will, many wealthy privileged republican
and super rich peeps are not dishonest at all. They will fuck you to
death, and they will tell you straight out that it's coming and that
there is nothing you can do but stand there and take it. Well, I hope
I don't have to chime in here and remind the weak and the frail folks
who they need to cast a vote for. The old expression of handwriting
on the wall is right there for everybody to see. Now just how much
real ETTOS mind control do they have, I guess we will be finding out
the answers to this in a short space of time, a month and a half,
Jeese Louise, surfer Fonty Kickacar.
You
know ladies and gentlemen, I am the only person who can do two things
that no one else alive can do. Now some can manipulate time better,
but I am pretty good with motion and living forever. It escapes my
mind how no one wants to even really check out whether or not I am
just some fucking ass balloon hoax fraud. The only way you ever will
know for sure, is to not take the word of the owners of the world.
They will tell you right off the bat that I am just a loser, a crazy
twisted sick mother fucker, and a whole lot of other things from a
deranged lunatic pathological liar all the way to an opportunistic
hyper-imaginative pathetic little bastard. I know this, and you
should all know this as well. But they have a fucking agenda for
telling you this. Maybe it is true, maybe it is not, but if you are
thinking for one second that they will ever come clean about my life,
after all the crime that they have committed against me for 50 years,
you are the ones in need of serious couch time and therapy.
Ask
any bank robber if they just robbed that bank down the street. Are
you really as dumb as this, good folks? Is Alex Jones right, and most
of you are sheeple? Well, I know that there is hope for the doubters,
even though there may not be a lot of hope for me. You see folks,
Kathy atr the Gathering Shop back in 1996 was correct. We do plan a
basic dream from the Astral Plane and then fall asleep into it. Those
who plan to be happy and arrogant and own everything, well, you have
those types, Donald Trump is a very happy person, and he has it all
on top of it, but he planned that. Another time, he might have
planned a cool dream where he was going to be imprisoned in a
horrible place and always trying to escape, getting beaten and
tormented. We all plan things that we dream, and then we are in our
bed and need to know that we will indeed have to sleep there. There
is no changing the major construction of the program, and only slight
alterations within it are actually possible. Take my daughter. She
has what most people would be as happy as Trump is, but she is
miserable and we all know it, I told you I follow stuff. There is no
changing these truths. Our dreams are real, to us, and we will dream
on, until we dream that others are at our funeral.
Speaking
of programming and fucking endless fucking misery, I just looked over
and saw PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, SO I WILL NOW HAVE TO MOTHER FUCKING
COMPENSATE WITH FIVES, JANE BITCHWEEDSDISEASE!!!!!!!
5555555555555555555555555555
plus 5555555555555555555 times minus 55555555555, divided by 55, is
equal to who gives a crap, just let me look at the number fucking
five, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Peeps,
I have a lot more to say, but need to relax now with my dinner and a
little television, so nighty-night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ENDING
TRANNY, YE TWISTED UP GRANNY:
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
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