SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0565

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0565

SUPPLEMENTAL ENTRY:

STARTING BLOG:

Things are going on all around this lovely rotten world, and only the blind majority seem to let it all get past them. As my lyrics from my 1988 song, “Prophet of Nothing” tell quite directly, I told it, they know I'm here, I haven't hidden from view. Things surfaced even at this point, but I did not have a clue yet myself. Still, even though I am in the dark on a lot of things, I now do know that stuff that perhaps I would have believed to be total nonsensical crap, is not. My mother abnd her office played a large part in many things, right down to my being cured of an incurable disease, but will have strange outlandish side effects from what in fact cured me, for the gods only know how long, way past this human lifetime that much I do know, as well as this other little tid bit of truth folks. I used to say 'kiddingly' that I died and went to hell on 08/15/1986, now I don't say it kiddingly anymore, I say it over and over, and there are no laughs or stair chases going on, or voices that both AT&T and myself, know come from far beyond the Planet Earth, and all of the great prophets of nothing, and those days. My mother worked with some very strange weird people in the very beginning of the seventies, at her great world famous shipping company once headquartered in Philadelphia, just down the street from my house more than 200 years ago. One of these people was Shirley. This is a very wild lady. She had a doctor, who was a transdimensional goddess traveler, that moves all around the hyper-realities of everything as easily as we all breathe the air, and on top of that, is not even aware of it while awake. She is the reason that all of this was destined to connect up, because without it, I would have died from the mutated effects of my days in the summer time in 1976, doing wall wash work, at the great Philadelphia hotel called Bellevue Stratford. All of this ties together in a million ways, and it would drive Terry from Egg Harbor City, totally whack ass nuts to read it the way that I would tell it all, if I had the time to do that, and I most certainly do not. I do not know how to operate this crazy new age world technology, I have no friends, no one to help me or show me shit, yet if you go to the URL address of http://www.mountainpen.wordpress.com/ right now by clicking here right now, you will see that the post is different from other posts of other bloggers. Does the time wave disturbance cause this, or is somebody over in Afghanistan smoking a Havana Cigar and saying the magic word, mahanba ladanta decrune bakk over and over? One answer is every bit as valid and totally honest as another, by all of the greatest scientific mathematical formulas on Steve Hawking mighty blackboards. Shirley told my mother when I weas dying in Atco, to go to the great magical throat specialist at Academy and Grant in Northeast Philadelphia. I have no memory of the trip there or back, and on top of that, in powerful night-interactions or dreams you may call them, I have been to a nearby home on I-95 highway nearby the exit for Academy Road, and at this house, things happen that cannot ever ever ever be safely blogged, and they remind me in some ways of the year 3000 and the Somerdale garage creation experience, from 1992. I wuld rather keep the story, at least for right now in total gibberish, the Privecode Machine, Gawky Gaukauk, 1980, Goddess Scylla, all of her many personalities that I have interacted with, dying of aides and now spending all eternity burning in hell, and the great Copyright doctor, you have the dam tapes and from back in time, don't play dumb with me, feds, you can deny the exploratronic realities or any other wright Patterson fucking horseshit, but you know this one is right there in all of our faces, and what are you gonna do, try and off my great daughter who in a puff, could whisk this entire Milky Way Galaxy a trillion eon out in nothingness? SHEEEEEEEEIT, gimme a fucking ass break.

My dirt bag nabe across the hall is a royal pain in my ass, bringing me fucking roaches and doors and noise and all sorts of shit. Then we all turn on the television and see that a large majority of folks are homeless now right here in America. I too would be, if it was not for my high school guidance counselor, Mister Jaqamini, or Doctor Garrigan, right car wrecker photo website destroyer, Robert McGuire??????????????????????? Talk about magic trick basketball shots. Tacie and her kicks don't come close to this hat trick crap, right old buddy, DEEZEE SLIM? WOW, you did a fantastic job, and you also got me to change my song to GENERAL BREAKDOWN AT MUSICIANS SIKE WARD. I hope you and David are doing well, in this miserable life we all are sharing. I am so disappointed in so many people all around this globe. You all turned out to be a bunch of fucking wimpy little wuss outs. Hell, at least Mit and Don speak their minds when they think the recorders are all off.

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