SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0566
SUPPLEMENTAL
ENTRY
STARTING
BLOG:
If
you are looking to read something that makes one bit of sense humanly
speaking, in the normal waking world of space-time, then take this
great advice. Leave this blog right now, nothing will. Try the blog
of James H. Kenneth Junior and his deep sea fishing trips, or perhaps
go to Uncle Joey Barrett singing lessons blog, or the great blogs of
Trump and how to be a wealthy arrogant egomaniac. But staying here
will result in reading things that only make sense to about ten
folks, tops, on this Planet Earth. To all others and especially Terry
from the Jersey Harbors, it will only serve to drive you totally
insane.
I
was in a dentists office in late November or early December in 1982,
and was targeted by the famous trick that Maxwell Smart number oh
please, might label as, “THE I KNOW HE WILL BE HERE, SO LET US
PLACE STUFF IN FRONT OF HIM, THAT HE JUST CANNOT MISS, TRICK”.
Well, 'they' did, and, 'it worked'. It was a magazine all ready
opened and it looked quite interesting. In no time, I am reading an
advertisement of a cool machine called, “PRIVECODE”. This was all
planned fifty million years ago, and you go right ahead and believe I
am as crazy as a chirping bird whistling Dixie in reverse. I know I
am not. That is what counts. Still, I had two experts tell me two
incredible things about this machine. One of these persons from the
local Jersey electrical power company informed me in the early
nineties, that this machine threw off more electromagnetic fields
into the room it was in, than if I was living directly underneath a
high transmission power line system with ten times the power that
normally is sent through them. Another person actually disassembled
and reassembled the shell of it and told me that in all his time as
an electronics repairman, he never saw anything like it in his life.
The details of what I did with this machine, as well as what became
of this invention from a company called the IMM of Pennsylvania, will
be totally glossed over and skipped for tonight, in the interests of
time. If this machine was placed in a circuitry along with other
machines, and one of them had a lot of magnets inside of it as well
as a magical way of using these magnets, that needs not be discussed
right now; this system would immediately become no longer a mere
telephone screening system, but an actual transdimensional
communications system, across worlds that only Sagan and Hawking
dreamed of in their utter most bizarre wild imaginations. Still, Jim
Burr who was called Jim Pratt, in my 1994 book called, “The
Permission Barrier”, © Mark Wayne Mohr; used this machine as did
anyone who needed to call either me or my mother in 1983 through
1998. Long before AT&T or IPODS or Apple or even PC had gotten
the wild notions of a future time, I was online, but not on the
original scientific and governmental interconnected networking system
of computers. I appeared to be linked up to an even more grand
wireless system, just as any kind of wireless communication would be
considered fairy tale magic to the old western American pioneers of
nearly 200 years ago, this system allowed me to create a
communications system with things that some folks just might call,
from our Aryan origins. The spelling may be correct or incorrect, I
speak of the so-called space-aliens, despite my personally knowing
that they are not really there, unless we want them to be of course.
Let me move on without completing any details, as tomorrow is a great
time as always, for going back and making older things, seem clearer
with further explanations, that in truth, only further muddle things
up in a quintessential form of obfuscation, because the more we can
ever discover and know, the more we learn that there is so way much
more beyond that, that needs even greater and further exploration. As
for dog-walks, dog-runs, coincidences, dot connections, maximum
combinations, great Astral Plane traveler beings who keep an identity
here in the so-called waking world, and shall I never forget and
leaving best for the last, PAYBACK.
There really is not a whole lot of other possible explanations for my
nightmare life since 1980, as if things for me were not bad and
horrific enough as the sixties and seventies both came and went,
still, I came to learn that was a mere preview of coming mother
fucking attractions in the horror flick called, MARK WAYNE MOHR GOES
DIRECTLY TO HELL WITHOUT $200.
People
call me and tell me to call them, and it has gone beyond a game now,
right down to somebody who I thought was my friend, faking a call to
somebody right in front of me, and it took me a few weeks to wise up
and realize that that indeed is exactly what he did.
I
thought I would never really reach Florida several years ago when I
ran away from this family that goes beyond the stars, and far past
any silly constellations or ideas of any of those living and dreaming
in this cave-person 21st century. I believed the Truman
Story movie, just as I talked about this on the night I talked about
in other blogs from years back, when I tried to drive over to a home
owned by the parents of a young girl named Marge, the most mysterious
family I ever met and next only to the great “THAT-FAMILY”, was
all real, and that until I escaped where I was living in a general
area since the nightmare all began all around me, that it was some
huge game, and no escape really was possible. Now I realize I did
not escape. I am still at Cifaloglio on that horrible early morning
just past midnight, planning to leave, and fell asleep in my car, and
this is all just a nightmare. I have not really lost any of my stuff
either. So there is some positive out of al of this. Still, there is
no life in the universe like mine, nobody could be having these
things really be happening to them, so wow, back at Haddon Hills
Apartments and I am ten years old. Christ All Mighty, or anywhere
in-between, depending where I think I am waking up. Diana tells me
that 215 times, I have put myself on that fucking train in-between
Westmont and Haddonfield, heading eastbound, from wherever it is I
eventually die in June of 2031, according to all things so far, I
will wake up from the Cifaloglio situation, and be back in New
Jersey, and yes, die in Misses Young's class, or some reasonable
facsimile thereof. That is why I dreamed of being in so many classes
here in this dream, at the great Harvest, with or without a general
breakdown, or being cured from Aides. At six minutes past one in the
morning, on this now 23rd DEVIL NUMBER DAY in September,
MY COMPUTER WAS TOTALLY TAKEN OVER AND HACKED, BOB MCDOWELL OF THE
FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION. I HAVE UNPLUGGED MYSELF FROM THE
CONMCAST CABLE INTERNET MODEM SYSTEM.
OBVIOUSLY,
SOMEONE OR SOMETHING, REALLY DID NOT MOTHER FUCKING LIKE WHAT I TYPED
SO FAR ON THIS BLOG, AS THIS HACK WAS TREMENDOUS, WORSE THAN ANYTHING
IN A YEAR OR PERHAPS MORE. THIS IS A TOTAL FUCKING CUNT VIOLATION OF
MY HUMAN AND CIVIL RIGHTS, FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION. I HAVE A
RIGHT TO MY FUCKING PROTECTED FREE SPEECH, YO!!!!!!!! I AM NOT
THREATENING ANYONE, BREAKING ANY LAWS, OR TELLING ONE UNTRUE
STATEMENT ON ANY OF MY GOD DAM FUCKING BLOGS, THIS IS ALL THE TRUTH
SO HELP ME JEHOVAH, BUT SHE WOULD RATHER HURT ME SO IT SEEMS, RIGHT
MY FEW OR REALLY GET IT NOW??????????
I
just asked the great cat of wisdom, AKA my lovely panther GAWKY
GAUKAUK
WHY THIS HACK ATTACK HAPPENED, JACK STACEY L, and yes Patricia
Hollister, I know that Halloween is coming up not that far off, but
we won't be screaming for any sharks or jaws right now until we can
gather more perfection without hubcap destruction, oh mighty
KATHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, the great cat of Astral
Wisdom, gaver me the answer as PRIVATE COSMICODED NUMBER 242. Guess
this brings us full circle, JOHN
COLORADO
HENNINGSEN WORSHING.
Hell, just add PI and we can get down on our knees and do some real
dance moves, Lymph Nodes Shirley. Now, some other recent query
Gawnum's were conducted, and I will now print and reveal this Q&A
information for my wonderful BLOGAUD, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!
What
was responsible and or behind, the late nineties into 2000 television
commercial, with the tropical fruit drink that contained musical
similarities, with my 1986 song, called, “Real Good
Girl”?????????????????? ANSWER-----PCN-817.
What
is the significance to all of the endless similarities and
coincidences of my life, that are just way too many to be rationally
ignored; right down to stuff like, looking up at a plane, only to see
a chemtrail near it; or as soon as I do a particular thing, a sound
is heard in the hallway, or in some apartment; that is very loud and
unmistakable, as to being connected together???????????
ANSWER-----PCN-275.
Why
is everyone treating me as if I have the Bubonic Plague and
especially ever since the rewrite of the 1983 song, “Girl, I'll
Tell You Anything”?????? ANSWER-----PCN-927.
Extremely
powerful items in the match-list for this number are DAVID ROTH,
PAULA KING, CHRISTMAS, CORAL REEF, LIFEGUARD, and MANHATTAN. There
are a few other less major items not included. Yes sir, with or
without Bob Vandegrift or Tracy Shoemaker, I am probably laughing on
the outside about some of this, but them the great and powerful
non-OZ enemies of mine, AKA the WOMO-MILITUFORCE LAMBRIGG CULT HUMAN
COUNTERPART; would be the ones that I were standing next to them and
they were reading these words and especially in front of a crowd of
potential future jury heartbreaks, who would be laughing the loudest,
on the outside. With or without Lockhart Regan, they would most
definitely be, and quite loudly so, CRYING ON THE INSIDE, RIGHT
FISHERMEN OF THE WORLDS OF LIGHT AND FIRE?????????????????????
Well,
we will close for right now with a quick thought peeps, YO. First, I
know, and I know that 'they' know, that if my words and blogs and
telling of the horrors being done to me by them, did not bother them,
and especially because I am just a lunatic mental case, and they are
all totally lily white and clean in all of this; and nothing this far
out and fantastic and outlandish could ever possibly happen; well,
common sense tells me that they WOULD BNOT NEED TO HACK ME ALL THE
TIME ON THIS COMPUTER. How about you, do you agree or disagree with
that one simple statement? WOW, if this does not yummy yummy bring us
full red robin hill circle to the days of Eddie Himacane and his
point and counter point crap, that he ripped off from some television
show anyway, YO. Hay I try to be original. Lots of people have taken
my stuff, made very miniscule alterations, and redone it making tens
and even hundreds of millions of dollars throughout the past 30-40
years now, and I know it, and they know it, and they know that I know
it. But my point s not about their evil and thefts, but my attempts
to offer up some originality. The world used to like some
originality, but not anymore. It follows the leaders, along a very
slim trim line of precise jonras and parameters. Music is the
greatest example. To me it all sounds the same and has for half a
century, because it all agrees too perfectly with itself, forced into
tiny little jonras. But this is what people want, and so I would
never in a million years be able to make a career out of song
writing, hence, I enjoy my amateur musical creations. I will not ever
change for two very good reasons. First, I resist what seems
nonsensical to me, and second, I could not do things the way others
do if I tried. That is just me, and is who I am, and I am totally
stuck with myself, and I am being honest the fuck about that folks.
'CHRISTMAS'
is more powerful an event than any words can describe, and is a lot
more than a GAWNUM ITEM with the PCN of 927. Jim Burr said it all,
and he just cannot be THAT RIGHT, twice. This is why all the rest of
the stuff from his so-called attic of divine wisdom, is a lot of
fucking hooey. Yes, he said it is all about my family. I thought this
man was totally out of his mother fucking mind, back in time when he
would not get off of that fucking ass family kick. Time has however,
proven this wise soul 100% correct on this beyond powerful issue.
People like my Aunt Alice Gallagher Huntington and her hubby Uncle
Arthur Huntington, just don't pull shit like up in Braintree,
Massachusetts in early February of 1948, for no good reason. What
this family annihilator was trying to run away and escape from by way
of DEATH, no one will ever know, on this side of the bed sheets
ladies and gentlemen. Frankly, I don't give a fucking shit about it
anymore. I won't waste another second wondering about all the
mysteries of the HUNTINGTON FAMILY. In fact, as far as I am
concerned, they can all go straight to HELL as you might put it, I
know this condition-interaction, as DOGTOWN, my peeps. Still, there
are many fantastic fucking reasons, why the great hymn called,
“Silent Night” is never played on the radio any more during the
Christmas season. Someone learned beyond a doubt that it was written
by my father's grandfather Joseph, while his lineage still remained
in the lily flowers. Ask me if I could give two and a half fucking
wet dog shits, aniwho!
*******ENDING
BLOG.*******
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