SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 168
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2295
SEND-BACK-TEXT
DATE AND TIME FILE:
CH-168-061211.078
TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995
4TH
SUBTITLE: “I EFFECT, I EXIST, I KNOW WHO I AM”
COPYRIGHTED
BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, 2006-2011 ©
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION: AND
55555555555555555555555
There
has now been a 6th straight day in this “CHEMTRAIL--- WE
KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE”, THREAT ASSAULT DEATH SIEGE. It's not real
bad, but it is most definitely making its presence, and is indeed
there.
Yesterday,
Saturday, in the late afternoon, I went over to the South Beach of
Fort Pierce, on Hutchinson Island; for a swim in the freaking ocean.
No bothersome aerial vehicles were around, but trailing was indeed
going on for a 6th straight day, and of course they know
where we all live, Reagan fixed it so we are now born with a Social
Security Number, and soon, we will not even leave the hospital,
without a tiny chip deep within our body. I don't care, as I do not
do anything that is against the law. I have done plenty of things
that I am not real super proud of, but I was set up, just as I have
been set up to fail, no matter what I do, or how well it is done, and
I have recently freaking proven that to my total ass satisfaction.
Young
girls flirt with me quite a lot during these sky sieges. Of course, I
just totally ignore them. I have way more important things to do, and
I do not want to go to jail, either. This is not a free country, and
I learned to adjust to that after the eighties died along with the
McGuire Fire of Chicago.
From
now on, most if not all of my blogs will contain what I'll now call,
the 'reminder sentence', or the (RS). This being, that if read from
anywhere, any point or place, on any randomly chosen blog; and gone
in either direction, backward or forward in time; readers will not be
able to help realizing two very obvious things. One, is that there is
a real major-ass thing, that is happening to me, and two, is that not
only does the MOUNTAINPEN-BLOG, in its entirety, tell its own
indisputable and factual story; but it reveals as well, the
absolutely unmistakable reality of powers that are discussed in the
great 'HOLY BIBLE', being not only real; but are directly involved
with all of this, and me; and quite simply and honestly put folks,
it's not arguable, because I have an irrefutable true story. This
story is filled with facts of injustices and nightmares, as well as
proofs of dangers that most definitely are surrounding all of us; as
after-all, when I am gone soon; and I am old and will not be around
forever; then common sense dictates that 'THEY' are going to have to
find lots of other people to take my place, in order to give their
warped minds and souls, something to relentlessly freaking torment
and torture, day and night, 24/7/365.2422.
First
off, I told everything that I thought at the time when starting the
Morianity Project, beginning with the internet updated version of the
Old Testament of the 'Morianity Bible', and as soon as things began
being said, reality continued doing what it always seems to do around
me, and this being, to continue altering as a result of the mere
telling. Now Quantum Physicists all have various names for this
phenomenon, as well as basic theories to explain it within the
currently known limits and boundaries in the various atomic,
subatomic, and wave/particle sciences. Rog gave me two fascinating
books, and I blogged their titles in 2008 sometime late in the year,
or perhaps early in the OH-MAROLA-9 year. Things start to blur after
millions of hellish nightmares, on both sides of the freaking bed.
These books from the late eighties tell me that another parlor trick
exists within all of this, and my own father used to tell me about
this same thing many years ago. These heavy and fascinating books
reveal the entire future. Hence, books have to exist someplace today,
showing the next couple of decades. I do not mean stuff like
Nostradamus, and his so called ability to see into the future; merely
that common sense dictates that the military systems of the planet,
must remain one or two decades ahead of their civilian populations,
in order to survive in this DWOON. This pronounceable abbreviation
stands for, with a little 'Daniels humor' thrown in, (DANGEROUS WORLD
OF OLIVER NORTH), so let's not pop any bags too close to this dude.
No sense being responsible for his heart attack. YES PEEPS, WITH, OR
WITHOUT, THE PATHETIC OLD MOUNTAINPEN; this is, always was; and will
most definitely always remain; a very freaking DWOON. But huge
illusions and parlor tricks, are somehow all built into not only the
reality of the DWOON SYNDROME; but in all of our perceptions to it.
Now (QMT) states that our perceptions and observations are actually
what first is creating what we believe to be observing and perceiving
in the first place, hence, (Quantum Mechanics Theory), is most
definitely the foundation, and the small crack opening; in taking
Einstein's SPACE-TIME relativity, into SPACE-TIME-MIND reality. But
if you 'think' for one single solitary second folks, that these world
owners, or the WOMO, are ignorant to this truth, you are now the
official winners of the Naivety Club of Earth. You heard of the
television show called “NCIS”, and now we can throw in the NCOE,
with or without any flash-mobs at the TD, only back then, Commerce
Bank of Hammonton, NJUSAESMWG, four or five years ago, when big
gorgeous Jess was throwing her football around, and I was doing my
tattle tailing. Lucky for me, Patty did not want me at Rikers, huh?
Rats don't always make it to their first shower in there, BRO.
Naturally, I would adapt, and shut the hell up all the time. Don't
send me any text messages John Johnson, and if you run into poor old
Joe Paget, tell him I need his frequency number. Yes, if I knew why
he was so receptive in his personal and unique 6th
dimensional receiver wavelength, I might be able to adapt the wordage
mechanics in my blogs, and really finally get my message out to the
conscious collective of the human race. The unconscious collective
all ready knows the sum total, and the exact thing that I do; but are
all 'consciously' blocking it out to protect, and maintain, their
sanity; like DUH, and while you're at it, color me MINE, and 'Briscoe
impressed'.
Scylla
told me last night that I made her very angry. She won't tell me the
details, only that I should have kept trying to get the right peeps
over here to work through my computer hack, as I am always getting
short ends of life's stick, as a result of this evil empire winning
over me illegally, and violating my rights as a free United States
citizen, to be on the internet, and to use it legally. The first
fucking hack I will get taken off is the 'BUT-ODF HACK'. Read the
blogs, I cannot catch all the fucking times that instead of reading
in small case, the two letter word, (of); it comes freaking ass out
instead as capitol (ODF). This is the name of a word processing
document file. There is ODF and PDF, I know this much, and I'm just a
fucking ass computer dummy. Still, every time I try to do anything
with anybody, something stops it, EVERY
SINGLE TIME. I had a great friend in Ann King, and boom,
look how Scylla did all the stuff after the oh-eight year ran around.
It took the death of her distant-cuz
Dawn-Marie, to let me escape this; and become friends
again with her. As for getting someone over here to look at the
computer, it is harder for me to do a simple thing like this; than it
is for most of you to lose your job, be flat broke; and then purchase
a nice home the next week. You do not have to believe me. I know I'm
being straight, and so does fucking GOD, to use forward mortal lingo
that is relate-able here with my readers; yes, so does
GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Morianity has only one pesky lie
that comes back to haunt me. All other shit is 100% totally the
truth; and that lie was told to literally save my sanity back early
in 1997, as a result of a hell that I was going through in the
previous year, that is simply not speakable; and that all pertains to
my unfathomable quest and search, to locate the missing elusive
teenager of my life, SARAH-STACEY KRASSLE.
As
for the year of 1983, and the Mertsock family of Cherry Hill, New
Jersey, USAESMWG teachers, the PRIVECODE MACHINE, invented by the
International Mobile Machines Corporation, and my 1983 death-illness,
and all the other stuff that hellfire damnation is made from; a child
can put together, and did; and helped me to see that GG obviously
held one or more patents that went into this machine. Only a small
following of peeps used this cool machine in 1983, and in no time, it
seemed to be like many other things in my strange outlandish personal
universe of mysteries; the great 'VANISHERS' were called in, as Sally
and Billy and crooked ex-partner Paul Evans Pedersen of Studio Park
Records, must have also called these peeps. They made me totally
disappear, just like I never was there at all. Only my Copyrighted
book from 1994 is the proof that they did in fact fuck me, and hurt
me; and in the case of Paul Pedersen, rip me off major; and steal not
only 40 grand of my money; but also the name of Studio Park Records,
from me; but my book, “TPB” vindicates me. The mighty TAWF
managed to separate me from all of my other great evidence, the best
of this being all of my journal cassette tapes. When I had the
Atlantic City Electric Company peeps over to my rented home on Route
561 in Gibbsboro, New Jersey, USAESMWG, in the early
nineteen-nineties; the lineman specialist told me that this machine
generated more dangerous radio frequency radiation, than all of the
combined other systems in the entire house, and more than if I lived
in a tent directly under high transmission lines. Gawky knew exactly
what he was doing, and so did this entire wonderful family. I do not
hold my lovely Scylla responsible. I only hope and pray, literally;
that she can see all that her wonderful peeps have put me through,
and not hate or blame me too much for that night in August of 1986,
in the city that never sleeps. She has had total hold over me ever
since she was thirteen years old. Still, I love her, because I always
have, for vigintillions of spell-checker-ignorant years. Thousand
(000), Million (000,000), billion (000,000,000), trillion
(000,000,000,000), quadrillion (000,000,000,000,000), and keep adding
a group of three digits with each new word, you dumbed down computer
world, quintillion, sextillion, septillion, octillion, nonillion,
decillion, unodecillion, duodecillion, tredecillion,
quatorodecillion, quindecillion, sextodecillion, septemdecillion,
octodecillion, novemdecillion, and then comes VIGINTILLION. It is
lots easier to say one times ten to the 63rd power, rather
than one vigintillion, and also, these numbers have no Earthly use,
they are too large to be of significance. Still, they exist, and are
indeed in all of the good old encyclopedias and the good old college
dictionaries of the early and middle twentieth century. Yes my
Scylla, I remember what you said in your great city of lights, SDK;
and this is obviously why they had to go to the Earthly counterpart,
Krassleville; that day. Maybe they were not such real good boys
either, as there, S.R. is <13, no matter how many New York City
television detectives hate hearing that. Yes, Scylla; you were most
definitely mi mountain full of gold that night. I was struck by the
same thing that Ed and I were hit with on Tennessee Avenue in October
of 2006, by your totally evil distant cousin RMG. We developed the
film and disc, and put it up on the Morianity-Foundation Website; and
yet to this day, our conscious memories are wiped clean of the event,
when your cousin hurt us on that public street, as innocent tourists
taking photographs. Yeah, he sure looks after your family, and hates
most of his peeps, and I am quite sure Scylla, he hates himself too.
Living with secrets, sucks, so this is why I need you to do a song
someday, and tell me what if anything you remember about that night
so long ago. Then my advice to you is not school, as that was then,
but now, it is to contact your cousin McGuire; and insist that he
tell you if he has the same 'strobing-flashlight or whatever', in his
pocket, that you were showing to me that day in your house in 1975.
As long as he and his peeps down there in ACNJUSAESMWG have access to
so much power, they are very dangerous. I am not saying these things
to you as one of your biggest fans, but as someone who will always
care about you in a special way.
You
obviously got my message, as the machine went a little crazy as I was
typing this, and I checked, and sure enough it seems that I am back
again with this computer number matching an address on 36th
Avenue, in San Mateo, in California, USAESMWG; and my computer clock
has also been reset to Pacific Time, so let me repair this. No sweat,
all back the way it should be, but yes; contact your cousin Robert
McGuire, MC; as it is very important that you realize that he may
have also blocked out some of your memories. This is not only my
life, it is your life too, and he does not care one bit that you are
the greatest artist on this planet. Those things mean absolutely
nothing to that big Irish bully. Ten to one, your mom knows about her
fathers cousins that trace into the marriages into Pennsylvania, so
start here if you want to play with this, and call up 'Elder
(Goldstein) Hair' out in Utah; and tell him that I have sent you to
him. Also, Bob McGuire has a 50% interest in the Irish Pub of
Atlantic City, on Saint James Place, so check this all out when you
get time, brown eyes. This is your life that this prick is playing
with, and not just mine. Also, don't waste your time on ancestry dot
com, go to Hair. He will tell you all sorts of stuff you have wanted
to know. I blew Frank Callio's mind in 1997, when I gave him a
report; a life changing event for him I think, and this is another
distant cousins of yours, BEG.
In
wrapping up, I know enough now to have a greater respect than I ever
used to have for the mind realm, or the sixth dimension. Speaking
about my old ex-partner PP, who is lying his fat ass off about
inventing Studio Park Records, but he can keep his fantasy, as my
lawyers are standing by here in Florida, for the day he cashes in
big; and then he will be going into court with me faster than McCoy
and the joy-juice flies; but he told me once back while I was renting
a mansion owned by a dude named Guthrie Short, in Blue Anchor,
NJUSAESMWG, in the last couple years of the nineties; when the
Braxton sisters were harassing me on the phone, and psychic Paula
Uwich, proved herself right on many things that she told me, crooked
or not YO; but aniwho, Paul said to me, “Mark, you are just playing
your Morianity to the roaches”. What he meant was that an off hook
land-line telephone is dead, and only goes out into the walls; and
not even up to the pole. This is not true, because during a close
lightning strike, a loud click is always heard on the line, and this
would not happen if this great predictor whose accuracy was around 3%
on his best year, and this has been told and blogged before on
numerous occasions, but no, this wouldn't freaking happen if he knew
his electronics from his beer cans; dudes and duddesses. Still, now
that I have both my land-line and the Comcast, and both have
unlimited calling plans within USA borders; I can bypass now, so
soon, when I play stuff to the unconscious collective of all
humanity, it will be on a phone that really covers distance in the
outside world. I can use one to call the other, so roaches be damned,
lightning clicks or no damn strobe-light clicks, huh SSJKK and Robert
McGuire, YO!!!!!!! Very soon, things will begin to really go
topsy-turvy. It may take a while, but if the FISA peeps and others in
WOMO weren't so scared of my knowledge, and my mother fucking
technology; then they would not be breaking into my place, damaging
my property, examining my personal telephone books, and getting their
minds blown while simultaneously locking their 601 Lenny-Gates, huh
United States Copyrights Examiners???????????? So go and choke on
that one, nurse Coo coo bird!!!!!
CHEMTRAIL************CHEMTRAIL**********CHEMTRAIL*********
CHEMTRAIL*******CHEMTRAIL**********CHEMTRAIL,
what are you gonna' do about it, butt wipe??????? Keep messing with
me, but remember shit head, Dawn thought she was so powerful, and she
could pick up 400 pound furniture and sail it around rooms, but now
as the 1983 song goes, ~~~~~~. Yes I had a friend, his name was Len,
and right now, it is ten minutes shy of 4 in the more; so let me
crash like the plane with the Scotland couple, and yes; in Table
Throw Unthinkable County, Florida, WOW, still wanna' take me on Civil
Rights hater??????????????????????? BYE-BYE, CHALL,
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TWANSMISSION, WABBIT, WHAAAAAAAAAAA. That's all peeps.
This
is a re-posted blog, and as far as 1983 songs go, I had no idea at
the time I had originally written this little bwog, Elmer Fwudd, sir;
that another great and marvelous song, had already TRUMPED the
one about the mighty record promoter, Mister Record Promoter, W.
Leonard McKinnon, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. But “while time runs along”,
Congressman; I will remember what really was going on back
then, with Ralph and Sandy,
Miss Blake, and Mister Rambo, right American
Telephone and Telegraph
corporation, like WOW,
was I blocking stuff, YO! So now why not skip back to SAFE JOURNAL,
CHAPTER 0165, and watch the real 'hammer-man' screw up a Saturn
Automobile back in 1994, kids, what can I say? Well, I will say
something. My granny said something to my mommy one day when I was
only about eight, in that 2041 Chestnut Street apartment over in
Philly-57-mickey sticks, fired and all on July first, huh Mister
Walker of Mars, not the planet of course? He told my mom, “Why
shouldn't he be difficult, you were difficult as a child”. Well,
generations march on, WHAAAAA. You're gonna' have your frikkin hands
full guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now,
this re-post will end its transmission, 4-now, Callio brown cow, and
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What
did I say folks, oh yeah I remember, pretty hard to forget, or deal
with for that matter, right now, but I still have the entire
conversation, start to end, on an ancient cassette tape, gee,
I'll be a son of a six shooting Deadwood-86 song-gun,
WOW-WOW!
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