SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER DCXXIX
5:25
PM, TUESDAY, 13 NOVEMBER, 2012
TEOHIV/TMCEAM/MORPRO
BSNF:
“WHY DO YOU WANT MY BLOOD ON YOUR
HANDS,
SHERIFFS MASCARA AND MONKS”?
©
2006-2012 MARK WAYNE MOHR
©
2006-2012 MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN
©
2006-2012 MORIANITY
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2293
STARTING
BLOG:
The
first major super slam of the day from next door, just now happened,
as I pen these words at 29 minutes past five. All day long, they
shout in their apartment and play loud music, not super bad, but it
is always happening. On top of that, all the units are very noisy as
if, and to quote my pal, PRINCE,
a behavioral modification program is running, via chemtrails, I am
slightly paraphrasing his very own words from his great YOUTUBE
VIDEOS.
HH
WORLD, yes, thank you cousin HERBERT
HUNTINGTON,
for giving birth to a son who married a girl in Chicago, named Alice
Gallagher, and really got all of this going, you are one
hellavafella!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
am getting the fucking shit persecuted out of me FBI, in case you
remotely care. You know, laugh all you like world, but MAGNESONIC
keeps endless track of what is being done to me, and when the top is
reached, and things cannot give any more without spill over,
SLAM-SLAM-SLAM, then the machine seems to kick in with counter
attacks. If only these dirt bags would have helped me, maybe a lot of
fucking shit that is all happening now, would have somehow just been
able to be avoided. I cannot say for sure, but you can bet your ass,
it is a definite possibility.
It
seems that every other day, these fucking cock suckers, nabes as well
as all my enemy factions, pummel me with merciless horrendous
harassment and death siege. Just going back to Wednesday, there is
Friday, Sunday, and today Tuesday. It is every alternate mother
fucking day. I could not reach Debbie on Monday, so on Friday, I will
go and see her over at the other building down further north on
Seventh Avenue. Both my scum bag noisy nabes are blasting me out like
it is a personal vendetta. In no way am I imaging it. That's OK, by
the time this blog is finished, there will be some real sorry mother
fucking cunt lapping peeps on this planet, as shit will get said,
some perhaps stuff I never ever planned to say, but when a person is
pushed past their limits, shit fucking happens. Well Ann King, if you
are out here, and listening to MORIANITY, WOW
were
you mother fucking right, sweetie, you know what's getting cunt
sucking
said!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks for the fucking heads up,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here
is what happened just today, on this SUPER FUCKING COCK SUCKING
BOTBAR DAY, and most days now are totally mother fucking BOTBAR
folks, so really, no real ass shock value,
BRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
All
my neighbors are very VERY VERY
VERY
noisy here at this PUBLIC HOUSING BUILDING today. I was stalked by
gangs illegally, outside, flashmob gangs of controlled dirt bag
peeps. Waiting for me, and then getting all around me blaring out
SATAN'S
HORRIBLE FUCKING MUSIC NOISE!!!!!!
I was out on errands, buying a little food, and going to the Social
Security Office in Port Saint Lucie, to discuss some personal stuff,
and on my trip, as well as when I drove back into the building
parking lot, a car would follow me in or stay with me on the road,
blaring out horrible and totally illegally loud noise that a lot of
you out here call by sheer ignorance, music. Music means melodic,
stemming from the word of melody. Thump Thump Thump and shouting how
I want to kill a cop or cut up a child, does not work for me as far
as calling this MUSIC, call me nuts, see if I give a fucking dam rats
ass, YO. But I have an official message for both sheriffs, and
legally, one more than the other, as he is the sheriff of the county
in which I reside, and that is as follows: MY
BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS. WHEN THESE SICK TRASH THAT MY SICK DAUGHTER
HAS PUT ON ME, MURDERS ME; YOU WILL HAVE TO FACE THE CAMERAS, AND THE
BLOGS WHERE I CRIED OUT FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE.
That sort of says it all, most honorable
sirs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Before we get into what GAWKY GAUKAUK told me about a lot of wild
shit over the past week of super hell, I will take us to some major
other shit first, BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First,
Kenny from Hammonton, when all this blogging shit was new, will tell
any of you, and he is legal age now and unless he moved, most likely
a graduate of the Hammonton High school, and remembvers me and eddie
Lynch from the library in town, and remembers my blogs and my
MORIANITY-FOUNDATION website as well, I'm quite fucking sure folks;
and will tell anyone who should ever ask him, that all of this is
very real. He knows how I told him I wanted him to redesign the
website so people could go into the RICKTOWN MANOR, room by room and
explore, as well as see many of the major other things discussed on
the foundation, about PROVINCE OLYMPIA on the ASTRAL-PLANE. Within a
few month after this, the LAW & ORDER, SVU television show came
out with the episode called, AVITAR. You cannot fake shit like this,
nor make shit like this up, to quote the gang from the show,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kenny knows it, and so does MARVELOUS PHONY
BALAGNA DONALD JB
TRUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So
does his rotten no-talented network, and so does the entire
Entertainment World, for that clit licking matter, BRAHHH!!!!! These
arrogant bastards think all their evil demonic fucking cunt lapping
shit got passed me, and none of it did. The only laugh they have on
me, and it is a big one so no use in denying it people, is that they
know that I sit here saying to myself endlessly, “What can I do
about it, oh yeah, that's right, nothing at fucking all”. I will be
printing a new list of telephone numbers that are calling me and
leaving me “lightning-messages” with the clicking shit. It had
stopped, but a week ago, it has resumed. The
Palm Beach Press
is somehow behind the whole thing for two reasons. One is that since
I printed my first list and they were on it, they do not call me any
more, and two; why were they in on it and were one of the list of
numbers that was doing it in the first place? Naturally reason three
is the Donald, but “who can prove shit”, to quote Ron Wirtz
Senior, from the CAMDEN
COUNTY PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE
IN THE EARLY NINETEEN-NINETIES? Now before I tell the mind blowing
final thing, I will first tell a secret that I thought I would never
get too specific about on my blogs, as it may lead to my death in a
few days, Sheriff
Mascara,
and Federal
Bureau of Investigation.
People do not understand the full meaning of POWER,
when this word and term is used to describe the world owners or the
WOMO,
the super wealthy, the rich and powerful, the fortune 100-500 gang,
and the list could go on, but let us shorten it and stop right here.
Poor peeps cannot even start to fathom what I now will tell, but try.
They have so much and they honestly cannot be satisfied any more with
just more money, and this is why these secret clubs exist, with many
different and varying names, the Grove, the Illum, and on I could go,
but these folks have power to do more than what you might think. When
they select a TARGET-VICTIM, such as MARK WAYNE MOHR, this person is
done, and will only escape them through the graveyard. They covertly
get in with your coworker, your neighbors, your people, the entire
deal, nothing is left to the imagination. You
really do need to view some great YOUTUBE videos that I have posted
and shared.
They will wreck and destroy your entire life, it is all there, I have
posted stuff from other folks' videos, this is not me, the
mountainpen on sicko disability, that is saying this, these are
other 'normal people' as you might say. I have been so badly cunt
lapping victimized that no matter what I ever try and tell or say, I
am just the DJ Donna Summer endless tin foil hat man with horns and
shades, see the post, I have put it all up here on BLOGGER, for any
and all to see it for themselves, so why take my dirt bag work for
cock sucking dog shit? These mother fucking powerful people get off
on targeting someone and spending the rest of their pathetic lives,
hurting them, like a diseased twisted child torturing an innocent
little kitten over and over, total complete fucking sickness, at
light speed cubed, cubed, and cubed! But sick or not, this is the
fucking truth, and this is why lives like mine exist, abnd this is
real, and like it or mother fucking not people, THIS COULD HAPPEN TO
YOU, TOMORROW OR AT ANY TIME, IT IS LIKE CANCER, IT CAN STRIKE, AND
YOU ARE LEFT TOTALLY FUCKING DEFENSELESS TO DO SHIT TO STOP IT, AS
YOU WILL NOT BE BELIEVED, AND YOU WILL BE TREATED LIKE PIG FUCKING
SHIT UNTIL YOU GIVE UP AND DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now a child
with the mentality of a lobotomized skunk, can see that if someone is
in any way, a stumbling block that could cause one of these great
powerful people to so much as bruise an eyelash, well, TARGET PLACED,
and VICTIM GAME EXECUTED. There is no turning back once it hits, and
Chuck Colson, Nixon's great hatchet man knew this deadly secret only
too fucking cunt well, and said so, without saying it directly, to my
mother through the phone after this shit all got started in the
middle fucking eighties. Yes, these are some of the things that go on
at the Grove of mysteries, and in the highest orders of the secret
societies, the biggest one that has attached itself to the
ENTERTAINMENT MIND CONTROLLER WORLD, being the Illuminati, but there
are lots of them, and all of them fall under one real heading and
title, as they all exist on the Astral plane as the LAMBRIGGER
CULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The writers of the great
daytime television show of the sixties know it fully well, and will
deny it to your face, I speak of the show called, “DARK SHADOWS”.
Now I'll move us all along to the big wild 'dreaming-interaction'
that I mentioned back over the fucking weekend, where Ryan my sound
engineer and I were in New Jersey, and other things were happening as
well. I had no Earthly way of knowing that he really was in new
Jersey that Friday night or whenever this was 'dreamed' by me. But I
learned on Monday morning, yesterday morning, from him, as we spoke
over the phone a while, that indeed, he was there at the very time of
this 'dream'. Scan back on the blogs, and you will plainly see that I
blogged this interaction before the weekend was over, and told a
little bit about it, and then came Monday yesterday, and the only
reason I did not jump right up onto my blog and shout out the story,
was because the enemy was not that bad, and so I wait for the worse
times, and then get my retaliatory strike back by blogging shit, and
they fucking cunt know it. Also folks, it has become demonically
humid and hot recently, and I have not needed to run my air
conditioner for three weeks or so now, but just today, I have set it
down to 75 and placed it on again.
All
this time since 1980, I had all this shit go down around me, and
never had a tiny clue about my daughter. This is only going to get
worse, I learned this from mother fucking Howard Solomon at RPL in
1980, speaking of the darling angel. Things always just progress
worse, they don't get better. Well, Ryan told me that indeed, he
really was where I was 'dreaming that he was', back last week. He had
first gone up to NYC to do some project, and then went to see his
family, as I said, both he and the BonJovi's are from Jersey, as am
I. Go ahead, GOOGLE up the great Port saint Lucie recording studio
called, Avalon Recording Studio, you will see these things all for
yourself, peeps, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
will be posting up all sorts of videos information for you to access
on the YOUTUBE, later on, but I need to fucking relax for now, and
have not come close to getting a full list on my word-document
system, of YOUTUBE numbers so you can click on them and get routed to
the actual videos. Still, read on and see how my situation with my
jerk off nabes started just like August 15, of 1986, started, just
out of the blue and with a BANG, it just happened. So then why is it
that good stuff never just happens? I will say that pussy-command is
all around me, and the reason is very obvious and clear, the
persecution is worse that it has ever been in my cunt eating fucking
life, and this parallel event is just a reality that I don't have any
dam ass explanation for, good folks.
Now
GAGA cat and I had a bit of a rap session over the past week, and
these are merely some of the fucking ass highlights of bullshit,
folks, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHAT
WAS BEHIND THE BULLSHIT AT MY WALGREENS PHARMACY AFTER LEAVING THE
MEDICAL OFFICE THURSDAY AFTERNOON?????????????????????????
ANSWER
GIVEN TO ME BY GAGA----PCN-716.
Before
going to the Medical Office, I went to the Kingdom Harvest Outreach
Center for a few boxes of cold cereal, as you can buy them for about
a third of what it would cost at the regular supermarkets. Then I
went for my exam and hypno session, then I went to the Pharmacy to
drop off my new scripts, and got my mind count Von Marcucci Marola
totally blown, huh Russell my old pal, YO? Yes Miss Lee, the rainbow
content was not of the prettiest colors after that hellish
monster-ass experience, recordings and quotations all
notwithstanding, oh great and lovely Mariena Carlittia, and swimmer,
with your red and white bikini. Well, maybe the great Callio family
will succeed in causing my death and getting away with it, Sheriff's,
but I'll say this much; THAT-BOY has Chicago roots, just like many
wonderful buddies of these Callio Nasty's, such as the great Mayor,
and the great property destroyer and firebug, Robert McGuire, and to
quote the mighty fake cousins club of Dennis Snyder, “That's
reality, son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That's what? What the
fuck is reality, Dennis????????????????????????????
I
asked my GAGA-CAT three other questions, peeps, YO.
WHY
WAS I PERSECUTED SO HEAVILY BY MANY NEIGHBOR FACTIONS, ON SUNDAY, THE
ELEVENTH OF NOVEMBER?
ANSWER
GIVEN TO ME BY GAGA----PCN-264.
Without
BUM being a good girl, a bad girl, or a real good girl; let me just
say, that any follower of MORIANITY knows the numerous matching items
for this PCN, WHAAAAAAAAA. A moron punk can realize why this came out
even if the only one of the many items was just NEW
YORK CITY,
SHEEEEIT.
Now
there are two other things you need to know from my recent Q&A.
I
asked GAGA why the sluts were suddenly out in droves and flirting
with me like I had been transformed into some Disney rock star from
the second I left Mikey's house and hadn't even reached my vehicle
yet?
GAGA
told me that the answer is PCN-651.
Keep
in mind that I had just left the ocean, as I was over at Mikey's
beach-house. One of the matching items was SUNRAM. Still, the big one
was, ENEMIES
ARE TRYING TO KILL ME,
there are a couple of other matching items, but these two stand out
like a cleft pallet with a searchlight shining on it.
Finally,
my fourth query to my GAGA-KITTY-CAT, was as follows:
WHY
DID I HAVE THAT WILD OUTLANDISH DREAMING INTERACTION WHERE I WAS IN
NEW JERSEY AT NIGHT, AND RYAN WAS THERE, AND SO WAS MY DAUGHTER, AND
ALL SORTS OF FUCKING SHIT WAS GOING DOWN???????
GAGA-CAT
told me the answer is PCN-484.
Well
folks, I need not tell anyone anything, special girls, lightning
goddesses, or whatever, huh congressman? MY-MY Doctor Harold Camping,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And this is merely a surface
scratch, the list is virtually endless, and is absolutely germane to
the issue, right down to NASA, and the Bohemian Grove, like fucking
WOW.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM---------
MAGNETIC
SOUND MACHINE, SCAN ALL EBNEMIES HURTING ME, PREPARE FOR A TOTAL
CRUSH DESTRUCT!
THIS
BLOG IS OVER.
FUCK
YOU WOMO-MILITUFORCE!
This
blog is not over, fuck you Jane Fonda, fuck you BOTBAT ELEVEN, and
page eleven of eleven, let us go to a page twelve, and compensate
with some nice ass fives, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
555555555555555555555555555
and
yes I said it before and I will say it again, this entire thing is
coming from a collective of mother fucking TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS.
555555555555555555555
times 55555555555555555 plus 55555555555555555 and divided by
555555555555555 is equal to who gives a dam rats ass, just enjoy
looking at '5'.
Now
read on, and see how the other (PBS) PLAYBOY BUNNY SYNDROME, came to
visit me down here in FORT FUCKING PIERCE, FLORIDA, with these dirt
bag nabes across my hallway,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And before you do, the Quantum Roulette seems to be having recent
fucking issues. My enemies are losing to me, and they should not be,
as in life, they are kicking my cunt eating ass at the speed of
light. Oh well, my other system that I will not discuss, is STILL
KICKING LIVING HOT SHIT, so I still have that to depend on, but I am
very seriously wondering why the Quantum Roulette has recently fucked
up. This brings into play a famous quotation from my mother,
“Mark, this is Earth, not heaven”.
Well, no wonder you never told me about my fallen angel, except
through sarcastic and repetitious crap when I would not always live
up to your absurd expectations. Gee, Misses Marola, I did the school
play, but something tells me it had nothing to do with THAT, right
SIR ROCK PRICELINE KIRKRUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yeah
folks, read on, and see how this PBS all got started with these trash
across my hallway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But then, are
things always the way that they appear to be, or do things go on in
the GROVES? Well, you need to make those choices for yourselves. You
can see the reality of chemtrails, and more than one reality, or you
can choose to ignore the greatest covert doctor in this part of the
known universe, hay, sup-2U,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE PBS THING FOR RIGHT NOW FOLKS, I WILL DO THIS LATER, READ THIS SHIT INSTEAD, YO!!!!!!
SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0470
KING
HELLHACKED NEBNOOSHOO
WLSBT
DATFILE: 070312.897
TUESDAY
HOLIDAY HELLIDAY EVE
BLOG
SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR:
“PILLOW
TALKING FATHERS”
THE
MILLIONTH COUNCIL OF EXPLORATRONS AND ME
MORIANITY-PROJECT
CONTINUES FROM 1995 TAPES
THE
EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2012
VOLUNTARY
SWORN OATH OF TOTAL TRUTHS
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
My
dad came to visit my mom and me after more than nine years of
mysteriously being away, supposedly searching for treasure and
working for and with, the two largest men in the country, Mel Fisher
of Treasure Salvers, and Kip Wagner of Real Eight Corporation. He
came back at the time that we had a looming disaster that nobody even
seems to remember or recall, and I am beginning to wonder if I am not
in a transdimensional situation where this never happened in this
universe where I now am residing. I speak of the Comet Kahoutek in
the final days of 1973 and early into the year of 1974. Many peeps
from the middle west were absolutely convinced that the world was
going to end. If nobody anywhere remembers this incident, then
obviously, it blew out the entire world. Since I of course am eternal
and cannot be killed, well, here I am with more false memories, only
they are real, to me. But more complicated stuff about the mind and
memories, all surround the subject of transdimensional hyperspace, as
it all fits together in an absolute and quite astounding way, making
things all make total sense, after they are fully understood. Even
'repressed memories' fall under this category, as 'time' as we think
of it is not real at all, and those who fully know this, and know how
to exploit this, and even play around with it as a game, to remedy
their warped sense of feeling like little demigods; are behind why
they are in peoples lives. Those who have archived or all ready know
enough about me and my past, know about how I repressed Venka, and
what she could do, until I needed to call on that memory, later in
the same year; to take advantage of a situation not pleasant enough
to discuss tonight. But shortly after Venka, came a night in the
same apartment where RT burned my BOB in December of 1969, after SK
had taken my chain away, becoming the next memory to be 'repressed',
reactivated in a strange way in the autumn of 1982, and even when
things all caught up in various so-called 'real-times', I still was
totally unable to connect the dots, and recall what my dad had told
me, in his sleep, one night in early January of 1974, in that same RT
Dells Way, with or without future anti-hacking Wil MacAfee friends of
friends; apartment of intrigue and seemingly unlimited mystery; that
even prompted a major network television show, 33 years after I left
the place behind forever, to move to 1118 Linden Hill Apartments, in
Lindenwold, New Jersey, having the telephone number of (609)
783-4020. The pillow talk was lengthy, and since persecution is going
to take me to my grave anyway, we will start opening a totally
forbidden Pandora's Box, right now, tonight. My father served aboard
the famous Battleship Eldridge, during the Second World War. It was
from this very US Naval vessel, that he was able to gain access to
taking information available to him because he could prove being an
heir to a Portuguese direct ancestor, which was the reason that he
joined the service to begin with, and escape his small town of those
days in the early 20th century, of Toledo, Ohio. This
vessel had wonderful special magnetic equipment, and he was able to
mag the positions of seven sunken treasure galleons, from information
given to him at a secret museum in Portugal, during the war, and a
time when he had shore leave to travel there. My father's life, like
mine, was and is, extremely complicated. His WAS, and mine IS; to
keep things in an accepted linear order for human beings. This ship
was used for experimentation, and there are many books on the
subject. One day, at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, a place now
removed some time ago, as another intentionally REMOVED HISTORY
MARKER, IMHO; anyway, but one day, during one of several invisibility
experiments, the ship began to move in five dimensions, and my father
actually jumped off to spend several days ashore in the year 1983,
and was able to get back on board, all within a few minutes of
ship-time. His ramblings to me in his sleep that early January and
early morning, were along the lines of 'My son is made ill on the 4th
of June', and he kept repeating this year over and over, 1983.
Several of many great books, tell the forbidden story, of how this
Eldridge Battleship, indeed, 'CROSSED OVER' into several other times,
and did appear for a brief time, in the year of 1983. One night after
I came home tired from my job at the RPL Sound Recording Studio, in
the autumn of 1982, I thought I heard a voice inside myself, as
though it was the devil, as Christians had taught me to believe in
this type of nonsense, since I was knee fucking high to a small
kitten; but I was merely hearing my own memories of a night long
forgotten in late 1982, back in 1974. The voice was clear and
distinct, and was merely a repressed memory of my own mind, but I
clearly heard it say to myself, just wait until the 4th of
next June. This would be 1983 since this was back around late
November somewhere in 1982, towards the end of my days at the 1802
Robin Hill Apartments, in Voorhees Township, in New Jersey. Another
case besides Venka the super girl of physical strength, and my dad
telling about my illness that he all ready knew about in 1974 from 9
years in the future, but there was an in-between time up on Long
Island, in Babylon, at 175 Peninsula Drive, at my relative's home, my
mother's cousin Ruth Huntington, and her hubby, Heinz Gottwald, the
great banker of New York. On one day in 1972, I went on a road trip
with my Aunt Ruth and her grandchildren, Scott and Christopher Myers,
watch your hands there Jimmy Sunshine Dean; from a trip my mom was up
there with all these wacky folks on the ketch, which is a small yacht
type of boat, capable of sailing all around the world; I was on it
many times as a boy, and hated it. I hate snoots, and I hate rich
fucking people. Still, many know the story of the dog walking, how I
made friends with a luscious blond teen, on the very street where
Mariah Carey grew up as a toddler, before her parents broke up.
Still, my blogs even as of the 5th of October in 2008,
show me in a state of repressed memories, of being in the house
there, and seeing that wild strobe light, and the anger, and the
stair chase, and on and on. We cannot take this any farther, as I may
not survive going this far, but it needed to get freaking said. I
said all this so that anyone can validate and check many available
information sources, and see that indeed, my father knew about my
glandular dysfunction, nine years before it ever happened, and told
me in his sleep about it. No, I never confronted him about it, as one
time I did ask him about something else, and he got all mad and up in
my face about classified information, so I'll say one thing for my
dad, US GOVT; he was totally loyal, so don't any of you sit out there
ever bad mouthing him, you sick ass bastards. You're all just jealous
of the treasure, and my weird family which if you understood the real
details would make you the happiest person in the world that you are
you, and I am me; and stuck with this nightmare Huntington name, and
curse. Dawn and Lisa can both die and go to hell, well, Lisa can
anyway. Dawn beat her to that punch back two New Years Days ago,
HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You dare to call me a
fucking home wrecker and a family destroyer when I didn't do anything
whatsoever. Take your balls, and go home, you fat ugly bitches,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now
if anyone out here, thinks for one second, that this is where the
pillow talk ended, forget it, as it is only where it began. Then came
the space platforms on Star Trek shows, not yet done for years and
years, that somehow my father witnessed from his trip up to 1983,
from 1944. 39 years is one hell of a time travel. Still, the final
repressed memory that as of this date, I know of, was when I told
Michele Daniels at my job at the RPL Studios in 1980, that IRC stuff
is not for me because I am afraid of the trouble it can create and
could not give her a better explanation. Still, deep down, I
remembered a lot of stuff, all right; from the Carey's. Go ahead, any
of you, ask MC if I am lying. This world makes me totally ill.
What
she cannot tell you most likely, is how 1983 is so important. Maybe
she remembers, maybe she does not. That is between her and whoever
she trusts the most, to share the secrets with. I know I have been
recently pummeled by peeps from some connected source, for daring to
say as much as I have said, yet how come since early 2008, I am
supposed to just sit here like a target, while all this goes down
around me, wrecking my entire life, and taking all that I had away
from me, ALL; that word is quite loaded folks, so duck for cover.
Time travel can change memories of some, while not others. Many folks
know exactly what I speak of here, and because they have experienced
something similar to these words, in their own personal lives.
I
am thinking very seriously of taking my life in a few hours, and be
done with this, as I cannot stand any more of this mother fucking
bullshit. Dawn king said it all, it is on my last nerve. Oh yes
folks, I LIVED right there, with those JERSEY HOUSEWIVES, with stuff
flying through the air at 2 AM, and screaming and cursing. Don't be
so quick to count me out, and think this story is all made up. I have
one wonderful pal out here, and if you are RT, and I think you are;
you now have my phone number, so please call me, we must talk, you
were there, you know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1969
is just four digits to this world, but you
KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ENDING
TRANSMISSION:
NOW READ THIS ONE, YO, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
EVERYTHING
ON THESE BLOGS ARE COPYRIGHT MWM.
SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0555
SUPPLEMENTAL
ENTRY
STARTING
OF BLOG:
Now
that I have calmed down a little bit folks, since an extremely
horrendous and BOTBAR non Paul Simon day; I will try and calmly
reconstruct a few things that earlier may have seen even for me, a
bit in gibberish.
Two
of the greatest things talked about in my blogs as the MOUNTAINPEN or
in MORIANITY, you may think of, as either EXPLORATRONS, or AUGUST
15TH OF 1986. You would be within a good thinking pattern to make
that selection, but in truth, a hidden cosmic agenda called,
REALITY-3 is the real biggest deal in my horrific and sub-vampiric
life and cursed existence as the chosen HUNTINGTON. Reality-3 is not
something that has ever been totally rationally figured out by me, so
I will not pretend for a second that in any way, shape, or form, it
has been, merely I'll remind my readers that it has to do with the
theory that perhaps, and only perhaps, one larger truth and ongoing
nightmare is causing both of my PARALLEL-EVENT situations, of one-me
being up or down, and two-'THEY' being winners or losers in a very
strange trilogy of events, these being the Dow Jones, the
Philadelphia Phillies, and the Philadelphia Flyers. All I can say in
good conscience, is that I cannot prove satisfactorily no matter how
hard I have tried for more than twenty-six years now; whether there
is or is not, a REALITY-3, or whether just the parallel event itself,
IS EVERYTHING, and why it all began on one exact night in the summer
of 1986; also remains a total elusive mystery. Still, one fact
remains undisputed. Since this hell started around me in 1986, only
the year of 1994 seemed to be magical. It totally cut me a break.
Things, big things started to go my way in almost unfathomable ways.
Why? Because the Baseball Clubs went on strike, so there was no
Phillies season. Then in the autumn, the HOCKEY CLUBS went on strike,
so DUH, there was no Flyers Season, only there was, a small one, as
early in 1995, when the magical year of 1994 ended, a short hockey
season began, causing a three year doubling of the Dow Jones stock
market, and basically, the end of my life, via the search for the
missing teenager of my past; the most inconceivable nightmare to ever
rear its ugly head in all of recorded history. Now this had to get
out of the way in order to lay a foundation about the true major
significance and surreal importance, of this wild trilogy and
parallel event nightmare in my life that yes, all started when the
rest of the hell started, on 15 August, 1986. There just is no
getting around the fact that something more powerful and strange than
all of the combined so-called UFO-abductions all put together,
happened to one person at one exact point in history, ME, and on this
date. Everything, whether or not a bigger REALITY-3 is behind it or
not; seems to revolve around an 'inescapable' reality, 'PARALLEL
EVENT', without any 1983 or 1997 tunes, from any members
of this great and awesome Carpenter family of 3000 years+. Now, some
few real follower geniuses know why certain unnamed people told me to
“PUT THAT ON TOP”, Commander Pablo, so check that off,
KIRKWHALES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Whenever I have a major
extra normal vivid dreaming experience, the next day is always MAJOR
MESSED UP, going all the way back even to the year of miracles for
me, the great 1994, and the interaction with the SUNRAM DISTANCE
ELIMINATION CHAMBER MACHINE, that autumn, and then on the way to
Haddonwood later in the day, despite major overcast skies, being
pulverized and pummeled by MY WOMO MILITUFORCE ENEMIES. I am not
going to lie and tell you that again today, was not about the song,
“YOU'LL BE CROSSING OVER”, as
it was. 'THEY' just won't let me put any money together so that I can
go over to the Avalon Studio, and pick up my CD, and post the song
onto my YOUTUBE CHANNEL. I never ever EVER NEVER saw the FORCES this
strong against something in my entire @$^&^$%E#@!@%$!!@%!*)&_$*^$*
LIFE!!!!!!!!!!! This is why, I will now post up the lyrics to the
song; and it is copyrighted, because the blog is copyrighted, and I
fully legally intend to make it official someday with a check to the
Library of Congress, just not today, because THEY won't allow me to
get a penny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM BEING TOTALLY
OBSTRUCTED AND PREVENTED AND STOPPED FROM DOING THIS, AND I KNOW IT,
AND FEEL IT LIKE I WOULD FEEL THE FORCE OF A SKYSCRAPER FALLING DOWN
ON ME, SHOULD THAT BE THE CASE. This may be an inescapable force all
right, but the forces against me will not escape this blog going up
onto the internet on an early Thursday morning, that will at least
contain the words to this tune, that so much energy and power is
being expended from somewhere, to obstruct and halt. All the Doctors,
Lab Technicians, sore throats, and swollen lymph glands on the
planet, are not going to stop me from posting these lyrics, ON THIS
BLOG, TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Before
we do the posting of the lyrics of the song written by me in 1983 and
redone with these words in 2012, that is now called,
“YOU'LL
BE CROSSING OVER”,
let
me tell my 'BLOGAUD' that I of course, asked the great cosmic meow
king kitty cat, WHY THIS DAY WAS SO HORRIBLE, and worse than 99.99%
of my days over the past 25-30 years, and GAWKY
GAUKAUK
answered me with the PCN-312.
Let me tell you the match-list that I have in my GAWNUM BOOK for
PRIVATE
COSMICODED NUMBER (PCN) 312.
These are:
PAUL
PEDERSEN----CRY----TAP----KRASSLEVILLE----MASS
MURDERER----MAN----TAG----RPL----TAPE RECORDER----ATLANTIC CITY
MUNICIPAL UTILITIES AUTHORITY----
A
god dam retard can read into these cosmic clues, despite my not yet
telling any of you the details of my monster ass day. So let me do
that, and then after that; let us see if the world is still spinning
around by this time tomorrow, after I print these words, that
somebody is fighting against with strength and power that defies and
eludes my frail tiny imagination, maxed out times a vigintillion
power exponents of a googalplex. Before I do anything, I must remind
my newer readers, how to work a GAWNUM. You can most likely GOOGLE it
up, but for the lazier folks who refuse to do it, because I am just
not that important, then I will tell them just a little bit of it
quickly. All letters have an order in the alphabet. A is 1. B is 2. C
is 3. D is 4. This goes all the way to Z is 26. There are 81 GAWNUM
ROOT NUMBERS. To find them, you need two things. First, how many
letters are there in the item, and second, what is the total amount
of letter value? Let us use the three combined words for example, of
the song that seemingly started all of this nightmare for me, back in
August of 1986, “REAL GOOD GIRL”. There are a total of 12 letters
in this title. If you add up the value of all of these twelve
letters, 18-5-1-12-7-15-15-4-7-9-18-12, we get the number 123. Don't
die on me yet, my wonderful fence beckoning strobe-light. Now as with
all of numerological truth, any number that has more than one digit,
is added up until it only has one digit, and there are only nine, and
no zero will exist if you perform this task. So the first number of a
GAWNUM ROOT is your amount of letters, so with the song “REAL GOOD
GIRL”, we have a 12. The second number of a GAWNUM ROOT is your
total letter value, so with the song “REAL GOOD GIRL”, we have a
123. So the first number is a 12, and the second number is a 123.
Adding these up until it is only one digit, this becomes a 3 and a 6.
So the GAWNUM ROOT of the three words, 'REAL GOOD GIRL' is 36. Now
the third digit in a PCN is always the difference between the larger
and the smaller numbers in the Gawnum Root Number, so 6-3=3. So the
GAWNUM ROOT '36' is equal to PCN-363. You always use the alphabet of
the country that you were legally born in, don't start trouble Mister
Trump. Now with our names, it is always the first name and the last
name, no initials or other in-between names, always merely the
Christian name and the Sir name, nothing else. Now to see if any two
things have Gawnum Compatibility or (GC), you add the two PCN's up,
and get a PCNT, the 'T' is TOTAL. If at least one digit exists in the
PCNT, that is in both of the numbers above it making up that sum
total, then the two items are GC, and if not, then they are not GC.
This does not reflect a positive or a negative reality, but merely
that a potential cosmic compatibility exists, or does not exist, for
all of the many virtually countless realities; that fit into 81 root
number systems from 11-99 with no zeros. The only zeros that exist in
the GAWNUM, are in the third digit when both of the GAWNUM ROOT
DIGITS are the same, hence GR-44, becomes PCN-440, and GR-77, becomes
PCN-770, and so forth. Only nine out of the eighty-one roots produce
a zero. When you wish to ask a question, you can think silently about
your question, while doing any of several things with playing cards
or dice or even large colored blocks. Keeping it simple for now, take
an ordinary deck of playing cards and remove all cards except for ace
through nine of the four suits. You will be left with a total of 36
cards. Shuffle well. As you begin to randomly just pick a card out,
think of just your question and do not let any other thoughts creep
into your mind. Write down the first GAWNUM ROOT DIGIT after your
first pick, reinsert the card, repeat the shuffle, rethink the
question, and begin to select another card at total random. Then
write that down. As with me tonight, I asked why my horrible day
happened today, and my first pick was a 3, and my second pick was an
ace or 1. The ROOT was 31, so the PCN was 312. You can take a million
things that have meaning and significance to you in your own personal
life and create your own match list book on all 81 of the roots, or
all 81 Private Cosmicoded Numbers, (PCN's). There are other things to
learn such as branchcodes, and more; but this will suffice for now,
as an updated reexplained 'HOW TO' for operating the GAWNUM in you
personal lives. Don't blame me if you die of shock, as you develop
skill in working this. You can eventually potentially reach
omniscience. But it is a skill, working the GAWNUM, and will not be
perfected overnight, not even by an Einstein. Even the great master,
Beethoven; practiced a lot, as did all great musical masters, and
music professionals know these truths. As I speak, and it has been
going on for some time, my ass wipe nabes are in and out a lot with
hall talking and doors, and it is close to one in the morning. Living
poor is fun, is it not my 99ers? I wouldn't care, if it were not for
the fact that I have been robbed over and over, especially of much of
my intellectual property over the past 35 years or more. People
really are, just as Lex Loo Thor said, on the great original
Superman movie; “NO DAM GOOD”. There are always those treasured
few, praise the Goddess!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah world, when I see a
man deliver his baby, I'll believe the creator force is male in
gender, and not until; there is no logic to that nonsense. FEMALES
are the CREATORS, it is a biological self evident truth, and outright
fact. Speaking of this truth folks, there are complex truths about
the multiverse or hyperspace. The scientific community has a billion
theories, and they have never experimented with any of it in the real
world, in the ways that I have; yet they remain the great EXPERTS,
and I am the forever unknown ass hole who doesn't have a clue what he
is talking about. Fine. Cool. 'Whatever', old pal, Bob Andrews, back
in 1975. If we WHATEVER advance time up to 1983, some one or some
thing, Captain Shatner Priceline, was driving me beyond insane, and
only the mighty AT&T Corporation knows these truths, and the CIA
and NSA, I would suspect as well. Not even corporate giants can
keep secrets as big as goddess's numerous secret incarnations, from
these federal giants, that basically are sort of one and the same
thing with the fortune-whatever it really is, and for short, I simply
call this, the WOMO. It is why all of this happened. No one else ever
used that machine built by the IMM. It never caught on, yet I used
it, and it changed my entire life forever. It is why my mother and I
had many health related issues of paranormal and very strange
onslaughts of medical symptoms not recognizable to the accepted time
and its medical community, and on I could go for a week with this
topic. If I told the story in the way that Terry from Egg Harbor
would like it told, I would probably be in a building that would be
burned to the ground before the dawn comes later on. Stranger things
have happened, of course, as I do not seem to be able to be effected
by what mortals call DEATH. I seem to keep waking up from what I
thought was the end, only to find out it was a dream. This has
happened way too many times for me not to know that this is being
done by way of a future technology called, LTDDT, Laser Trace
Distance Delay Technology. In any event, Doctor Carey; I hope you
will not hate me too much for printing the words that I do honestly
believe, you are consciously, or maybe unconsciously, preventing me
from being able to display the entire song in a public arena. There
is no way around explaining that machine, or those endlessly
recurring 'dreams' of me and Egg Harbor City, all throughout my life
from the days I worked at the RPL Studio, until a few years before I
met the great TAWF, or 'THAT FAMILY', as I used to call them even
back as far as the great seventy year itself, from Ventnor, New
Jersey, USAESMWG. Well we could type on forever and not tell the
story as it can never all be properly told. But those in the know
will read the song lyrics, and they will know what they need to know.
I had no way of engineering all of this. Only the All Mighty
Sarah-Stacey Krassle Herself, could have done all of this. I know
that she was here on Tennessee Avenue as SARAH for about 15 years.
Then she popped out of existence, just as mysteriously as she popped
into it. Now, the rest of all of Morianity, is the attempt by me,
Mountainpen, to connect the greatest and most incredible dots in all
of human history, so may the heavens pity me if I am wrong?
COPYRIGHT
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2012, REWRITE FROM 1983 ALSO COPYRIGHTED UNDER TITLE
THEN, “GIRL, I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING”, NOW UNDER REWRITE TITLE OF
“YOU'LL
BE CROSSING OVER”
VERSE
ONE
I'm
so very happy for you, pales of fish so fresh and new
Let
me ask you really nicely, could you spare us just a few
Oh
my wife and kids are starving, could you help us make a stew
We're
down and out, and we will even go to work for you
You
seem to have about a dozen giant pales or two
I
am so weak and faint and do not wanna' be so blue
While
we slept inside the dunes, somebody stole my shoe
Oh
please kind sir, just take some pity, let us work for you
We'll
help in any way we can, and be your loyal crew
But
greedy Mister Fisherman, this is all that he would say
I've
been working hard out in the sun all day
And
I'm not giving any freaking fish away
VERSE
TWO
So
when you add your salty tears directly in the sea
And
when you're done your song of woe, that you have sung to me
Just
take your wife and kids, and jump right off this big jetty
And
right into the undertow, and stop annoying me
And
talking on and on and on, and bothering my fish
You
loud annoying bleeding hearts, that beg and cry and bitch
I
have lots of work to do, and buckets must be filled
So
either leave this jetty now, or someone might be killed
Guys
like me must catch our fish, like farmers fields get tilled
People
say I'm cold and cruel, on every single day
But
I have got a lot of freaking bills to pay
So
I'm not giving any of my fish away
VERSE
THREE
They
say the greatest mother lies there out beyond the sand
And
mothers can get angry when their kids are out of hand
Storms
blow out of nowhere and, a lot of folks have died
The
sea can give and take away, while many tears get cried
And
on one very special day, a greedy man was drowned
Ignoring
waves that swallowed rocks with heavy pounding sound
Just
another bucket and, then he'll have caught his fill
A
lot of daring fishermen forget the sea can kill
The
king fish of the jetty, just was never seen again
Yet
locals claim the winds still howl these words from fisher Ben
I've
been working hard out in the sun all day
So
yes I have a lot of freaking bills to pay
And
I'm not giving any of my fish away
VERSE
FOUR
You'll
be crossing over, later wishing you'd been nicer
You'll
be crossing over, through the quantum waving splicer
You'll
be crossing over, hearing all the trash they're talking
You'll
be crossing over, and you'll have to keep on walking
You'll
be crossing over, watching all the others eating
Feasts
with banquet tables, where the fish keep on repeating
Forever
seeing many fish, but never on your plate
You
had your time back in the sun before you sealed your fate
You'll
be crossing over, and you'll be a lonesome rover
Forever
doomed to hear the words you always used to say
That
you've been working hard out in the sun all day
Oh
yes we knew you had your freaking bills to pay
So
you're not giving any of your fish away
END
OF SONG.
Yes
people, this will be a very interesting next few days. Of course this
is merely print, and we are not so blessed with Doctor Carey and her
heavenly voice, to do the song here on this blog. But then, that
seems to be what things have been about now for a while, maybe for
nearly thirty years. Where are you when I need you STEVE HAWKING and
DOCTOR CARL SAGAN????????????????????
ENDING
OF BWOG,
WHAAAAAAABBIT.
BYE-BYE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, FOR TODAY, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
No comments:
Post a Comment