The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment": SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0642

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER DCXLII

TEOHIV/TMCEAM/MORPRO

BSNF: “I GO WHERE ALL THIS TAKES ME, WHETHER OR NOT STEVE MARCUS NEWKID, WANTS TO HEAR IT OR NOT, MISS AT&T BLAKE”

WORLD LABORATORIES OF 2293, SEND-BACK-TEXT DATFILE: 112412.495, LATE SATURDAY MORNING

NEW JERSEY, AND FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, GREAT JASON FORREST OF WFMU RADIO, MAYBE STANDING FOR WORLDS FATTEST MUSICIAN

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

I cannot talk, as I am not razor thin myself, still, I never put up anything about anyone onto the internet. All bloggers talk about folks in various ways and degrees at different times, and that is where my lines are drawn, but now that this crap is up there, destiny has spoken.

My nabes from hell were in and out all night from late Friday into nearly six this morning, with only one bang, and one quick hallway talk, at least they did not shout. Still, I always know when this type of night happens, that loud music follows that day, usually in the morning, and it did, and woke me up a little while ago around twenty minutes before noon. Beats the 8:30 shit from last weekend, so I ,learn to find a positive out of something, if indeed possible. Where the white lady whom I spoke of, also pleasingly plump and quite tall around six feet or so, came from that day, I do not know, she must have just been a visitor, as the actual neighbors who moved in across from me when the other man moved out two Septembers back, are a thirty something heavy set African American couple.

This could be a real tall all blog, but I am not in the mood to give Q&A's or teach lessons, or tell secrets. I feel that those who read Morianity, are in two basic groups, the enjoyer/scoffer types, and then those who really do GET IT; and see what I am indeed up fucking against in this life, as the entity who I presently am existing as, in this dream down off of the Astral-Plane.

What I do want to discuss is the OTS, something begun late in the seventies or very early into the eighties, as the line is blurred for me by now, but it was during this decade changing period, where this did take place; and it stands for 'Otammic Teasing Syndrome'. I have come to know, that no differently than with many things in the last two generations where for the first time in humankind's history, people just never grow up, a back to back mental Peter Pan society of brats and nah-nah-nah-nah---nah children, living in grown up bodies, that being teased by this organized humongous and about as all powerful as any human group of anything can get; is something that I will for reasons that elude and fascinate me, be handling and coping with, until the day that I eat my final American Pie, early in the seventies or whenever, and with or without the great mayor and beach chief in his non dike form. Hay Steve Marcus, I really don't want to hear any of this fucking shit either my friend, the only difference between you and me is you a choice, and I am an eternal fucking beggar in the grand scheme of cosmic things, huh dude?

“I want to help you with your problem”. Gee really Steve McGinty, do you really?

Commissioner Sir, this blog has been taking me where it is taking me since the very first second I went over to the Hammonton, New Jersey library early in oh-Marola-six, and began the first paragraph of the OLD TESTAMENT OF THE MORIANITY BIBLE. There is no altering that reality no matter how hard anyone might ever try, or even how able they are with their great power and wealth, to somehow just make it all a total lie or fantasy. Real MORIANS know that this is all the truth, and watch the events unfold around us on a daily basis, backing up a hell of a lot more Morianity than they ever hoped would be the case, and now, to be quite frank about shit folks, they are stuck indeed, in the beds that they all have made, all by themselves, sheet by sheet, corner by corner, and I will tell you 001 why then you need to sleep in it. For many folks, sir, it is the only one they have, not all of us get to make millions of dollars off our ideas, but instead, are ripped off and used all their life, while others profit, and we are stuck in rotten beds that can cause back injury no matter how wonderfully we try and make them up. Hope this answers your great question about that, oh wise one. You did not seem to have that rock-paper-scissor throw, so let me for once, assist you, kind sir.

I thought that my life was bad until early in this year, in the very first quarter when two things happened. Jessica Grant fired me over at the http://www/harvestfoodoutreach.org/ in early March, right around the same time in March that I quit the RPL Studio job back in 1981. It was to the day or just about, and I do not find that coincidence meaningless as many would, especially since she is related to the great historical Grant family in a direct lineage, and hated me for the most part, from the go-bat. The second reason for this year going to super hell cubed and then squared; is because I dared to try and prove who the All mighty Goddess really is, and just as I tried doing in the first place back in the 1997 era, things got nightmarish dark and bad for me beyond any verbal description or attempt to really properly relate the story of it to normal peeps not going through a direct contact, Agent Condor, and Agent Falcon, sirs. It was right around the time of this WPIX television documentary aired on channel-11 in NYC, that I was nearly murdered on New Jersey's Highway, 295, coming home from a place called Rossmoor Community, where I was with David Roth who was guarding there that night, and I slept in my car outside the gate house. All this was in early 1988, and the truck that ran us intentionally off of the road was a McDonnell Douglas NASA truck, driven by a man by the name Jackson. I thought I may be able to prove an indisputable series of events leading to this conclusion that Jehovah does indeed come to this place, HER CREATION, interacting in the great interdream with all of us, only not always with any more waking awareness to it, than any of us have. Stop and smell the roses folks. You know that every few years, all that we were is a bunch of memories in the so-called present now point of our lives. It is almost as if we only get to live a perpetual present as follows: The nearest week seems 90% real, the nearest three months, maybe 60%, the nearest 2 years, maybe 30%, and going back between more than two and into the past of our lives by 5 or 10 or 20 years, merely a few dimly lit bulbs of light that kind of represents who we now at present pint, think that we are and what we are about. In a bigger reality, life slides in many other ways, as a collective mind. Our individual unique dreams here, or lifetimes, are less than remembered; less than 0%, only connected to us by occasional wild or extra vivid dreams, and so forth. We only live and are US for about a year at best, and this has nothing to do with brain age, as I perfectly remember all the events of my life, even those intentionally blocked out by the TAWF and the WOMO-M. People fear dying and do not even have a clue what they are fearing, a process of becoming new points of endless present time beings with endlessly varying past fake memories behind us, or the illusion of material life. This process is so natural, and nothing is ever lost even though it seems to us at any present-point, that we do not want to give up our ME-NESS. We have been doing this and living with this alteration and moving dream, since the starting of ourselves as one celled creatures. As our individual ME-MESS continues rolling ever onward, we do not see that we are not the exact person we were at 5 or 10 or 15 or 25 or 35 or 60, when we are ten years older than any of these ages, but rather, we accept this as a natural life process, yet what we were all throughout these so-called 'past' times and ages, have for the most part died away, merged and changed into the new present-point us. If this process did not move, it would be like sitting in Solitary Prison confinement. So dying or parts of what we are and were, leaving and merging into the ever new present-point us, is as natural as breathing, and someday, dying and not breathing, is no different, it is as totally harmless and natural as looking into a blue sky and listening to a bunch of chirping birds. I believe my old pal Dennis Snyder could kick in fairly well right about now with his somewhat famous quotation, “That's reality, son”. Still, this does not get into Jessica Grant, and it especially does not get into my trying to do a music project this year with an old 1983 song that I wrote and copyrighted in that same year, folks. STM inside my unconsciousness operated in the early eighties to get me to write many strange and wild song lyrics, and “Girl, I'll Tell you anything” was one and only one out of many, examples. Surely, MY PANDORA would seem to prove that I must have gone back into time from right here somewhere, and into myself, and did this song to warn me of all of this impending doom. Well, sort of, but not exactly. STM operates in all of our collective deepest non conscious minds on individual levels, as it is all one collective MIND, or said more accurately, it is a realm above this realm where brain and mind interacts in, this 5^th dimensional hyperspace. It is the 6^th dimension, an actual realm, the realm of TRUE AND TOTAL MIND. Brains are a biochemical and biological system of taking a tiny part of this MIND, and merging together as one while a body is alive to power this, and MIND in its true form, creates our entire dimension, so hence, it makes all of our space and all of our time, and all of our everything. Then it comes to interact in it. Normally, a Monopoly game does not create itself so it can then enjoy interacting with players, but this, as the great late Doctor Sagan said so well to the 99^th Congress of the United States one day early in the eighties, “Up's it by one dimension”. All of my music is one part of a two part item that is going on and has been since the middle sixties. The other item is Sarah Krassle. Explaining it further would merely generate a whole lot of Steve Marcus's, and new kids coming to town that simply just do not want to hear any of this, they aren't ready to GET IT, and as BB John Henningsen said it so often and so fittingly, also in the sixties, “It's just that simple, Mark”. Well, I didn't really want to hear that, but I was forced to. We cannot all be wealthy print shop owners from 1977, or bosses who seemed to anxiously want to hear why I acted the way that I did when they kept trying to fix me up with girls back then, and I refused. I tried to let McGinty in on the big secrets, and that was of course before the commissioner took me where he took me into secrets far greater; still, the one who seemed the most interested in the why's behind it all, ended up saying the same thing Marcus said, 20 years earlier in 1977, “I don't want to hear it”. I guess I am doomed to wander the Earth forever, as the new kid in town. So let me prepare my banquet feast of turkey and fish now, and continue my endless suffering. I all ready know that the entire world wants me to burn in hell, and are all too fucking stupid, and unenlightened; to realize that this is precisely what I am doing, and always was, and always will be. Pitiful, Adam Deedee Schiff Anderton, totally and absolutely pitiful!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Saturday, November 24, 2012

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0642

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