Wednesday, March 13, 2013

BOTBAR TIMES FOUR, SHITMARCH, MORIANITY-PART-5, CHAPTER 8


MORIANITY-PART 5



CHAPTER Vlll





3:10 PM-EDST, WEDNESDAY, 03/13/2003





Neighbors have been very bad and noisy for a week or more. Death android/angels and clock ones attacks are continuous events. Everything that can go wrong, is going wrong. Everybody is no good and rotten, right down to the core, and the atoms inside the core are totally rotten as well, and I'll argue that with physicists.





The reason for the bull market has nothing to do with what I was concerned may have been. It has been because, as always, all attempts by me to pursue MUSIC, in any WAY, SHAPE or FORM, are STOPPED AND INVISIBLY BLOCKED AND SANCTIONED, every single time, all my mother fucking cunt eating pathetic life, by those who must know the very same secret that I do, and also know of a statement made by the great Plato quite a while back in time, that is lost to history, but he said it to me when I was a silversmith in those days, “Beware the tide that brings within it the music message, as it will be heard the loudest and remembered the longest”. Someone is very afraid of my message, my information, what I know, shall I go on? I know for a fact that they are scared; and that this is why I am being totally sanctioned, and everything that I have ever attempted to do, has had the quintessential kibosh placed on it, by Scott Ransom and his 'very powerful and disgruntled people'. I look very forward to my coming death. It will release me very soon, from the horrible nightmare of human life as Mark Wayne Mohr. Naturally, after I am no longer here to kick into pieces of shit by total sub squat slime scum, as I'll be gone, then the EVIL EMPIRE as all evil empires do, William Clinton and Secret Service, will ''fall into history''.





Long story short (LSS) good folks, the Avalon Studio in Port Saint Lucie is closing to the public, and are going to be doing other things, so I'll no longer be able to do things there. I cannot fight powers that go beyond the fucking stars in the fucking heavens. Even I have a point where it is ludicrous in my own mind to remain in a mode of foolish tenacity. Another such example is not walking around a thousand foot brick wall, but rather, keep banging my head on it hoping I won't have to walk around it. Of course I won't. I would be dead with my brains all smashed fucking in, right old pal Lee Marvin, dirty-sir, and angry dozen, Jane Fonda papa? Hay, the world says NO, so it's no. This entire thing is controlled by an impregnable power structure from a higher realm and reality, who I know personally as the Lambrigger Cult of the Briggbase of the Province Olympia Phase-2 or the (spirit world, or Astral-Plane). You know people, it is like taking a gun and taking a box of amo bullets. Which is more powerful, the bullets or the gun. Nobody is strong enough to throw the bullets hard enough to cause very much damage and injury. The gun will sit there empty all shiny and harmless by itself, as well. The logic in this little diddy is not complex, all though figuring out what is missing here may in fact be more elusive and difficult to locate than untying the fabled knot that cannot ever be untied. A dummy can see that you take the bullets and the gun and you have a weapon. You take the driver and the automobile, and you get a reliable way to transport people. Separate from each other, the person walks and the car stays parked. Nothing is wrong with either one of these items, but somehow they are not connecting up correctly. Well if something is being intentionally blocked and sanctioned, that is a great explanation for many things. But it still leaves the powerful fucking unanswered question of but who is causing this sanction blockade all of my life, and more to the point, exactly for what purpose, WHY? I know how real all this is, right down to people getting killed that get involved with me, or in some cases merely scared or threatened, or perhaps even PAID-OFF! I've seen it, over and over and over again, and this does not make me a tin foil hat crazy person, I have seen it; just like lots of folks have encountered a lot more than just a television show, back in 1988, a great documentary on the New York City Television channel Eleven, WPIX, but rather they have seen more than just this TV show in '88. We all know what we know, what we hear, what we see, what our lives are about, and we can be told we are wrong, or crazy, or this or that, but we all know, unless we are legitimately mentally fucked up and demented or brain damaged and seriously mentally ill. I don't have to defend my life or my position to a soul, not the guy down the fucking road, not the governor, the president, the POPE, not even to Isiscylla, who just sent me a message, and fucking hacked the I in the name, not allowing it to capitalize no matter what I did for a while. You really impress me with your stupid ass parlor tricks, and you have no mercy and no feelings at all and are the epitome of hypocrites, writing that fucking bullshit on that wall. When I am down the most, is when you kick the living crap out of me. My creditors are persecuting the shit out of me today. Every time they know I am hoping for a call on the telephone, they call me ten times that day and mess with me. So FBI, and ACLU, and FCC, how can they know I am expecting a call, unless they are ILLEGALLY BUGGING MY TELEPHONE AND LISTENING IN TO MY GOD DAM PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS, IN VIOLATION OF MY MOTHER FUCKING RIGHTS TO PRIVACY?



My health is messed with, my machines are all hacked, my enemies are on a major roll for noise attacks on me, I AM BEING VICIOUSLY PERSECUTED BY A BUNCH OF TWISTED FILTHY DISEASED MOTHER FUCKING SLIME BAG PEOPLE, WITH NOTHING FUCKING BETTER TO DO WITH THEIR TIME, THAN MESS WITH POOR LITTLE NOBODY ME, yeah, some nobody, if this was REALLY THE CASE, then THIS WOULD NOT BE GOING ON for a half of a fucking cunt century, ladies and freaking gentlemen, does it not stand to mother fucking cock sucking reason?



I plan to take my fucking life, and hope that I can remain

dead. I have died 100 times in the past 35 years since that turn off of Route 30 while heading over to Audrey Heller's house in the early nineteen eighties, that I made, and do not think I cleared that oncoming automobile. Sooner or later, this retracing machine has to stop copying me. Funny huh folks, they don't like to be soul captured, yet they fully retrace me physically back here in this cave period. Go-Fig!





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PLEASE ALLOW ME TO STAY DEAD, WORLD LABORATORIES UP IN THE TWENTY-TWO-NINETIES, I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP AND NEVER EVER FUCKIBNG WAKE UP AGAIN, YOU ROTTEN BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


















































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