MORIANITY 5----CHAPTER 00002

MORIANITY-----5, CHAPTER 00002

2:23 PM-EST, FRIDAY, 8 MARCH, 2013

QUINTESSENTIAL BIPOLAR REALITY ALL AROUND ME

STARTING ANOTHER TWEETY-BIRD BLOG FOLKS:

For the past (two) (tow) days, I have been under a real weird swinging pendulum, as well as right now as I speak, that mother fucking enemy motorbike dude that has yet to be arrested for disturbing the peace, is blasting his dirt bag pipes at half past tow-two-toe. Yes peeps, I am slow from time to fucking time, and have recently come to realize that the auto mechanic would be quite involved in things such as repairing automobiles, putting gasoline into them, and towing them when necessary as well, as in the word TOW, or spoken the same way as another word, yet has an entirely different meaning, TOE. Peeps have known for a long time that 'dreams' are very symbolic, but do not understand what they are saying when making this statement, not in full. So now I will (use) (sue) a little bit of Morianity to better detail and elucidate all this freaking bull crap.

The simple reason for this is because dreams occur in a parallel and similar realm and reality from where we were when our bodies fell asleep and caused us to have this 'dreaming-experience' or hyperspace interaction; and thus, in one 'world' in similar enough localized hyperspace, a man is a mechanic and may decide to toe your car after putting some gasoline into it at a pump up in New Jersey, and finding that it would not turn back on, where in another 'world', that same mechanic may be a horrible bully, and things are different enough to where he puts $18.60 in the tank and fills it up when all you have is five dollars and tell him to put in five dollars, something Floridians and most residents of the United States do not identify with as they must pump their own gasoline, but where this monster ass guy also, instead of towing it from the pumps into the garage bay, takes out an ISIS pick and toes a wild number on a fellow customer's toes and feet tops, as was spoken of in a recent blog regarding a horrific ass monster nightmare, describing this in forward-mortal language wordage system. We can always get back into more of this, and yes we will, but this is not the true topic of today's little blog, good people. Yesterday and today, my day swings back and forth between small catastrophe's and small extra good stuff, ing boom, bing boom, yin, yang, yin, yang, it really is the epitome of a bipolar condition, only not in my mind, but with the events that are surrounding my so-called, 'real life'!!!!!!!!

For the sake of safety, and don't let me underplay my words here folks, I cannot detail each swinging thing, back and forth, but it is a major Wildwood transdimensional roller fucking coaster ride, even if I'm forced to say so myself, YO. What I'm willing to in fact tell you is as follows. It began around the ending of yesterday, Thursday morning or somewhere shortly onto the afternoon by minutes at latest, but I was in a powerful dreaming-interaction, and was in the year 2340. Donna Summer, who ass some know, I retraced as Labber Zeejins, and let the other copy remain in the year 1979 which grew older and eventually left this life as a result of some type of lung cancer, or so I've been told, so this is hearsay information. Everything one Google's up, is recorded by the world owners forever, and so I try to stay away from this new age junk, as my life is simply not their fucking business. All they'll do anyway is tease and taunt me whenever any ammunition is ever given to them, such as letting them know the slightest thing about your private life, and thanks to dirt bag NBC-TRUMPFIRE, they all know all about me any-ha, so I'm screwed before I open up the dam door, but yes Donna was standing on some balcony above me, and was with a few of the King family members, and someone shouting down at me that she was there, and I yelled up at her, the very same thing that good old lovely goddess Leticia Tilley, used to make my say real loudly to her, every single time back up in Jersey, that I would pick her up at her house in Egg Harbor City, just blocks from the magical dream school of detentions, magical daughters, and first airplane flight by Wilbur and Orville Wright, more than a hundred years ago, in Kitty Hawk, NCUSAESMWG. I found myself gazing up at her and saying very loudly to her, “Hay girl”. She then said back to me, “Go back to twenty-thirteen where you belong, you bastard sound copier”. Well, I was a sound copier back in 1970-1981 at the RPL Recording Studio, and my actual job title was, TAPE DUPLICATOR. I then yelled up, “I left RPL in March of 1981, gorgeous”. Then she yelled back down to me, “I'm not talking about what you did at your job, you shit head”. Then with that she was gone. Ever since I awoke from this wild 'dream', things have been off the scale way up and way down, and if I ever told it all, you would not believe me, and if you did, you'd go fucking crazier than Chemtard Mountainpen is, so why even bother to try, YO? The last straw of this still ongoing bipolar reality condition around me was just an hour or so ago with my resident manager, Debbie Marotto. She first made my day lousy by telling me I failed my inspection and needed to take care of some stuff which I will do before the re-inspection this coming fucking Wednesday. But then amongst my papers in envelopes, she found something that saved me close to a bill, and a trip somewhere that I did not feel like going on today, so when all was said and done, I was able to come back upstairs to my unit, do this blog, and [plan to try and relax and watch a movie later, depending on whether the Attorney General and the State Police are vigilant and watching over me, or will back off the protection, and allow my filthy fucking WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE enemies to keep striking me with never ending pummeling and endless fucking ass persecution. This little example is just the latest one folks, out of about 5 things just like this, ever since popping out of that wild shit with Donna. Sorry if my Techno-pop engineering pisses artists off so much, I think it is fun, and by the way, your license only goes back to the date that you are a recording artist, not years before, so I did not feel I did anything wrong, in either case, but do not despair, as very soon, all my shit will be down and off the fucking system. Be that way, dumb world.

Tweet tweet tweet, let this poor old bastard fragile little rockin' robin go you know what, don't want to rip off any old songs even though a ton of mine have been torn into, finally I'm free, yeah right, you country Clariton Clear bumpkins, like Isis is ever gonna' really set me free. So why does my freaking star shine so bright all through the coldest darkest night, Gerald Pliner? That's no fucking plagiarism, YO. It may be a bit bumptious or flippant of me, but then, I'll worry about the great face punches of Dawn-Marie King and Mashell Daniels later on when I deal with both it, and Egg Harbor City, Terry Scatterbrain Glasseshater. Color me what Ashley Tinsdale? WOW, if time travel is bullshit, so are the nuclear disasters of Chernobyl and Three mile Island. YO!

I will now end this whittle bwog, sir Elmer freaking Fwudd. WHAAA.