MORIANITY
PART 5
CHAPTER
00147
LADIES
AND GENTLEMEN, IT IS NOW
11:33
POST MERIDIAN, FRIDAY NIGHT, 2 AUGUST, 2013
The
exploratrons of higher type are active, doing some wild flickering,
with both brightness, as well as on-off flickering of the text being
typed as well. This is quite easily explainable folks, as they indeed
do come from tomorrow, and are running backwards, relative to my
universe, and most of yours, out there; and they know already; that
this is going
to be a real major monster blog.
I
ran into a few folks who know each other and have for years, who are
former readers and viewers of the Morianity BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, in
my ''DREAMS'' last night. What you think of as dreams and dreaming is
no more solid than a glass of warm water without the glass, but that
is OK, as know the truth. They were sitting in a park with lots of
grassy area, maybe three acres top, maybe only two, and beyond it in
all directions was thick dense woods, not from my area but hardwood
trees, with no pines and no palms, just the hard wood type of trees.
At the very center of this land plot was a double-sized mobile home
trailer in excellent condition, both inside and outside, leaving me
to ponder why anyone able to afford this type of dwelling, would want
to live in a ''trailer'' but guess what, many folks enjoy these
things, as I came to learn. There was no set amount, as all during
the interaction of my 'dreaming', it altered from one dude, to a full
party of eight to ten, and ranging in all adult ages up to near
elderly, whatever this endlessly changing amount of years is
considered to be in today's times and age, all the way down to very
early twenties, and both genders, men and women. They told me they
were avid followers of Morianity until about late last year somewhere
before they became aware of two powerful things about me. One was
that I was consciously attempting to awaken this Almighty God of
theirs, when I know fully well this is not what She wants, and also,
when my blogs seemed more artificial, or in their other selected way
of putting it, after I went on to ask them to be more descriptive of
what they meant to say to me; one very small man about five feet at
best, and very thin, as if he was ill with you know what, hay that
old PC thing strikes again; but yes, he casually came closer than
before where he had been standing relative to where I was as well,
and said to me in a very soft spoken and mild mannered voice; well
Mountainpen, you once wrote as though you were keeping a powerful
cool journal, and now it seems to be about having an audience,
pleasing an audience, and even wondering who we all are out here; and
this turned us all off, as we used to think of you as quite special
and different, in that regard, you know; not giving a hoot about
those type of things. Then you seemed to just not be like that
anymore, and we stopped following you. I asked if they were a club,
you know, a UFO club, a paranormal research type of club, or whatever
it may be; and they all insisted, no; we just are all a group of
friends who your daughter put us onto, shortly after your public
apology to her, for that lovely bad habit in your family. This is all
a quote, folks, almost verbatim. Let's leave shit there!
After
this initial stuff, I still have more powerful vivid memories about
this experience and then it fades into as most of you know from your
own dreaming experiences, less distinguishable clear memories, and
only jumbled pieces that blur more and more mas it stretches further
out still from what is clearly retained upon awakening. Of course, as
all dream-research folks do and know to do, I immediately do one of
two things, either record onto cassette tape on my HYPERSPACE
JOURNAL, or type up on my word document, in my same titled
dated documents on the subject, as many clear and then even unclear
details as is possible. Maybe you all have noticed and maybe not, but
memories of both waking life and dreaming life, all fade, but a
marked distinguishable difference does in fact exist as to the ratio
of how those from waking world fade out over time, verses the 'dream
memories'.
Hyperspace
is a fancy word. It just means an area that contains all of the
parallel universes, all realities of four dimensional space-time, all
existing on parallel dimensional planes due to atomic agreement in
frequency in each of all of these individual unique locales. Journal
is another fancy word, in my opinion. Maybe not as fancy as memoir,
but all any of it is, is someone telling a story of their life.
Whoop-dee-do. Well, here is where Archie Bunker and his whoop-dee-do
may just fall a little bit short. I keep track of hyperspace in my
life, all the things that relate to my life in my present persona as
Mark Wayne Mohr; and I do not, except for literary purposes and to
word my blogs a little bit more readable for any and all of you;
separate ANY OF hyperspace, or as you might word it your way, I
don't separate my dream reality from my waking one, as I know
better. It is not any different, as it is apart only by atomic
frequency, and not by so much as one inch in space, or one second in
time. Now with this all said, we'll move this on a bit, folks.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
After
this earlier part went down, I was inside the trailer sitting at a
card table, where many radios and televisions that all were on
different stations and channels, were on, not loudly, in fact, very
softly, each one barely on, but on nonetheless. There was even a
digital radio on the table, I suddenly found myself sitting at, along
with this very small gentleman of about 35 years of age or so, and
two other men and two women, a total with myself included, of six
persons, four men and two women. We were all talking, and suddenly
the announcer on the radio that was playing softly on the table well
below our decibel conversation level; made the statement that
following the worst global disaster in the known history since Jesus
Christ walked this Earth, things are getting back to normal, to a
small extent. With that he announced the next song to be played. It
was called, “Love is for Carpenters”. I thought I was going to go
to the bathroom in my underwear. Then it began to play, and I asked
if they would turn up the volume. It was the same song that I heard
both in 2011 and in 2012, first at the Teck Bay Mystery School in the
Advanced Robotics Class, with the Wildwood Press Tablet in the hands
of Ten-Grand-Joe, and later, in that wild interaction where I was all
dressed up in my best cloths, which is not saying much; and found
myself at some crazy looking high school type bleachers, the like I
have never seen before or since; and it was being sung to me again,
and this was last September, late in the month somewhere. It
resembles the version sent down to the Copyright Office in 2007, as
far as the tune; only in a harmony. What is the song here, is a
harmony part there; and the actual song is too beautiful to believe;
and if you listen to it, most people who have any emotions at all,
burst out crying immediately. After all of this happened, and the
lady who made the volume higher on this crispy clear digital BOSE
radio system, and I remember seeing the words printed on it in bright
YELLOW, 'BOSE DIGITAL
RADIO'; she immediately returned the volume to where it had been
before the song had come on, and I burst into tears crying and asked
why it was on the radio? This is when they told me that THEY
ARE the regulators of what I call the ESS or the
''EXPLORATRONIC
SUPER MIND''. I then suddenly remembered that these
thick woods outside were solid, no pathway in or out beyond this plot
of land was there, anywhere. I blurted this out, and those at the
table began softly laughing, and said to me, one at a time; there is
just nothing out there beyond those woods. They go on a short ways,
and then there's nothing; and that's a direct quote now, by me. I
remember after this, falling onto the floor of the trailer, and
begging to stay there with them; and not to make me leave ever, and
allow me to never return to my miseries back beyond those woods, as
there is indeed, a misery out there beyond. They said that they know
this, but that this
is my misery, I created it, and then I worsened it by
trying to wake up GOD in HER dreams; first when I thought that it was
Sarah Callio, and now that I have come to know that it is
MC. They said if I am ever successful at waking Her up inside her
dream, she will make the flip side come true. I asked what they
meant, and one of the ladies stood up slowly to her full height of
around the normal five feet five inches inside her bright red flat
sandals, and she said to me, ''Oh you don't know, that's right. The
other side of the CD we just heard on the radio, is called, 'Now My
Glittering Stars Will Fall', oh yes, it is just as beautiful a song
too''. Right after this a few very powerful things did indeed happen.
Things were said of immense importance, but I cannot pull it back to
save me. Not now, and not when I first got up. I know it had
something to do with how horrible it would be if I was ever able to
successfully make the great Sarah-Stacey Jehovah Krassle wake up
inside HER dream fully, but that is all that I know for sure; no
details at all beyond merely knowing that this was what it was about.
Then I remember being in the woods and looking at the magic trailer,
and walking a bit further until the trailer vanished from the thick
forestation completely. Then I know I looked back the other way in
front of me, and there was a gigantic bed and someone laying on it. I
remember walking over to it, and then falling down on it and into my
own self and while doing that, literally jumping up and awake from
this powerful ass dreaming experience.
Now
here is what needs to be said on this blog; now that I have told you
all about this interaction. First, energy
runs through people, in the same like manner that MOGOSP
runs through internet circuitry in the future, or
in hyperspace, which includes all possible universes, at
all of their possible times of existence. The whole enchalate nine
yards, or however it is spelled, as Microsucks refuses to correctly
spell a commonly used word for me on many attempts now, and there's
nothing freaking bloody shoe enchanting about it, Google. Yes, it is
never the people by themselves that really are doing anything in
bigger picture truth, but merely an unknown energy that runs and
really does operate in and through all of us all of the time, on the
physical material realm and waking world plane of existence. But are
there magic spots in some of the locales in hyperspace? Well, the
simple answer is a freaking resounding loud YES, with all of the
depth, and echo, and sonic effects; of all of the stupid automobile
commercials all put together and then some more. What would be some
of them off the top of my head, you may be wondering, well, here we
go, © Office, and all of my old songs from yesteryear. One would
certainly be Tennessee Avenue in Atlantic City, New Jersey between
the boardwalk and the Pacific Avenue intersection. Another one would
be the magic double trailer. Another would be the Egg Harbor City
schools and grocery stores, in New Jersey, and yet still another
would most certainly be the Bermuda Triangle. Still another would be
Williamstown, New Jersey, the entire area or most of it aniwho, Flo.
I could go on, believe that folks, but let us save time and 'energy'
for right this second, and just elaborate on what is up here so far.
We would be hours and hours just surface scratching Atlantic city and
'IOSC' AVENUE. Let us work on the next biggie, WILLIAMSTOWN. Oh by
the way IOSC is my cute little code and truthful rhyming lyrical
content. It is just short for Tennessee Avenue, you know, IO for TEN,
and SC, as saying these letters is like pronouncing the last two
thirds of the state name of Tennessee, AHA AHA AHA, Arsinio!!!!!!
Still, Nate, you know this all happened, so does Kathy Gatherer, and
so do lots of other peeps that do their utmost best to keep endless
lids on all of this 'UFO related' crap.
Yes
people, let us indeed begin the long discussion of Williamstown, New
Jersey, and my personal interactions with it over three different
stages of residing there. And yes good folks, there is a W----O----W
involved here!
Just
keeping it super short and sweet, L-4, let us do this, Mike McNulty
and Loudcar Hall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It
is where I began applying parallel event to roulette and winning in
Atlantic City in the casinos as a professional gambler in 1986.
It is where I built my full scale model of
MAGNESONIC, and plugged it into a complex system of numerous
machines, and did many forbidden things. It is where I talked
to several attorney's about suing numerous top name recording
artists, for ripping off large parts of my music, back in those days
and getting nowhere, but it is all fixed, so quite naturally, big
surprise. It is where I began working as a Tape
Duplicator at the RPL Sound Recording Studio and Laboratory. It
is where I began my search to find the powerful awesome elusive
mysterious teenager from my past, the great SARAH. It
is also where I wrote the song on May 12, 1996, ''SARAH''. It
is where Paula King Delaney, or whatever and whoever she really is,
raped me a second time, back in late June of 1996; and nearly gave me
my second daughter, PEE; only she went on to miscarry, but I live in
5-D, where I love my wonderful P, more than my life itself; and do
not limit my existence to a tiny little world of 4-D as do all of
you. Screw you, hacking exploratrons; I
see what you're trying to do here; ya-miserable fucking jerk offs.
I
could go on with numerous other smaller but worthy of mentioning
items, and at a later time, will most likely be doing so; but for
right now; let us stick with this nice sizable 'dirty laundry list',
OK? My blogs detail and discuss all of these subheadings as listed
above, but only in small details, here and there, every so often,
when it fits into the blog being written at these times, and this
will dovetail real nicely into what I now will go onto say to you now
folks.
Earlier
on the blog, I told you in this dream from last night, using your
words as a society totally stuck in three dimensions, when I ended
with the words, ''Let's leave shit there'', I did not tell one other
thing that needed to be told regarding these folks telling me
something. They told me before we got onto unmentionable topics such
as the Joe Twist Joe King John Mason Funeral Syndrome for a clever
wordage folks of very nasty business; or for a short and abbreviated
lettering, (JTJKJMFS) and many real followers, and 'family' know what
this horror all strands for, without getting any judgmental NYC-SVU
CS Investigators involved here good peeps, YO; but yes, they told me
that some recent advice given to my daughter, and I know exactly what
it was, about me, word for word; is probably more apropos for me now.
I TOTALLY AGREE,
but it is a whole lot easier said and or given, than it is to be
actually followed. I'll do a second freaking W----O----W
if no one minds. Hay I'm the one who wrote GITYA way back in 1983,
not the one who wrote the 1997 one, hay, am I wrong fans? But, this
will dovetail our topic now perfectly right into the next group of
words, matter and antimatter, in case this matters to anti body,
Roseann, OUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes,
the old Star Trek original 1960's show with the immortal episode
Mister Flint who ;played Doctor Lockner Chief of Medical Staff on the
great hit TV show of the times, ''Medical Center''; said how leaving
the EARTH, led to his downfall, as well as the end of his
immortality. Well, my Earth is smaller in reality, than his fictional
one. It is WILLIAMSTOWN,
New Jersey. Every time I left it, all three times,
living there and then leaving it, it led to the total ruination and
the complete utter frikkin' destruction, of my entire life. I slowly
put my life back together, and seemed to find myself back again in
Williamstown, and then left it; and BOOM, here
we go again; old kids, new kids, AND ALL KIDS, IN WILLIAMS
OR ANY OTHER TOWNS OR PLANETS, SIR MATCHES MCGUIRE FLINT-KING'S OF
FIRELIGHT'S AND P. JANE'S! So before I en d up[ going all psycho and
MENTAL on you all, let me tie this all together more intelligently,
AH-HA-AH-HA Antimatternulty. When you just hate somebody for no
reason at all, remember your mind is only working because of
electrons, and electrons are positrons that are from antimatter
universes in hyperspace, where time is running backward, so these
positrons contain the entire knowledge and awareness of all the
possible things ahead of us, as to them, our
future is their past, and vice versa, simple physics in or
out of chairs, water, or speeding up camera still frames, or maybe
put better to quote Dennis Fakecousin Snyder from good old Jersey,
''That's just reality son''!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hated that son of
bitch Arsinio Hall the second I first saw him back before Jane witch
Bitch screwed me at that Georgia frikkin' ballpark that night, and
only recently am coming to see why I didn't like this dude, nor do I.
Matter and antimatter, even if it does not matter to anti one, what
can I say here Jay-Jay Evans, hell, I'm even living in Florida now,
so say hi to your wonderful MOM, if you can get P to light up a
candle or two, YO! Lots of memory loss has happened to me in
February, June, and October. In February of 1997, on Tennessee
Avenue, in October of 2006 on Tennessee Avenue, and in June of 1996
in Williamstown at my apartment at the Highview, Misses Shoemaker
Levy Mayor. As I began typing these three things, a hack key fucked
it all up and I had to redo it. See how these fucking EXPLORATRONS
STRIKE EREAL HARD AND GO ON A ROLL, AND I FUCKING KNEW IF I LOOKED
OVER, IT WOULD SAY PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, AND IT DOES, SO HERE GOES
MY COMPENSATRION, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
55555555555555555555555555,
PLUS 55555555555, TIMES
555555555555555555, IS EQUAL TO WHOI
GIVES A RATS BEHIND? JUST LET ME STARE AT THESE LOVELY 5555555
NUMBERS, WOW, MCGUIRE AND FAMILY, fist, gun, or whatever. Just what
are you hiding down there on your great street, you
MICKBASTARDASS?????????????????????????
The
great Paula Roofdog Belinda King, and her parking lots and her radio
station, WAYV, wow, where can we ever go to run and hide, my old
friend Regis Baduncle Lawandorder Philbin???????????????????????????
Well, come to think of it friend, I never had any good uncles, still,
my bad one was a bit further off than Yonkers, Mister Trump and
mister Wolf, as you know, he was up in Ammityville until the toaster
oven fire in the early sixties, and then moved to Babylon onto
Peninsula Drive, number 175, man alive, or maybe not if you don't
survive the plane crashes in the dam water or the beat downs by
Atlantic City Lifeguard Mascots. Is this 1970 or 2015, what;s going
fucking on, CALLIO KENNEDY MCG? Well Mister Smith, if you're reading
this, I should have stayed as crazy as Mary Moore and the gang all
wanted me to, and just went around picking lovely roses and humming
stupid tunes like That's The Way It Goes, right Diana, I know you
liked the darn rewritten intro to it in 1981, so please don't say no
how, no nothing,
girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Folks
it is time or way over time, for me to clue you all into something
about the BLOGS OF FREAKING MOUNTAINPEN.
Each
chapter is nothing more than a squad room like the one we all enjoy
seeing while watching shows such as L&O-SVU or whatever, any of
these type of television shows; where detectives go to chalk or
poster boards and begin diddling around with posting photos, charts,
and all manner of crime related data for study, just as a math
professor in a university, would have stuff up like, energy equals
mass times the speed of light squared, on their board, (E=MC2).
The correct font for making the dam '2' raised, and not lowered, I
cannot find, so I am sorry about that Chief Levy Sayfrance.
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Mashell
Daniels and her neighbor Jerry Patterson, and their friend from down
the way, pretty-sue, wow another wild story that would fill a few
'journals' or 'whatever' Bob, old pal from Oak Street in
HHNJUSAESMWG, WHAAAAAAABIT!! The
year would be 1980, well almost, it would be just shy
of Christmas, and my car was stolen out of the recording studio
parking lot. I told this story a million ass times good peeps, but
Mashell and Jerry were extremely beautiful women who were stories all
by themselves, especially ex's and their occupations. I know this
world thinks I am a stupid ass moron, but you know, I am not as dumb
as you butt-wipes seem to think I am. When you tote up 100 fucking
things, the crazy 3-way telephone connection with my boss's wife and
her friend and myself, the Hollywood ex's of these girl coworkers,
and all the shit back then, right now, and all up in-between, well, I
know a lot more than just how to do the Einstein equation, sorry Mary
Moore. Give that adorable little dog a pat for me, or maybe I should
be more careful, huh Regy old buddy??????????????? Wow, then there
was Cigar Karge, Elvis Presley, and Hope Kernan, just for starters,
only we could go fucking on and on and on and on and on and on, and
you all know this is 100% the total truth. I don't have to convince a
soul of any of that. It is like trying to explain viral videos, and
that will be repeated tonight, all as promised, so WEEEEEEEEEEEE-NA!!
These sicko
exploratron travelers will screw with anything that
they can, and LOVE IT, MAXWELL MCDONALD,
SIR, light or heavy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Turn down
the car radio, Dave Roth, don't want the employees tripping over the
fast food back in
1988!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
you see, between shit like that, and all the fucking top artists
taking parts of me and using me all up, huh lovely Donna girl; I know
the truth, and I know I'm not all that horrible, just a bit out of
step and out of time. Still, insult me all you want to, you lowlife
mother fucking scum suckers. I know what I know; and you can all go
to hell and KISS MY LILLY-W.A.
Why
didn't somebody give me that great advice about my kid that they gave
to her about me, W—O—W?
Thank
you Mister Ortega for letting me know that Paula did not get an order
from her pit boss in 1986 to ask me what I was doing at the Claridge
hotel and Casino that day. Now I know she was just asking me for her
own reasons, so shill on, Beach Patrollers,
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. What a hellish ride into Queens that
was, and you thought that shit was all funny the next day. Well,
there is an old saying that there's a special place in HELL for used
car salesmen, and maybe indeed there freaking is, world. All I know
is that there is definitely a special place reserved there for many
many dirt bag peeps in ATLANTIC SHITTY CITY, NEW JITTY JERSEY, so
I'll gladly get the hell off your beach, great governor, WITH
PLEASURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then
along came you, 657-123, oh PG, and with that, also came jerk off
teasing car commercials form garbage Nissan, as well as
dual-awareness railroad tracks and the automobile driven and ridden
in by lovely Sarah Callio and her friend. Wow what a couple of
worthless mother fuckers if ever there were two such witches on this
planet, WHAAA! Still, why did this all happen, Dennis Chase, since
you seem to be so mother fucking smart and have all the dam ass Jack
McCoy 2006 Nuclear Winter Answers!!!!!!!!!!!!! One thing was for sure
back in fucking 1980; and that is this all seemed to drive
electrician JOE at the river, at
the licorice plant, nuts as shit; just mentioning these Atlantic
fucking shitty City witches, right Garbageman Anthony Deer-Hunter?
How's the great Cifaloglio doing? You don't think I know why Delmo
was pissed off at me? You really take me for a fucking ass fool, you
crocks of stenchy crap. You don't think I know all the dirty little
secrets up on that rotten ass fucking
island????????????????????????????????????????
AS
LONG AS THESE BASTARDS CAN ENDLESSLY FUCKING KEEP ME DOWN AND OUT,
AND TOTALLY WRECK MY LIFE, GINA, AND OTHERS; JUST AS I HAVE BLOGGED
NOW FOR NEARLY 8 MOTHER FUCKING YEARS, THE DOW
JONES WILL KEEP GOING UP HIGHER AND HIGHER AND HIGHER, UP
UP UP UP UP UP UP UP UP RIGHT TO THE STARS, AND MOTHER
FUCKING BEYOND; AND YOU CAN SEE I AM RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, STAR TEREK
TRILANE, YO, BOO, AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN EW, YOU SICK FUCKING ROTTEN
WORTHLESS BASTARDS. WITHOUT ME YOU ALL WOULD BE NOTHING, AND YOU
KNOW IT, SO CHOKE ON IT, AS YOU'VE ALL MADE ME DO FOR 30 YEARS. I
WILL ESCAPE ALL OF THIS AND YOU TOO SSJKK, IF IT TAKES ME A TRILLION
FUCKING ASS YEARS!!! LAB TECHNICIAN, GIVE ME A BREAK, ALL MIGHTY
GODDESS TYPE-3-EXPLORATRON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
++++++W-------O-------W++++++
OH
OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH
YES
I TOLD YOU, I TOLD YOU!!
{{{((('O-H***S-H-I-T')))}}}}
WOW BY GOLLY, GOOD FOLKS, WAS I AS ALWAYS, 100% CORRECT, YO YO YO
YO???? UP UP UP UP FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!
- Was this on the billboard too that day, Mony James-68?
-
-
-
-
-
- 'FORWARD-FORWARD', RIGHT JOAN SWIMPRO??????????
- BELIEVE WHATEVER YOU WANT TO, WORLD; AS I KNOW!!
- A child can see how Wall Street crooks are ripping off the world every dam day!
-
MORIANITY
FOUNDATION
PART
5, CHAPTER 147 IS CONTINUING ON FOLKS:
2:55
AM, EDST, 3 AUGUST, 2013, SATURDAY MORNING
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION: WHAAAAAAA!!!!!
I
AM NOT GOING TO BABY ANY OF YOU, WHOEVER IS READING THESE WORDS,
FRIEND, OR FOE. I KNOW TOTALLY WELL THAT I HAVE A COMBINATION OF
BOTH, AND NEED TO FOCUS MY ATTENTION MORE ON THE FRIEND SECTION THAN
THE FOE SECTION. My apologies for my last blog being long when I
promised you all a glorified tweet, but I got going, and things took
me where they took me, Commissioner of NYNY Fictional Police, and
“L&O” TV Show. I am getting a lot of hacking after a few days
with this being a bit better, Bob McDowell, please step up your
efforts again, as whatever you did a few days ago for me, IT WAS
WORKING REAL FRIKKIN' WELL, AND THANK YOU, BUDDY AND
SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
have my way of knowing many things. I know when people are thinking
about me when I am what you consider to be ''sleeping''. I know
precise transdimensional tricks that move many of the various
realities germane to me and my life, in directions that I bend them
into from my current waking life, and I have something that is sort
of resembled in an old black and white ''TWILIGHT ZONE'' television
show, the episode where a dude was compulsively obsessed with moving
junky looking objects that appeared to be worthless and of no
significance, to various places around his basement, knowing that it
caused a parallel-event of major world events. It was as all of
Serling's shows, really a great work of art, but first off, much of
the 20th century science fiction is not all that
fictional, and the authorities want this secret kept locked up REAL
DAM TIGHT! This is sort of a type of mix of what
has been discussed in lots of previous Morianity, ''TILE TAPPING'',
and ''APPLIED PARALLEL EVENT'' OR APE
for short abbreviation. LSS, moving junk around and tapping tile
codes and slowly over time, finding patterns that seem to correspond
with energy flows within reality not normally observed or understood
one bit yet by 2013's standards and scientific limitations; is like
the cruder way of turning mass into energy, of the two possible ways
of doing it; atom smashing, verses simple fire such as burning up a
newspaper, and yes, a newspaper, like the Wildwood Tablet Press of
2007 and 2008 dream-discussions, and the future tap screens, and the
still near recent future of plastic guns, and 3-D laser printers. All
of this is still the 3 year old licking an ice cream cone next to the
multi-millionaire owner of an ice cream company, with factories
around the country. In simple truth, but remaining factual and honest
100%, good folks, there are things that can be done in order to make
other things slowly move towards your center gravity. Again, CONTACT
has made me aware and sentient to these powerful and totally unknown
truths. Contact with what you ask? EXPLORATRONIC REALITY, is the only
answer that I can provide you with, but we must shift a major gear,
as a huge hack just struck me AGAIN, on word open office 3.1, or in
my computer, AND I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE, SIR BOB FCC MCDOWELL, OLD
1972 PAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I
managed to get out of it, but it was a bad fucking cunt hack, sir,
and pal. Now back to my point that some EXPLORATRON RIGHT HERE IN
THIS ROOM AND INSIDE OF ME, IS DOING ITS BEST TO HACK OUT AND DESTROY
THIS BLOG WORK SINCE I BEGAN A HALF HOUR FUCKING AGO, the old
magnetic percentage syndrome folks, you all fucking know perfectly
well what I mean, bringing in the first day of the new month with
fucking hassles and persecutions. Yes WE WERE DISCUSSING CONTACT WITH
EXPLORATRONIC REALITY, AND SOMETHING SOMEWHERE DID NOT FUCKING LIKE
WHERE I AM ABOUT TO GO. We are going to be getting into the topic of
the exact army of those, who I refer to as, MARKER-BEES, the ones
who if you go to any library in most USA counties coast to coast, and
randomly take 20 books off of the shelves from various areas in these
libraries and take them back to your table, you will see that some of
them have lots of strange markings, underlines, notations, and other
things as well, even some type of codes to each other. It is there,
it is not mistakable, and it proves I am telling lots of truths, but
only if you go and see this shit for yourselves, people, YO. But this
hack on this system today is forcing me to reroute too many thoughts
and subjects that just cannot be properly all tied together in one
blog, so let me again just get back to what I started to say before
the wild hack that nearly closed down the blog completely, YO.
Contact with Exploratrons of an advanced type, or the TYPE-3, as I
personally term them, not that they term themselves this; but I need
to have some kind of a reference obviously, but this contact, has
side effects. The main effect is the contact, and the side effects
are every bit as lengthy as those shown on the average medication
bottle showing physical side effects. These may be cosmic side
effects, but which is really larger when you stop to seriously ponder
this query, my friends? Some medications, or the cosmos. I am only
going to open a couple of doors for today on this blog, and then we
can later on do some major fucking exploring along. Before I get into
anything, CHEMTRAILING WAS VERY BAD ALL OVER MY AREA ALL DAY LONG
YESTERDAY THE THIRTY-FIRST OF JULY, and I have been feeling very
poorly for some time now as all fucking year, this jet attack fuel
dump in over-concentrated amounts in compressed continual areas,
MINE, cause many SIDE EFFECTS to their main effect of dumping
overloaded jet aircraft's, to make for statistically safer landings.
Still, ever since the jet age, breathing disorders and pulmonary. I
may have to schedule a medical appointment ahead of normal schedule
to complain about the effects on my heart, my breathing, and numerous
other health related issues, resulting from exposing me intentionally
way too often, to this toxic amount of propane mixed jet fuel of
several nasty chemicals. This is why since this jet age all started,
and keeps growing every single decade thereafter, there are more
per-capita cases of numerous breathing disorders from asthma to lung
cancers to literally dozens of inhalation related medical disorders,
from patients all over this world where jet travel is in abundance
and is growing, there is no denying this fact. Every year, more
cases, more cases, and more cases. Not just more cases, put in a
linear growth in a per-capita legitimate count, and these facts are
available online from chemtrail clubs and researchers who know that
this is causing a problem with the health of those of us on the
ground who must inhale this fucking nasty cunt lapping mess every
singe month of the year, without any let up ever. Take any area you
may be in folks, how many days each month are filled with them, and
how many days are free of them. Keep records, then demand under
freedom of information acts, to have medical statistical reports
released to you from the Medical Bureau folks at the AMA. Begin
charting how new cases follow months and year averages corresponding
to the higher daily jet fuel dumps and vice versa. I realize many
folks think it is more than jet fuel and have many other ideas. Who
am I to take this away from anyone, maybe there is some truth in it,
but all I know for sure is that we are the tip of several cycles in
the natural order of ice ages, and due to this, we need all the
global warming we can get, as sooner than many think, the world will
cool off for a long while, and this planet will only sustain a few
million peeps at that point, in the majority of localized parallel
universes in the fifth dimensional hyperspace called the multiverse,
standing for multiple vibratory atomic realities, or said even still
simpler, many songs, verses the single song of just one universe, uni
for single one, and verse for vibratory song. Not only is the entire
5-D cosmos alive in ways not yet dreamed of, but it continually is
singing to us biological beings. Yes, I will expose my medical
problems next week on the first full week of month number eight or
(August), by going to my doctor. There are a lot of strange things
going on with all of this, as this all began with a choking condition
that came on me one night at exactly half past ten on 4 June in 1983,
right smack dab out of the dark night sky, while residing in Atco,
New Jersey, at 134 Norris Avenue. But let's quickly round robin this
back to not using silly junk in a basement, but other things that
really do make things alter in a 5-D reality. Saying and doing
certain exact things in both this universe while ''awake'' as well as
in ''dreams'' with characters from other universes in the vast
hyperspace that contains all of them; ours, and all of theirs; and
there is a lot more, but rather than my just ranting off a huge list
of things that any of you can do starting the second that you finish
reading this very blog, to prove all that I tell you is totally real
and true; let me explain first on this blog, quickly and follow up on
other following blogs; the mechanics going on behind these great
still totally unknown OZ-CURTAINS, as of August of twenty-thirteen.
By the way don't let my great daughter kid any of you about any of
this over the past nearly eight years now. You saw the BLUCRAN,
and dozens of other things, right down to OZ-CURTAINS,
and of course, many things can be totally just a coincidence, but
when one becomes 2, then 3, then 40, then 500, now about 6000, well,
how viral must the count of
coincidences be, before you see I am really in this shit with SCYLLA;
and always have been and will be, as we just exist, and time is only
real in 5 and less dimensions of waking life so-called-reality. Also,
sure I can edit my blogs, but when the FBI or other NSA authorities
put this all to the test some day and probably already freaking have
done so; every edit job of old blogs, just as if you are working on
your own computer files, has a MOST RECENT WORKED ON DATE stored and
recorded, if not available on the blog somewhere, then on the Google
files somewhere. Everything is carefully scrutinized and recorded
today, right down to how many times you belch, fart, and blow colored
snot out of one nostril. I don't mean to get nasty, but loud and
dirty gets attention, and I learned this from a great top world
commander, and a wonderful trustworthy source; General George Patton,
of World war 2!
Google
knows there is no way this blog is fake or phony. There is no
techno-pop involved in this blog, or techno-parlor tricks. I can play
around to prove points such as the one recently explained that any
lengthy literary work has a magic ability if you allow it and become
sensitized to it, to hook anyone directly up into cosmic
communication. But as for stuff that I began figuring out after the
end of 2007, and then as 2008 came in and my ''daughter''; or
whatever she really is, began doing her thing; you need to ask her of
her motives, not me of mine. I want nothing at all from her other
than to know that she is relatively happy and OK, as not too much
longer will I be dreaming this Mark Wayne Mohr dream. I am old and
dying, and ill; from decades of severe fucking persecution, as well
as unmentionable physical attacks from this sick evil torture loving
group I have called the WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE
ever since beginning my Morianity blogging project in early 2006. Now
what She is really up to, and what Her agendas may be all about, this
only Scylla-Jehovah truly knows, and I'll be frank with all of you,
fiends and friends alike. I am very frightened of the great SSJKK,
she has demonstrated for a very long time that she just wants to use
me to play some sick demented game of hers, and let my life be dammed
to hell. Oh well, say 'LEVY'! Or say, SHOEMAKER TROUBLE, right US ©
OFFICE??????????
MORIANITY
PART V CONTINUES ALONG:
OK,
bird chirpers, this will be of your liking, short, not a lot of wild
gear shifts, over and done with and leaving you with some real head
scratching to do, YO.
First,
sir, Mister New-Age Music Initials, all any of this proves, is what I
am trying to prove all along, and we do not need your services, as I
was never planning to do any day trading, or contacting of Mister
Coins.
I
ALREADY MCKINNON KNEW, this would all break-down, Admiral,
General, public or private. I have watched this all work around me
for just about three decades since the nightmare mother fucking
began. I can play the same games that you billionaire dirt bags can
play, it does not take a ton of mullah to do this, just a bit of gray
matter in operation, and an in tact memory. But WHAT would break
down, some are perhaps asking, so fine, let me tell you.
First,
the WOMO-MILITUFORCE will
not allow anything that I do or ever try to do, to work, even if I
seem to defy huge odds, twice in one year, using a technology that
goes far beyond this known mortal world. Some say and insist on an
answer to give me even one percent of credibility, TELL US
YYYYYYYYYYY, this is happening to you as otherwise, screw you
Mountainpen, we are not going to do anything besides laugh at you and
get our kicks reading your blogs. Well, the great © Office knows
that some of you do and have done in the past, way more than just
this, but that is between all of your consciences and what may pass
through your scared little brains as you someday draw your last
breath. In any event, dancing with me next May, or out in deep space
in any month despite no measurable time out there; here is what is
wrong, James T. Burr of the Starship Gloucester of 1973-PCI. Keeping
it simple yet subtle, good folks, and bad ones Jason and friends; I
knew that eventually these World-Owners would merely shift away from
the way they were trading on the stock market, and make me look dumb,
as this has been the Opposite-Shooter-Pattern of the Mountainpen, for
a very fucking long time. Why my pop and his pal planned this horror,
only the fucking top agencies and maybe Mister Snowden know, but in
any event, see if I could really give a fucking rats bitch eating
stinky ass, YO. What's done is done, Dogs, and DMK said it perfectly
in the late first decade of this barking century and millennium, and
yes, I forgot ''decade after decade'', thank you Drew! But in long
run play, no matter what they do to try and fuck up my credibility,
they cannot do it by proving me WRONG about the endlessly bullish DOW
JONES STOCK MARKET, and yes GINA, I MOTHER FUCKING TOLD YOU,
SWEETIETRON!!!!!!! Maybe I am taking this to an absurd extreme, but
at least I did not word this the way I could have, WL of 2293. Now,
how about the 'random' draw so to speak in my discourse several blogs
back on the way social networking sites ''really'' operate and
function. Of course it is not random. That is why I was clever in my
words. I even went as far as to say that I have enemies with great
power, and the great mighty crew from Washington knew all of this
back in 1988 and 1989 and still have the fucking cassette tapes
sitting someplace to this very ass day, YO. I
would love to have a random chance, but I don't. You can
all hit a lottery, even post up a video that might be selected to be
super pushed. I CANNOT, because 'THEY'
have me on an endless ''KEEP
HIM DOWN AND FAILED LIST''.
I
need to word shit very carefully, folks. I know what is going on, and
what I am saying; AND DOING. I told you I had a conversation with a
powerful dude, but what you don't understand to this day, is
hyperspace and dreams; and just how fucking EXPLORATRONICS
really operates in life.
I
was not told my Youtube experiment would end up like it did by a mere
relative of a very well known artist. Nor was I receiving
communications from this same person in ways that folks understand,
who refuse to believe in the reality of exploratronics. There is a
parallel universe where a lot of shit is happening that is so mind
fucking boggling, it cannot ever all be blogged, even piecemeal.
The dude who told me this, is the director of ops at NASA, in the
dimension or parallel reality where a highway goes from Vineland, New
Jersey, straight into the Beltway of DC, and I am a paramedic. Do not
confuse this with another wild location in hyperspace where I live on
London Avenue, in Egg Harbor City, New Jersey; and my daughter Paula
King Junior or (PEE) as she insists on that nickname; was traumatized
by the death of her father, me, and literally ripped a dozen New
Jersey State Police Officers to shreds, at the home of one of them;
and was sentenced to the Harborfields Detention Center, of Egg Harbor
City, New Jersey, until her eighteenth birthday; but this was
commuted to her sixteenth birthday after she invented the most
incredible computer, where a type of humongous sized
scanner-laser-printer allows things to be sent over the internet,
literally turned into zeros and ones, just ten years or so before in
this universe, a similar invention has made the news recently about a
plastic gun, and all geeks know all about this, only this invention
altered the entire civilization. Anyone who tells me I do not have
the two most incredible daughters in the galaxy, does not fully
understand me or my situation in five dimensions. All that said,
nothing is of any real shock value. I TOLD
YOU ALL, the stock market will not stop going higher and
higher and higher, and this is precisely what it's doing, and will be
doing for many years to come. What I have not told you is that
complicated things can be manipulated in normal circumstances, by
dream-control, all throughout much of the localized fifth dimensional
hyperspace. I may have said this or that, and some tid bit; but I
have never told you why I can make things spin around, or think about
forward motion, and propel myself ahead in water, as Joan at HW Swim
Club not only witnessed, but hopefully did not make any unpleasant
donations to the swimming pool as a result, K-MART! I have a ton of
other smelly things to talk about too folks. Much of it will be saved
for other times. Mister Ortley, Mister Ortega, and Mister Burdick,
are three characters from slightly more distant hyperspace universes,
who I am in regular communications with, and only these three, but as
things localize and come closer to our atomic frequency agreements
here; there are a dozen or more characters of regular meeting. If a
lady named Patricia Hollister in maiden name, had not worked along
with my mother in this exact universe, back in the late sixties and
early seventies, you are all clueless how powerfully different things
would be here in this world right now and for an entire generation.
First, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, both end up as small time
executives at companies that went bust by the time they were 40, and
neither man ever was so much as a millionaire, let alone, altered the
world with all of this software. But so far I have not made things
clear, and on purpose, as to why I am in so much trouble. This is
because I fear telling this even though I will not be believed, your
deeper unconsciousness folks, all know the same truths that I know on
a conscious level, and things could get very hot for me if I say too
much, no matter how many crack-pot lists and tin-foil hat lists, they
endlessly keep me on, for sake of planetary agenda, of course. Unless
you believe the real truth about Triple-Goddess, or Mother/
Daughter/ Electron, (MDE) you can pronounce this as MIDDIE; it is
pointless to talk on much further. Only in a very very few parallel
universes to this one, am I also destined in this exact persona as
the me who I am awake and living in as Mark Wayne Mohr, has been
contacted directly on this powerful a level, by Middie. Once this
happens, two things are automatic. The actual illusion of time that
you were to believe this single contact-point ever took place, is
meaningless, and in reality, it runs from the second of birth to the
second of death, illusions, but real to most hyperspace lower type
exploratrons, most of you, in other words, very
very very very Ingrid-83 most of you! When contact is a
reality, all non contacted reality is estranged from you. This is the
evil twin part of the contact. When this force comes around me as
Lightning, all the birds observe this interaction between us, and
they all know me and they really do follow me around and talk to me.
I tuned out their actual words long ago, and just hear the twits and
the tweets like all of you, but I could just as easily hear them, any
time I wish to. Contact also does one more thing. It makes you a lot
more user friendly and normally interactive with the nature forces
all over, and this includes the forces that supposedly bind things
all together, and fall into itself, as a result of a mind signal from
a higher dimension than hyperspace, creating STM, but also, creating
a person who can alter the direction of a 500 pound motor rotisserie
in a diner, and move along in the water at an endlessly high speed
until I would drown myself. My days of playing with all this shit are
over since the world is so totally under continual visual
observation, by all of us, peeps with all of their cellphones, Google
Earth Satellite Systems, and on and on and on I could go. I really
have no need going on any more right now, as any door that I open up
from this point, leads into a minimum of tens of thousands of
additional words just to scratch the fucking topic's surface, YO.
There is no unsolved question or mystery, not the pyramids, not why
we are here, not where the sky ends either grand-daddy. Still, I have
indeed recently learned the full power of CONTACT. You CANNOT tell,
you CANNOT prove, and it is all just as if there were a MOGOSP
running on internet-2, 3, or 4; something none of you need to be
remotely aware of right now, but these are channels of it when it is
split into channels, where robotic and spam ops are not interrupted,
so that MOGOSP can run successfully, and on these channels, using
what is now considered as SPAM or robot-ops, would be for the most
part meaningless, or as meaningless as knowing that most things don't
matter one bit, as all things are rapped up in illusions, or less
politely said; in lies.
When
my dad talked about my
future friend, David Roth,
he said that we would meet at a mall kind of a place, and both be
working there, and probably together. That too came to pass, with
perfect accuracy, in November of 1985; with or without any cry's over
Diana, or songs called, I'M CRIANA, copyrighted that year, MMCN, so
laugh, moron!!! But did my dad ever discuss the dude I already met
just less than a year back at
the PCI?
Sure he did, without my even saying BOO about him, he knew of him,
but only in his, yes you guessed it, “PILLOW TALK”!!!!!!!!!!!!
*****55555555555555555555555555555555555*****
I AM
GETTING OUT OF DODGE, CAPTAIN CALLIO, SCREW-U!
THIS
IS MORIANITY CHAPTER 00144, IN
PART 5.
***Never
risk follow the follow. ***
5555555555555555555555555555555555555
- http://www.drunkenhive.blogspot.com/
- Not boring, without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can honestly say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or have lived here, none have shared my wild ride through hyperspace, with awareness. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
-
-
-
- 555555555555
-
- {{{{{{(((('O-H***S-H-I-T'))))}}}}}}, BY GOLLY GOOD FOLKS, YO, here is the situation, Inspector Louigee Kent Henderson Hollywood:
Jupiter,
Florida welcomes you to Morianity, Courtesy of Channel 12-TV.
W—O—W
THANK
YOU FOR SEEING ME TODAY, MY ENDLESS LOVE!!!!!!!!
BEAUTIFUL
LIGHTNING (GODDESS DIANA), SUBMITTED BY A CHANNEL 12 VIEWER, NOW
PASTED FROM THEIR TV-APP.
MY
BABY-BLOND
DIANA
ZUDLECRONESSIA ARTEEMIS.
55555555555555555555555555
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Hammonton,
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Introduction
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Not
boring, without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can
honestly say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or
have lived here, none have shared my wild ride through
hyperspace, with awareness.
|
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You
forgot your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and
olive pits?
An
angry mother. Also,
a little philosophy for you is as follows:
At
the risk of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly sure
of, is that you cannot be sure of anything.
If
you have read this opening, feel free to skip this part.
FOLKS,
AS I SAID TO THE COPYRIGHT OFFICE IN THE LATE EIGHTIES ON MY EPITOME
OF HARASSMENT TAPES, GOOD MORNING, GOOD AFTERNOON, GOOD EVENING,
WHATEVER THE CASE MAY BE. How can I possibly know when you are
reading what I am writing? I AM not the great ISISCYLLA SARAH-STACEY
JEHOVAH KARGE KRASSLE, and never will be, sort of like my old pal
David Charles Roth's only show in town. How he would always remind
me, seemingly on a daily basis, that the WOMO-MILITUFORCE is not the
only show in town, nor will they ever be. I believe the tapes are
somewhere available in the great Library of Congress, Copyright
Office, in Washington, District of Columbia, a place may I add with a
very liberated attitude where the age of sexual consent should be
placed, and what is good for the lawmakers, is good for everyone
else, and if that is not true, just exactly how have I misspelled
America? XIII is the number by the way, such a tender age and how the
perverts must wonder why this is not common knowledge and all move
into our great capitol city, right Roy? I still cannot believe that
you told me this, or that nobody seems to know it, know matter how I
spread around what you said to me, old
pal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This
will be the master sheet for PART 5 of MORIANITY.
You
may skip through this by scrolling, any time, folks.
December 12, 2006
More Crackpots- Meet Mark from NJ (MP3)
At
the risk of being pigeonholed as the Girl
Who Writes About Crazy Cursing Dudes, I bring you Mark from New
Jersey. Mark has far-ranging theories on time travel,
Armageddon, roulette and Donna Summer (the DEVIL!), which he angrily
discusses in various telephone conversations.
Station
Manager Ken clued me in to this fella recently. He was
given a CD called "The Meaning of Life." The back
copy states that it was made from a cassette found on the side of the
road bearing the same title. He's really difficult to listen
to, for a couple of reasons- The recordings only capture Mark's side
of the conversation and they seem to have been recorded either by a
microphone placed somewhere in the room or possibly while Mark was
standing outside on a windy day. More importantly, he is
insane. Completely, violently insane.
Mark claims to be both a
time traveler and a descendant of King David. His family will
bring about the apocalypse through the activation of the Christ
Android, currently dormant inside the 12 Planet. And also
that the 50 richest families in the world are trying to do him in.
Covertly, of course. Also against him is Donna Summer,
the Devil. (Whether he means the disco Donna Summer, or WFMU's
own Jason Forrest isn't clear.)
Here then, are three selections from
Mark's version of reality:
If
you need more Mark from NJ, Aquarius
Records would be happy to sell you a cd-r.
Now,
if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cover my windows with aluminum
foil.
As
Bob Chabot said in 1981, is there any
excuse 4U? Signed, Da' Mountainpen.
Florida
Attorney
General
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I
know you are doing your best to watch over me, AG Mizz Bondi, thank
you. Feel free to contact the Wirtz detectives in Camden County in
New Jersey, Ron Senior knows my problem is all real, but his hands
are tied, I am quite sure that you know what I mean. Only where RU
when I need you, oh lovely AG of FLORIDA??????????????????????????
55555555555555555555555555555555
5555555555555555555
55555555555555555555555555555555
**W-Map,
courtesy of CHANNEL 12 local South
Florida TV.**
Note: The
image above may not reflect the current alert state for your county
due to a several minute delay between the issuance of the alert and
the map processing.
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Winter
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Warning
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Non-Precipitation
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Flood
Statement
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Are you on this
thing, BREAD and IF, OR 'as if', Doctor Garrigan???????????????????
A
beautiful shot of LUNA, also known as the moon, and 'Goddess Diana',
by the Romans.
She
is real folks, you will see when you're dead!
'5555555555'
HELP ME PEE, YOU HAVE BEEN OUT OF HERE SINCE MARCH 29th, and now it is AUGUST 3 girl.
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(LOOK
UP ON WORD OFFICE 3.1 DOC-PROG
UNDER 1969).
||CALENDAR
FOR '69-'70||
JULY
1969
S.
M. T. W. T. F. S.
1
2 3 4 5-----WEEK
0---PEEKY RAPED ME UNDER AC CENTRAL PIER.
6
7 8 9 10 11 12----WEEK 1
13
14 15 16 17 18 19----WEEK 2
20
21 22 23 24 25 26----WEEK 3
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28 29 30 31
AUGUST
1969
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2----WEEK 4
3
4 5 6 7 8 9----WEEK 5
10
11 12 13 14 15 16---WEEK 6
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18 19 20 21 22 23---WEEK 7
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25 26 27 28 29 30---WEEK 8
31
SEPTEMBER
1969
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2 3 4 5 6-----WEEK 9
7
8 9 10 11 12 13----WEEK 10
14
15 16 17 18 19 20----WEEK 11
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22 23 24 25 26 27----WEEK 12
28
29 30
OCTOBER
1969
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1
2 3 4--------WEEK 13
5
6 7 8 9 10 11-------WEEK 14
12
13 14 15 16 17 18-------WEEK 15
19
20 21 22 23 24 25-------WEEK 16
26
27 28 29 30 31
NOVEMBER
1969
S.
M. T. W. T. F. S.
1--------WEEK
17
2
3 4 5 6 7 8--------WEEK 18
9
10 11 12 13 14 15-------WEEK 19
16
17 18 19 20 21 22-------WEEK 20
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24 25 26 27 28 29-------WEEK 21
30
DECEMBER
1969
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1
2 3 4 5 6----------WEEK 22
7
8 9 10 11 12 13---------WEEK 23
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15 16 17 18 19 20---------WEEK 24
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22 23 24 25 26 27---------WEEK 25
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29 30 31
JANUARY
1970
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M. T. W. T. F. S.
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2 3-----------WEEK 26
4
5 6 7 8 9 10----------WEEK 27
11
12 13 14 15 16 17----------WEEK 28
18
19 20 21 22 23 24----------WEEK 29
25
26 27 28 29 30 31----------WEEK 30
FEBRUARY
1970
S.
M. T. W. T. F. S.
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MARCH
1970
S.
M. T. W. T. F. S.
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WELCOME
BACK TO THIS WORLD SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KRASSLE, AND PLEASE DON'T
EVER GO AWAY AGAIN, AND LEAVE ME HERE, TO FACE THE MILITUFORCE
MCKINNON!
MORIANITY
PART----V----CONTINUES:
The
hacking update is as follows: Right after I blocked the lower right
of my screen with a little 2X2 inch screen blocker, somewhere
in-between that point and the time I went to post the last blog, they
hacked into the clock time system, and changed it to the opposite
meridian, making it PM when it was AM, and I know of no way of
changing it back other than for setting the fucking hour to maximum,
the good old number Jane Diseaseweeds Miss-Bitch ''11'', and when the
minutes swing around, then I can set it to the correct meridian by
upping the switch in the control panel. They still are hacking, as I
no sooner started this paragraph, when the light bulb shit began, so
again, until it is time for me to post up, I will block this latest
mother fucking major ass annoyance. You know peeps, these cunt
sniffing garbage chewers have nothing better to do with their lives
than to mess with me now for about 30-50 years, and this tells you
and me two huge fucking things about this group I sometimes refer to
as just 'them' and more often, to the name of,
WOMO-MILITUFORCE!!!!!!!!!!!! Also, I am not able to access my
'Weather Bug App', unless I RED-X
Hendershodt out of half a dozen or more continual popping
up error screens that instantly come on, both in the beginning as
well as any time that I click onto the various parts of the APP,
shown in rectangles on the far left side.
Here
I am a total little nobody, yet someone out here with a great deal of
mother fucking twat huffing power, has nothing better to do than to
make my life as miserable as they possibly fucking can, day after Bob
Barker day, week after Bob Barker week, month after Bob Barker month,
year after Bob Barker year, century after Bob Barker century, and
millennium after Bob Barker millennium. I quote this great man, who
used to be the host of the famous great pricing television show,
before the mighty Drew Carey took it over; during a time of many
many many many wild BLUCRAN
alterations, all over the entire universe, or so it seems; to
observant whittle me aniwho, MCMCAAONMC!!! WOW, what a long ass
memory, sheeeeeeeeeeit, and also in this particular case, I know how
to click onto my own blogs, and then click onto the section that says
'MY BLOGS', where all of my old blogs show up; and then like DUH; I
can click and read, but here is what a lot of you bible thumper
arrogant bastards are so totally fucking unaware of, and all I wanna'
do is teach you something, and you wanna' tell me Ima jit bag who's
going to fucking eternal hell. Well, you're fucking half right, as
somewhere somehow, in-between 1982 and 1986, my conscious illusion in
Space Time Mind (STM) 'realized' that I was there, and as I learned
from a very wild mysterious dude back at age nineteen and a fucking
half in the scummer-time of 1974, in where gods-dam else, but
Atlantic City, New Jersey; that all time is one time, and it is only
there in MIND, and once you're here, you've always been here and will
always be here, since in truth you simply exist, and time is not
real, other than to us in a dreaming-hyperspace interaction in five
dimensions, but not on the Astral-Plane or the Void-Infinity where it
all simply JUST IS, AND
EXISTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So let's get to teaching those
who love to just let the spirit lead, and open randomly up to some
place in scripture. Folks, I hate to tell something that All Mighty
Sarah Krassle may not really want you to know, nut here goes, besides
all of the effects of chemtrails, or really JET FUEL. The less
powerful secret is that there is no magic in the bible, that makes
this great manual of life instruction, one bit different from any
other lengthy literary work, in so far as thinking you can say some
prayer to any cosmic force, and have a message perfectly revealed to
you through a random draw, or an opening to a page. Morianity,
Christianity, and 'anyanity', or anything at all; will produce these
exact same results, and in fact good folks; gimme' a break willya
Marge Leo from 1985, this cosmos is begging to communicate with its
lower life self, as us Earthling biological beings, who are all so
deep asleep, in the dreams of fifth dimensional hyperspace. Morianity
has made no bones about this since it began early in 2006, and still
does not. There is no random, everything is non-random, but the
patterns are so complex, it produces an illusion. Just as so many
mirages exist, on hot summer days on blacktop paved roads to strobing
lights of the Shadow Monster Bad-Lighters Club, of the ENY-ENEMY New
Jersey license plate folks, of the last years of the good old
nineteen fucking eighties; in or out of gated
housing communities of the future, guarded by us lowly
security guards, in the case here; the heart attack death strobe of
late 1988, at Raynard Run, of Mount Honda 'don't like it', Laurel.
Where is the Copyright Office going to bat for a person, when you
need them, great wonderful awesome daut???????????? I could begin
with the LOST LOVE thievery, MISTER Lenny McKinnon and work my way
through Mister Brown the coke-head, but there is no need, as we all
know I cannot fight the owners and the MAS of this ugly rotten
planet. That's been tried, and it is a lost mother fucking cause, YO
DOGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I told you the Mayor was 'shady', lovely and
powerful Jennifer, water lifter!
Still,
which MAYOR, at this point, but then, this dovetails and segways
right directly back to our point that holy scripture is no more
magical than any long literary work, in so far as playing a game
called, NO SARAH, not that game on Pearl Harbor Day, W—O—W, but
the game called, I
AM ASKING AND KNOCKING, SO TELL AND OPEN. This game,
unlike the first game that is just between the great All mighty
Teen-queen Goddess of your universe folks, that is private between
just us or was until I shone a huge strobelight on it called the
interconnecting network computer system of Albert Gore and his pals;
aniwho, this one is written clearly about in just about every
American home, you all have copies of game number 2, as shown in red
highlighting and black lettering, Joann.
Yes people, I simply, whether you wish to believe I'm lying to you
'OR NAUT', Miss AT&T Blake from late spring-time-1983; and
whether or not the great hotel and video land owners want to give me
any grief on this subject or NAUT; but yes; I merely took my own
stuff at random, nothing was behind it, and look how it fitted into a
perfect place with the current shit being told and talked about at
current time morianity. I don't just mean this recent chapter
number 220 of Safe Journal. I have been doing this all
year long, in case all of you have been too busy listening to Lady
Gawky at 135 decibels, and rattling your gray matter apart. Morianity
and the real message, is not even begun yet, even though I could have
ended it all after three or four years. If that's not the
quintessential conundrum of philosophical bullshit at C-Squared, what
is?
I
know I am not always right about everything, and who is? Still, as
for this recent BLUCRAN with the
FOLLOW THE FOLLOW on the stock market going totally south, this is
just done by the WORLD OWNERS, to kill my mother fucking credibility.
One thing that won't happen that kills my credibility, IT WON'T GO
DOWN, IT WILL JUST KEEP GOING HIGHER AND HIGHER AND HIGHER AND
HIGHER, and this I TOL YO ALL SO, and still fucking TELL YOU ALL SO,
so mark it down, not market-down, and mark my words, as I told you it
will be 25,000 basis points by the end of the year and 50,000 basis
points by 2015, and this is exactly where the fucking cock sucking
DOW JONES INDUSTRIAL AVERAGES will be, at these times, and YOU WILL
ALL SEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Then go ahead and laugh all you want to at
little nobody shit eating me, good
folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now I cannot make you
believe one thing I say to you, but in my head right now, is SAFE
JOURNAL chapter number 333, and so we are going to click on it and
then cut and paste this into this present blog, or I am really, AHA
AHA AHA, Mister McNulty!
SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0333
SUPPLEMENTAL
ENTRY
START
BLOG:
This
is an addition that will be re-posted at www.blogger.com
for now, later hopefully, the entire blog will post for the first
time at wordpress blog site, it seems to be either legitimately down,
or else it is being, or I am being hacked out, either or. Anytime
that I try a post up within 5 minutes of Wall Street's closing hell
fucking bell, I run the risk, how I remember my daughter's freaking
39th birthday, it is all up on the blogs folks, doghouses
and all, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Since this is a
new blog on www.blogger.com/ on
a new URL that is the same as the old one except that it contains the
unbroken letters of 'continues', this blog will post up, followed by
two powerful ones that have a lot to do with my present time
circumstances, as well as things spoken on this blog, so read this
blog and read the two that follow it, carefully, GOOGLE and the
powerful WOMO Fortune-500 all totally know what's mother fucking
going on, they and their Satanic Bohemian Club are all an evil and
integral part of it, after freaking all.
My
dirt bag piece of shit neighbor next door is PERSECUTING AND
HARASSING ME. All day long and every day again. He waits for me to
pass his door when I come home tired from work, and as soon as I get
inside my apartment, BOOM, a million watts of sub-woofers strike my
poor pathetic walls. He started attacking me this morning. I live
with total sick demonic whack jobs, and am looking to get out of here
as soon as possible, and my letter to the Attorney General is now in
the mail, because laws are broken, my lease promises me some degree
of living in my apartment. This death siege on me is unrelenting, it
never stops, and it is worse than any mother fucking thing I have
ever seen in my entire mother fucking cunt eating cock chewing
fucking ass life.
Very
soon, I promise this world one thing. Huge fantastic covered lids
will be blown off of Atlantic City and its multiple gigantic cover
ups and corruptions. Only what has been done to me will be discussed,
I do not care one bit if somebody is not trying to wipe me out.
Speaking of wiping out, until the world is struck with huge
devastating destructive damage via Magnesonic, this will go on and on
without any fucking let up. All it takes is for me to go somewhere in
a parallel universe, come back here, and then electronically recreate
that item. Last April, many of you know that I took a song that was
sung to me in a parallel universe, discussed often in my summer time
of 2008 blogs back in New Jersey; and went to a studio in
PSLFLUSAESMWG, and had it done as close to the way I remembered it
from this powerful 1997 “DREAM”. Dreaming is no more than the
natural exploration of the parallel universes of 5th
dimensional hyperspace. Even though I sampled my own voice and had
the machine sing the song, since the CHEMTRAILS wiped out my singing
voice completely, which in my case is a favor to the world but that's
neither hair nor there, huh DAG; but even with this not being exactly
the way it was in the 'dream', doing it as close to the way it was
done in the dream, and using the world of electronics, since
electrons are 5th dimensional subatomic particles totally
not understood in 2012; I was able to cause a terrible outbreak of
American twisters, plus a lot of other monster ass weather all over
the place. This backed shit off for me enough to get me out of the
hoods of 26th Street, and into the hoods of Lowlifeville
of 7th Avenue. Anyone with no consideration about annoying
their neighbors, is low life, and it has nothing whatsoever to do
with race, color, religion, national origin, gender, age, or any
other categorical possibility. Soon, I may do the unthinkable, and
have Scylla sing the song, 'LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS', digitally of
course and sampled of course; 1980 all over again, right time
traveling great Copyright Office? Well you always wanted to know, MR.
TRUMP; if I could get my kid at age sixteen, and bring her to your
rotten Plaza Casino back in 'oh-nine. With a little increase in
speed, voices go to the ages that they were when we were younger,
because the human larynx slows down from the second we are born all
throughout our lives, and all voices slowly deepen. I do not know if
I want to go that far, but if I do, and post it onto my U-T Account,
the world most likely will go to at least having many many 1980 Mount
Saint Helen reenactments. Don't be too quick to think this is all a
fucking joke folks. Just give Steve Hawking a chance to examine my
words carefully, and then you'll get your socks, shoes, and all the
gold in fort Knox, blown up your ass holes, YO. Later on, I'll tell
huge shit about how to become a major player in the worlds of the
exploratron. For right now, GOOGLE up GAWNUM, GOOGLE up FASCITAR, and
if you are reading this in 2089 or further out via lunar satellite
time delay attachment field systems, tune back into 2007 internet,
and GOOGLE up the www.morianity-foundation.com/
website. Do not look for me any longer where I work at the harvest
folks, it has all been sanitized over since I shot off my mouth.
This
fucking cunt world is really asking for shit, from here all the way
to the Grant avenue exit off of 95, right Jessica, my beautiful boss?
YES
COLAMAN. A MORON INDEED DOES KNOW THE END.
This
is a further addition and insertion at 3:58 in the afternoon, here on
the east mother fucking coast of America; on one of the worst siege
days in many years for fucking ass pathetic me. I cannot post up to
the www.wordpress.com/
website that I blog onto, as I get an 'OOPS' sign, instead of the
normal post pages. We will try later on, as I now will counterstrike
this evil empire in another huge ass fucking way. Now you'll get oops
signs when you try and go to any of my YOUTUBE old sites!!!!!
Good
moanin' folks. I am totally hacked and will most likely be throwing
away this computer. You see a lot of shit on fucking television about
services that can help you, for a price naturally, but I do not think
it is going to help, I may try and I may not. Right now, the newest
hack is this stupid fucking light bulb that appears at the bottom
right of my screen and will not go away unless you ignore it each
time and stop clicking onto it, some sort of word program bullshit,
but it should not be self activating over and over. Ever since mother
fucking one week ago, as you all remember I am quite sure, two
Thursdays now, or for 8 days straight, I have been under a non-stop
hell and siege. Fire alarms every single day, as many as three times
in one day, and this has never happened before. Before I get rid of
this machine, I will bring the Staples Store guru over again, another
100 bucks; but I have no choice. As for the light bulb hack, I have
made a thick cardboard cut out 2 by 2 inches, and rolled a piece of
black electrical tape up, and have affixed this to block out this
annoying fucking pop up, and it did me a favor, as now; I will not
see the fucking clock be hacked any more, or get fucked by seeing
ones and Jane slime-ball-bitch Notfondauu. So thank you, 'mother
fuckers', good or bad names, and hoods!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You want real
fucking war with me, you god dam mother fucking slime bag cock
suckers, and you will have one. I will tell the maybe three or four
peeps out here who are real folks, and not OTAMM enemies, some real
heavy truths; and if you do not spread it around the internet, you
are doing a real disfavor to lots of good honest folks, who still
believe in pixie dust, Irish Lep-Magic, and Santa Fucking
Claus!!!!!!! This will be a little rat-tat-telling of some nasty
secrets that they don't want fucking told, and you better bet and
know, Mister Ward Cleaver and others, that I have nothing to gain by
misleading any of you. In fact, I just want to fucking bring you all
a tiny tad morsel of electronic education, if you'll
Uncle-Heinz-Gozzwald permit me, camera and all, and yes wow, from
December of 1972, so let us all be dammed, speaking of fucking
Beaver!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Most of us have tried reading several or maybe
quite a lot of the world famous “Books 4 dummies”, on every
conceivable subject I believe nowadays, from internet, youtube, the
PC, to how to properly blow your nose or fart through a hose, Mister
John Late King Roofdog Phonydauts. Shall we begin, oh lovely ladies
and gentlemen:
We
are going to begin this discourse with my telling you a nasty truth,
that dumb little me knows to be true, and if I am ever believed;
there will be an extinction of a recently new term used every day
now, that has nothing to do with illness and disease, as it once was
limited to, and still should be; and that would be something
''going viral''. The sad truth folks is this
is a huge hoax and I will explain the entire thing to all of
you who do not know, and those who do know, are hating my guts for
attempting to blow away this little fucking stupid fantasy; and that
is all that it is. Once upon a time, recording artists would sell
vinyl records and cassette tapes and even 8-track tapes, but all that
aside in the pre-digital age of electronic dinosaurs; this is a
simple truth that is ugly, especially for peeps like me, who have
made enemies for whatever the reasons may be, and lots of you without
even knowing it are on the same lists I am on; and this is why your
life, hard as you may try; is going no place, and you are miserable;
ball bust 24-7 as you may endlessly keep trying, in vane. Let me use
the old music world days just so I can build this ugly monster and
show you how it all works. Don't think this blog will not be
re-posted 4 or 5 times every single month, as I plan to tell this
story until SOME WORLD POWER SUCCESSFULLY SHUTS ME FUCKING UP, AND
THEY WILL, eventually; but that is then, and this is now. Rather than
try and tell complicated way out nutty sounding unbelievable fish
tale truths about things on a big ass fucking scientific Einsteinian
level, we will now be concentrating here in Morianity, on just the
exact opposite. I am going to really keep trying harder and harder,
to talk third grade, as I am slowly coming to realize my words are
being interpreted, based on my concepts of things, THIRD GRADE, no
offense.
When
a recording artist sells half a million records, be it old days vinyl
or today's CD, it was and maybe still is, called silver sales. One
million is gold, two million is platinum, and when some great project
sells past the 4 or the 6 mega stage, they called it and perhaps
still do, double or triple platinum. If you think that any kind of
randomness was behind these large volume success stories and high
volume sales, you would be wrong. Also, to assume talent is the only
factor involved, is a laugh nine hours long. Same would apply to any
other single thing. Numerous things all connect and commingle
together, and naturally, in order to sell any product, there must be
a world or at least a national level agreement, that what someone is
trying to sell, is popular and pleasing, as it is no easy task for
anyone to separate another from their hard earned money, you must
exchange something that is desired, or said maybe another quick way,
is popular. All the talent in the world by itself is nothing, and all
the promotion in the world is nothing; so you need to have a pleasing
product to be considered popular, and then you need money behind you
to push that product, or you could be selling eternal life for three
dollars, and you will get nowhere. Now I could get all complicated as
to how things work in any selling industry, and although I possess no
degree in marketing, I did sales work, I worked in the music
business, and I do have a basic knowledge of many things, including
well hidden secrets. I told a long time ago about the 'producer
button' on the old recording machines, and if you think that
was my only secret, you can be quite free to rethink that all you
wish, as you'd be in the right. I know way too much for my own good,
and that stays there.
Now
we will bring into this mix, the computer age, and the great social
media of the twenty-first century. We could be all night long talking
about the most basic fucking shit, good people. Let me skip to
Youtube, and viral videos; because I am about as sick and tired as
one can get, of hearing about these so-called nonsensical
things, I could expel poison sumac weeds right through my
walls. There are three kinds of videos anyone
can post on the social media site Youtube, or any other type of site,
and there are others less known. One is a low
volume unpopular video. One is a viral
video. One is a payola video.
This is powerful truth that needs to be more carefully explained. You
open up a Youtube Account, create a page, and start posting videos.
You will never be anything other than a low volume unpopular video, I
do not care if you post a video that when you click on it, Blue Eyes
himself, pops out of the screen, materializes in your room; and
sings, “Fly Me To The Moon”, in full real life drama; then
vanishes back into the video at the end, and it closes out like any
normal video. This may be a slight exaggeration, but
I need to get loud and dirty and come full power; or no
one wants to even fucking listen to anything I ever tell. On the
other hand, it could be a 20 second clip of turning on your cellphone
and recording yourself hanging from a chandelier, and singing a song
called, “I'm Hanging Around 4U”, all out of tune, and it goes
'viral'. Nothing GOES
viral. If CNN, or a large music
or movie studio, or a large press outlet, randomly decides to promote
you; after accidentally falling onto your post, like a lottery winner
picking the correct number; 'THAT', is what
virals the video, and if you all don't wanna' believe me,
FINE, stay fucking stupid. Now you can PAY. You go to Google and do
one of two things. You can use this AD-WORD
stuff and you will pay a minimum of 25 dollars per day, and they will
'feature' your video from time to time, depending on the size of your
account 'how much MONEY' that you wish
to pay them. Also, you can go to GOOGLE
SEARCH, and type in this short little phrase, YOUTUBE
VIEWS. These are the networking systems that legally have
programmed networking systems that are not robotic, that can deliver
bulk amounts of views, as well as comments, subscriptions, and
like/dislike displays, the whole fucking 9
yards. Word Spell Checker is too stupid, to properly show
me how to fucking spell the word that sounds like a Mexican Pizza.
It is really a worthless fucking hunk of junk these days for me,
unless I am just getting more fucking hacking, which could be totally
the case here, good folks! For fifteen dollars, I bought one 5-K
package of views on my 'YBCO' song.
The extra views are nothing more than them going out of their way, to
be clever and tricky; to make me think, and falsely believe, that
anyone could care less about my videos; and hope I will buy another
5000. I will not. So let us go over this again. You can
buy-fake the count, you can accept that just your friends are going
to look at your stuff, if you're lucky, and then you can be the
lottery winner. People win the fucking powerball, or mega jackpot
lottery, every single week, and month; somewhere. This
means, you were randomly viewed by someone with lots of
clout who decides to viral your video.
If some news press system, or some music or movie studio, sees
something, and airs it, or promotes it, in numerous potential ways;
then one thing does lead to another, and overnight
there it is, 100,000, a million, maybe ten. You might
as well play the fucking lottery
at the local gas
pump!
Now
if you just want to network a bunch of friends all together in
Twitter and Facebook and Youtube, and post lots of stuff; you can
find yourself getting 1-10 thousand views on
your stuff, maybe. This friends and fiends, is the simple
ABC's lesson, about 'so-called viral videos'. I plan to post this
blog along with other blogs, at least a few times monthly; as I
feel the world needs to grab that coffee cup in the
morning, force an eyelid open, and wake up to the dam fucking truth,
and for those out here that tell me I am lying about this and it is
just my own sour grapes because I never got any action, then you know
what, folks; you just have yourselves a real
nice time believing that, it's your fantasy, not
mine. I stick to what is real, what is honest; and I do
not like this capitalistic money
grubbing evil world one bit. How fast all of you god
dam fucking assholes have forgotten 2008, and the stock market bail
out, and now these crooks are at record all
time highs, and let me ask you, haters and doubters of me;
are you a lot better off than back in 2008? I already know the true
answer. 97-99 percent of you are NOT.
A very few are, wow, rock on, and viral on. I am just telling the
truth, and if you want to hold it all against me about that one dam
shit eating fib about Sarah, and July the twelfth in 1970, FINE, YO!
SAWN-U BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some of you out here know the real total
truth, and hate my fucking guts, and that's fine, but you
know. You know the whole god dam rotten bloody mess, from
here to the age of Aquarius. At least I can make up my mind, and do
not vacillate back and forth. One minute I am of significant
eternal value, the next, well year not minute, but that
depends on how fast your mass is traveling, I am violently
insane. I will now leave my worries behind, Jason, and tell
Boo that if he gets taken to Rock Road again, don't call me, call
my Golden Nugget
Privecode!
Oh
yes, baby-love, I sure did ask Gawky Gaukauk
why last Thursday's attack came down on me like a bolt of lightning,
and what did I get but PCN-165.
Now not to sound like a total trash-can or a female offspring, or get
myself shot through the heart at the CCP Office or any of its
transdimensional doppelgangers in high school Mister Disney Sir, BUT,
when I asked what this huge COMPUTER HACK IS ALL ABOUT, yeah you got
it, PCN-835. Did anybody say
W---O---W, Bob Chabot, or is there some other excuse again, Mister
Tom Cruise, old jet-pal??????????????????
Have
another one on me, Leticia; as I am
still laughing thinking about that day you barked at Brownie, but
will never know why your wonderful cuzz wanted Midge. Joe did not put
that magical crap inside my car, into his collar; so nobody is
joining 'Frankie' any time soon. WEEEEEEEEEEE!
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