MORIANITY PART 7, CHAPTER 0011

MORIANITY PART 7, CHAPTER 0011

JANUARY 2, 2014,

THURSDAY AFTERNOON AT 1:15

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 83 DEGREES FNHT.

MY ASSHOLE NOISY NABE NEXT TO ME IN ACTING LIKE A FUCKING NUT TODAY. FIRST AT SHORTLY PAST ELEVEN AND CLOSE TO JANE DIRTWEEDS TIME, HE SLAMMED HIS DOOR SO LOUD THE ENTIRE BUILDING SHOOK, JUST LIKE THAT TIME HE DID THIS BEFORE WENT HE WENT FUCKING NUTS FOR A WHILE. THEN TWO HOURS LATER HE STARTED BOOMING HIS SOUND SYSTEM. IT ONLY LASTED FIVE MINUTES AND NOW IS AT A NORMAL AND REASONABLE LEVEL, BUT SOMETHING IS MAJOR WRONG WITH THIS CLOWN TODAY, AND AS USUAL, HAVE TO FEEL AND BE, THE TOTAL FUCKING CUNT EATING BRUNT OF HIS ANTICS. WHY I ALWAYS HAVE NEIGHBORS FROM HELL IS ANYONE'S GUESS, BUT WHEN I TALKED IN 2008 ABOUT A SOFTWARE PROGRAM CALLED ''MOGOSP'', AND NOW WITH THE STUFF BEING SAID EACH WEEK BY THE GREAT PROFESSOR KAKU WHICH ALSO MIRROR INAGES SHIT I HAVE BEEN SAYING FOR 40 YEARS OR SO NOW; YOU TAKE THESE THINGS TOGETHER, AND IT LEAVES YOU TO REALLY WONDER JUST WHO OUT BEYOND OUR COSMOS HATES ME AND WHY, AND JUST WHAT METHOD IS BEING USED BY THIS SCUM BAG DIRT HOLE, TO INDEED ACCOMPLISH THEIR EVIL AND HORROR ON ME. SOMETHING MUST BE GOING ON BIG TIME IN THE WORLD, ALSO. WHEN SHIT IS THIS FUCKING BAD AND SERIOUS, THIS EARLY ON IN THE DAY, ANYTIME BEFORE NOON AND ANYTIME THAT I CANNOT GET MY SLEEP FOR WHATEVER REASON, I CAN KNOW THAT MOTHER FUCKING SHIT IS REAL BAD ALL AROUND ME, AND ALWAYS FOR REASONS PERTAINING TO A VERY OLD AGENDA.

Folks, in 1979, I had wanted some basic things to be in my life. By playing around with electronic metaphysics, this seemed to be the switch that turned the lamp on, whatever the lamp really is. I am holding a BOTBUR and ready son to go BOTBAR, and so I will tell you something so big, even if you do not recognize it is big, I will feel I was able to get some revenge against the NCC-CLOUD-MILITUFORCE OF HALLS FAWCES, with this counterstrike of tattle tailing this bit of information. In Atlantic City starting late in the nineteen-sixties, things happened that made me become absolutely aware, that an entire group that was organized as well as powerful, was observing me, and that I without a doubt, was very important to them. Before this siege of noise today, while what you all would call, being asleep and 'dreaming', I was in an office somewhere, and people were coming around a wall in that office where a photograph of somebody was hanging, big as life; and these peeps all had small photographs of themselves and a hammer and a tack, and all wanted to hang their photos all around this photo of this nameless man, that hard as I try to pull it up, is no one I know, know of, or could relate to in any human way back here and 'awake'. After these people all did this, they left and the door to this office closed behind the last person, leaving me as with most of the time in most places in the multiverse, invisible. However, during the time that all of these peeps were trying to get their photos all tacked up around the giant sized photo of this mysterious man, a dude came up to me and began wondering where my photo was and why I was not joining the crowd so to speak. I asked him why you all care so much about doing this, and went onto tell him that I had no interest whatsoever of copying the behavior of the crowd in this office. He gave me a major dissertation about, and I'll quote the mother fucker; ''Well, look at it from the point of view of pure strong logic. If your large photo was hanging on an office wall, would a crowd of anyone anywhere be charging in with their photos to try and tack them up all around yours''? We got talking after this about power, and this led to getting a good job and becoming a success in life, as mankind perceives success of course; basically wealth and fame, and maybe a nice family, maybe; but in moving my point along; he went onto tell me and I will paraphrase his words that he believed to be so wisdom-filled. He said unless you have peeps that are like the man in this photo who help you and back you, you will always be working for minimum wage and never have two nickels to rub together that you can spare, or anything else for that matter. Then this powerful dream was filled with my attention focused on the street outside this office. This dream came in two parts, and each time the noise from this universe and the surroundings of my sleeping body happened, the dream or the world in a parallel universe where I was, became dramatically effected. The first time, someone was tearing down a building a block away, and a loud professional work hammer was slamming into something, and if anyone had ever had to pass one of these things while walking along the street of some city anywhere; you know it is ear punishing, most need to hold their ears until they get some distance away. The most recent time of the two times, there was a car that stopped right outside on the street, and when I looked at it, a large blue four door high end luxury car of some type, the person in it reached over and turned up the sound system inside of it. These two incidents nearby to this strange parallel universe office, was the counterpart, of the two sounds here, made by my nutty nabe, sir Stanley. In any event, it plays right into my hand for my continuing story of what began with a man hypothetically falling asleep with his dog outside of his window barking loudly at a stray cat, and has now been extended to this point. When I really show just what all of this about, in a clear and summed up way, you will be glad that you followed along, and were patient as I did this story in sort of a serial soap show method, over several blogs. I have my reasons for not making one huge blog and just telling it all, I want you the viewer to slowly over time, really absorb the material, just as a sponge would absorb a water spill, from your toddler later today.

If they fucking BOTBAR ME, it will be the earliest botbar of any month for many months now, and who knows, maybe an earlier botbar will bring a month where less later month botbars come into play, as things for four straight months ever since I double techno-pooped, disgusting or not; really changed my life like 10 near death experiences all wrapped up into fucking one, and not in any positive or pleasant way, good folks.

I will e going to my doctor soon, another unscheduled emergency appointment. This is because the fucking FAWCES of WOMOTAMM have recently fucked up my lungs and health, making my mother fucking asthma much worse. If anything happens to me and I am found fucking dead, Attorney General Pam Bondi, mahm; I WAS MURDERED, COVERTLY, BY ALL THE PEOPLE THAT THESE 8 YEARS OF BLOGS HAVE TOLD ABOUT, each one has their own unique amount of culpability, and should be investigated accordingly, not that any of this fucking shit will of course. I am a realistic, no chance for a nice afternoon with lovely Twinbay I suppose, huh Jennifer Washburn. Should I go wash up now, or just let the Irish Gods cut me open and take out my lungs and turn them into red bloody washcloths, and maybe even have some of their peeps there to call me ''Booby''. As for the Watson clues, I am a little late to go out to the movies on one warm summer evening in middle 1972, up in Babylon, New York. The movie that was playing was called, if memory serves and it may or may not be serving me as well as I would like to believe; ''Super sleuth''. In any case and any and all joking aside, Mike McNulty, since this was merely a year after our so very pleasurable encounter; AHA; to this day I wonder stuff, and even think about trying to get this movie at a video place and view it, nearly 42 years in the future. The gods only know what this movie might have contained that would be cosmically meant for me to know about. Well, I then could try looking up the Volvo Lady from late in 89 or early in 90, from Voorhees, New Jersey. She made one hell of a claim to a stranger, through a door, if I do say so myself, worthy totally, for being in the league of any movie, including ''THE TWILIGHT ZONE''.

Helen Zebriski, my glorified prostitute and in my dreams 'girlfriend' from 1999, Sir Chem-Prince; bombs or no bombs, or even BOMS or no BOMS or other parts of my great musical and songwriting saga; AND DEFINITELY AFTER EXITING ESTELLE BASSLER AND SAT NURINE'S GREAT TAXICAB that made those wild electric go-cart 90 degree full turns; told me that I had plenty of baggage, responding to my politely telling her how much baggage she had with her 21 year old semi retarded daughter, Andrea. Naturally, I used a better and totally PC word-choice. Still, she retorted right back that my baggage was no small job for any hotel staff, to nearly quote her flippant reply to me. She said, and now I will quote, ''Sarah isn't baggage''? She was only told a little bit about all of this, and we only dated for two months and it was about the strangest relationship I have ever heard of, and I have seen the movies and talked with many dudes throughout a sixty year lifespan in the current-me sequence of Astral-Plane dream-downs, or what you might see as (lifetimes). Looking back at another things she said, and in tandem with her daughter's 'mixed-marriage-Mashell Daniels' husband, and that he knew the father in law of Sarah Callio quite well and worked under him at the Claridge Paula-King Casino, along with the Atlantic City Casino Mob; that of course doesn't really exist, just like the fucking Wall Street Mob, like give me a fucking break, willya Mizz Marge 1985 Leo for crissake! Anyway folks, Helen knew a lot, and actually, way more than I did, but she was busy in her own life as my prior blogs tried to get into as best as I could; and did not care how much I needed to know all the shit that she and her daughter knew about my peeps down in that crooked fucking hell hole city. But one week later, I was home and getting ready to go out with my pal Dave Roth, and observed my wallet was missing my drivers license, and several store credit cards, such as for one, the Bradlees Card, where Helen had racked up half a grand in charges on games and video games and shit along these lines. Bradlees in case you do not recall, was where I met the android. No little 19 year old girl just five feet tall, and 95 pounds, can take a forty pound bag which I admit I did weigh on my scale at home when I arrived there after leaving; and in one hand, easily and effortlessly, front curl that much weight up to my hand that was taking it from her to place in my shopping cart. Her words to me I'll never forget, ''It's not heavy at all. I have tried doing this with a bag that I fill with 40 pounds, down here years later in Florida. I weigh 275 pounds. I cannot even hardly budge the thing when trying to front curl that much weight up. If this is a real person, I need to know from a professional that could give me real honest answers, how a little girl if really human, can be that strong. I know there are freaks, and this is a possibility. Still, I have met too many of these so-called ''freaks'' in my life, and all after that magical date of 15 August, 1986.

There were reasons why Helen did that nasty thing to me, and it was not just to steal my shit and buy shit for her and her daughter. She knew if she would just give me some good fucking sex, I would have gladly bought all that shit for her and Andrea. No this was the CALLIO branch of the WASHCLOTHS that ordered this to be done, and as they say in the fucking cunt movies peeps, ''You don't say no to these guys''. Well, I will tell them all to go get fucked, as I cannot be killed, no matter what they do. Drop me off the fucking Empire State Building for all I car, on my head.

Too many times, I know have died, only I did not die. I told Joe and Andy from Haddonwood my biggest secret, whether they believed any part of it, I cannot say. I doubt it, looking back on sit today. Still, that was not my biggest secret from the days of Haddonwood, but there goes that god dam hidden attic treasure in the house again. Where's those nice wrecking balls of yours, Dreaming Estelle Bassler? She had the entire Atlantic city all transdimensionalized. She admitted to it on my life-journal. Agent Steve Caruso of Austin, Texas, FBI, if you have my tapes, well, then you know I speak the truth, kind sir. Also, I don't think it is fair that you guys have all my shit. If you do, I would really appreciate getting it back someday. Time to laugh here, right Mike McNulty? Let's do it. AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-YOU BUM. And 43 years come this September is quite a trek from '71. I am sure not having lots of fun. I guess Lenny lied again about rooms in the sun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I AM SURE WHEN I CHECK THE MARKET AFTER CLOSING, IWILL FIND THOSE TURN-POINTS AT JUST PAST 11 AND 1.

THIS IS WHY DO THIS TO ME AND HAVE BEEN DOING IT TO ME, FTC, SEC, ACLU, FBI, AND OTHERS. VERIFIED!!!

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THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW: