All
I ever wanted is your happiness,
MY, since 1980!!!!
A
man is miserable if his kids are not content;
WHAT
IS HELL?
Only
a handful of quantum physicists who have no time to learn of me or my
life and read my blogs, would understand them. Those who read them
just think I am a total nut case. This is the typical way of the
world, even for most people of the non HUNTINGTON CURSED majority.
Still, in case a time ever arrives, where someone who knows what I am
speaking about in all of these blogs, is indeed up here reading any
of this stuff, hay, how are you doing? Hope however that is, it is
better than I am doing, at least.
Yesterday
around three in the afternoon, an hour before Wall Street closed up
at four, the persecution with noise, began, first around just past
three, and then again at around just past the half past three era.
Anyone can see on the charts, only they change with the magic of the
light weight mostly invisible leprechauns; but if you read this and
can get a DOW JONES chart for the day of Tuesday, February 25, 2014,
anyone can see how they began harassing me at critical times to try
and keep it from dropping, only it does not always work, first with
neighbor doors, and later with offensive obnoxious loud ugly thumping
'music'.
FEBRUARY
26, 2014,
WEDNESDAY
MORNING AT 12:22,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE, 64 DEGREES FNHT.
THIS
IS JOURNAL CASSETTE TAPE NUMBER
25,722, IN
EQUIVALENT.
A
DOUBTER WOULD BELIEVE A MAN CAN WALK ON THE WATER, BEFORE BELIEVING
THIS!
I
just left a parallel universe, where I printed up several varying
versions of this sentence, just as I am still doing, Dorothy
Twisters. Without a spinning house in a wild funnel of winds, we all
do just as the great Judy Garland did in that wonderful original
television production. With or without hyperspace wizards, this is
done by all of us, all the time, not only by sleeping and waking and
then repeating that endless womb to tomb cycle; but even while awake
and asleep, we continually slightly alter in the tinyest and
unmeasurable atomic frequency that makes us agree or not agree with
the rest of atomic cosmos around us. If we go off by a hair, we move
into a parallel reality that also matches us by being that same hair
off. Still, those who understand some really powerful secrets, know
that meditations are intentionally done that can intentionally place
us into other words in hyperspace, and even though different verbiage
may have been used in those great books in the late nineties, by the
mighty father of the New Age Movement or NAM, Mister Carlos
Castaneda; just read these books he wrote, and see how basically, we
are on the very same page, no pen meant, I assure you, but
interesting, huh Mister Berra. There is no such thing as blank-art.
You cannot reach randomness and anyone who ever does or says
anything, or paints pictures, writes music, books, whatever; they can
try until doomsday, but the secret is beyond powerful. That being,
that there is no blank art. No matter who does or says what, examine
it and the stories get told. Many who totally are aware of this
truth, just try and hide in a proverbial cave and wait out their
deaths. Stupid move, there is no death. Your one little dream in four
and five dimensions exists, as do all of your others, and your real
true essence that is you, that escaped the void infinity, lives on
the Astral-Plane. This is a super over simplified lesson in truth,
but there it is anyway, L-4. I also left a parallel world where I
woke up and got into my car and drove to the beach and sat down, and
along came a lovely goddess who fell madly in love with me, and I ave
a new wonderful girlfriend, making both Gina and Helen Zeb in
comparison, look like a bucket of rocks; to quote the Law & Order
people. Of course, I crashed and died in others, and millions of
various possible things happened in still countless multiples of
others. 'That's life', did you say; casino 'urinator-Frankie'? Well,
I'll agree, if you say, 'that's lives'. SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!
Thank
you for doing whatever you did, to make things better for a while,
old pal, Mister McDowell. I am sure only Microsucks
Corporation knows what is 'groping on', as they
might say, one rapist to another, in a daily joke. Don't think I have
not been raped, and molested, and abused, not once, but on five
different occasions while in adolescence. Talk about wanting to
fucking wash your hands, at any height; David Deezy, and the Hip Hop
Rap Gangster Thug World!!!!!!!!!! But more than Microsoft is going
down in this rotten dirty mess. All the communication and media
giants know my entire story. Oh sure, ''I'm haunted'', right
miniature 'Incredible Hulk' RPL employee, from late 1979? I would
come in to work nights and he was a day shift employee, and I would
tell him that I already know what was being planned here with me,
when they were up to something that in some way involved me. He was
huge with muscles that had muscles of their own, yet this huge dude,
looked at my big fat flabby ass with a fear that cannot be properly
expressed with words. You really would have had to see this fear in
his eyes and on his face, for yourselves, great cyber-folks, to fully
appreciate the entire situation. This man had underwear that I do not
think I would have wanted to have my nose too close to at that exact
point in time, Senator Watergate, six years later in time-point.
Wayne Rigsby has a home in New Jersey, about five miles from engineer
Ryan's family, up in Jersey, in some weird parallel universe. About
16 months ago, give or take some days or weeks, something huge
happened in this universe, leading me to not be able to record any
longer at Avalon Recording Studio, and it all was suddenly changed,
and the old reality was gone with the winds of Tara, and Okeechobee,
and all her children, on ABC, in the very early 1970's. This is going
to get hairy, and my daughter may just come to me tonight and really
kick, the hot living crap out of me, in her great city of SDK, in her
true form as Sarah-Stacey Jehovah Krassle. Anyway, Mister Rigsby was
a real police officer, not an actor, in this other parallel universe,
or in this wild and extremely vivid dreaming experience some time
back; and for the life of me, I just could not make hide nor
Donna-Hair of the reasoning for me to be having this experience in
any nearby localized parallel reality. Oh Professor Kaku sir, I pray
to the gods of Phase-2-Reality, you are with me here, but hold on,
you might do a LOBO and fall of your 1974 chair, sir, without any
help from a blond that would knock any red blooded male's socks off,
Diana Arteemis, songs or no songs!
YIP
YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP AND YIPPIR FOLKS; this is going to get
very ugly and very hairy. Miss Blake, if you have not retired from
AT&T and have made a career out of your job there since I knew
you from the year of 1983; well, listen up should be some remote
chance, you too are reading along here. Lions, tigers, bears, or
double tigers, all notwithstanding; Miss Blake was the lady in 1983
at the AT&T Annoyance Caller Bureau, in New Jersey. For over 70
times, one of my creditors from Illinois, where Paula Somnambulist
Kings' folks all hail from in her true name-identity; and this
creditor calls me and a young voice speaks and says, ''YIP''. That is
all, just this. It has gone on now for 4 or more months, and is just
like the winter and spring time in Atco, New Jersey. There would be
no reason for them to do this. They either would be trying to call
and collect their debt from me and leave me normal creditor messages,
or whatever, but they would not be doing this YIP YIP YIP stuff for
four plus months and 70+ times. Well, I spent a few hours before
going to sleep yesterday, discussing this with Gawky Gaukauk. Folks,
anyone can legally buy the debts of another, and I have a lot of
debts, as you know well, from running away from the great mighty KING
FAMILY late in 2009, to come here to Sunny South Central Florida.
Companies buy each other out, debt and collection companies sell
debts back and forth, and even sell their entire companies, and all
of this is old news for anyone who knows about basic new age business
of the past 50-100 years or so. You purchase a home and get a
mortgage with the Bank of Dogpoopers, and in 6 short months, the
homeowner receives a letter that his or her mortgage had been sold to
the Sticky Wicky Airglue Corporation clear across the country. You
still pay your nut crack each month, just sending your envelope
payment to another address. Miss Blake, and all lovely cats and
tigers, and Mister Rambo's and ROBO Cops everywhere; from the Dave
Roth Red Odd Black Odd comedian club of 1985 or early 1986 somewhere;
straight to the present moment at Shoebox Tablet High School, of
hammer-men, all screaming and damming their bosses. A child can see
that my funny funny funny Ingrid Sheila Hamburgerhair situation, is
anything but, just as Sheila said at the edge of Central Park that
night, supposedly in 1968, with or without Donna's great prophecy or
her two dollar return fee from Angela and other motorcyclist friends
of this ESS wild group from the gates of
HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hay, if my kid wants to buy out my
creditors, fine. Who ever thought I would end up owing a few thousand
dollars to the top female pop diva of all times? If Morianity wasn't
one hell of a dam wild tale before, it sure as shit is now, Wayne
Badass Father Rigsby. That great show, ''The Mentalist'', and the
episode where Rigsby gets into that fistfight with his father, is
what is being discussed here, in this haunted hulked out, non 1979
RPL STUDIO nightmare of wild nearby houses, monster chemtrails, and
three open reel tapes; and all nearby an old Camden City Park where
Big Brother from the BBO John Red Henningsen, and myself, used to
launch rockets we put together from a nearby novelty shop. (Big
Brothers Organization) In my day it was only a boys club and had big
brothers for boys, later on it developed into the more current time
system of the Boys and Girls Club, where both big sisters and big
brothers are there for both the genders that are in need of a mentor.
This is a wild feeling, to think I legally owe my daughter a few
thousand dollars right now, very very very awkward, Ingrid. Still,
this is not orange box teck here, this is a buy out, and if you
remember from that great show, TM, when the fistfight was just shy of
starting and Rigsby was already in his dad's home, he had burned his
whole stash of illegal cigarettes, as he was making money buy
purchasing them in a state without a sales-tax, and illegally
bringing them into California, in the show, and as he walked in the
house, he saw his son burning the entire stash, and said to him,
''Did you burn my whole stash boy'', and the CBI Agent Rigsby said
right back to him, ''YIP''.
If you rearrange the roles of him and his criminal father, and me and
my wonderful can't live without her awesome daughter; you will see
this is beyond the Yogi Berra pale of accepting happenstance things
and dismissing them. No sir, ''It's just too coincidental, to be a
coincidence''. Yes sir, I agree with you wholeheartedly, Yogi
sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MESSAGE
TO MYSELF IN THE FUTURE, TAKE THE ADVICE OF RODNEY DANGERFIELD THAT
DAY WHEN HE WILL CALL YOUR FRIEND BRAD'S APARTMENT ON THE TELEPHONE,
WHEN 1969 RUNS AROUND AGAIN. STAY AWAY FROM THE SHORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ALSO MARK, ''You
exist. Time is pure illusion''
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW:
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