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JANUARY 24, 2015,
SATURDAY AFTERNOON AT 12:50,
HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT TEMPERATURE, 68 DEGREES
FNHT.
HUMIDITY IS 68%, FEELING 67.
WINDS ARE BLOWING WNW AT 19,
GUSTING TO 36.
RANGE TODAY IS (H-74/L-66)
I had some powerful wild
dreaming-interactions, or hyperspace adventures before arising
this morning at just shy of half past eleven of the clock, folks.
Jerry Heitzmann was standing next to me or really sort of in
front of me and a tad to my right, and we were both on a beach
that I totally did not recognize. I had told him a joke and he
did not get it, and I pat him gently on the shoulder with my
right arm and said, “It was just a joke buddy” He looked at
me very strangely and I thought he was a little angry, and I
repeated that whatever it was that I had said, and I do not
remember now by the way, but I said it was a joke, twice. Then I
said something else and called him 'buddy' again, and remember
saying as he was looking at me quite bewildered, ''Hay, I thought
we were buddies?''. His expression became more relaxed and less
defensive, but he did not seem to know me. Also, he was near
sighted as was I, even as a youth of middle teen years, and never
wore contact lenses, just wire frame glasses. He had no glasses
and yet seemed to be able to see perfectly. After a short while,
I excused myself and went about ten yards away to sit down where
my towel and shoes and clothes and small beach umbrealla appeared
to be. I turned after maybe half a minute, and Jerry was standing
there and then he sat down on the sand. He was always a large
boy, and had grown into a very large and muscular tall adult. I
last saw him when he was shortly to turn age seventeen and I was
just a ways past age eighteen. I had stopped growing by about age
seventeen, but not all people get ripped off as did I, and can
grow in some cases well into the twenties of their age. In
Jerry's case, he must have, as he was quite a lot larger in both
girth as well as stature. He asked me if I remembered him calling
my apartment in 1977 at Carriage Lamp, he was 21 at the time and
I was 22. I was working at the Mars Graphics print shop and had
no time at all other than for work or sleep. He reminded me of
how that upset him and how he was in need of my friendship and I
was too busy working. Even one of my cousins used to ride me for
working two and three jobs in my studio days, when he came to
visit me on Main Street in Williamstown, with his mom, my first
CUZZ Carol Mason. Moving this on, he said his mom, Marie
Heitzmann, had indeed relayed the message from me in the early
nineties, when I was trying to get in touch to see how he was
doing after his father had passed away. Quite simply put, his dad
and I were not the most harmonic personalities together, and we
clashed and he was not afraid to treat me shitty and I didn't
like it, and just as with family and relatives, I told my mom
when I turned 18, no more visiting family in Pennsylvania or New
York, I'M DONE. Why should I have to go places and be fuckiGN
treated like cow shit? But back to my beach story 'dream' with
Jerry. He said someone was reading my blogs to him, and he was
really getting a kick out of them and couldn't wait for me to
introduce him to the great Sarah Krassle. He was always
fascinated by HER, even early in the seventies, and I did tell
him a lot about this wild girl of total mystery. I remember
however, in a semi-kind but stern tone, “Hey Jerry, you acted
like you don't know me or remember me a few minutes back when I
was calling you buddy, what gives”? He then took a stick about
a foot or a tad longer that was laying on the beach right near
where he was sitting next to my bright blue beach towel, and he
wrote the name SARAH KRASSLE, over and over and over. When he ran
out of room, he got up and cleared all kinds of new areas, making
them flat and easy to write on, and then again, writing HER NAME,
over and over, without so much as uttering a single word. Then
he pointed the stick at me and said, “You want the highway, go
to the highway”, and instantly, I was in a car that I did not
recognize from this parallel universe life where I now type this
blog; and no one was in this car with me and I was on Highway
295, back up in New Jersey, and it was hot summertime, and all
the windows were down and open in the car, and I was not using
any air conditioning, and then it suddenly was later than mid day
and was around the last few minutes of time before sunset with a
glaring bright orang-red sky off to the west and story dark gray
and black clouds off to the east and ahead of me to the south
while I was riding southbound on this highway. I began yelling
Jerry-Jerry, and then I realized that I was in a parallel
universe or as you would say it people, having a ludid dream
experience. The car suddenly began to lurch and race forward, and
I managed to bring it back under my control but was very
concerned that it had done this and was trying to pull over, but
as this all happened, traffic in front of me suddenly was stopped
and fire trucks were racing down the northbound lanes across the
grass barrier, one after another, and then police began to give
th eall clear for all traffic to begin moving again on both sides
of this highway. I drove to the first exit after a few more weird
experiences happened to me, one being a truck making a UUEE and
coming right back towards me against highway traffic. When I got
off at the Black Horse Pike exit eventually, the car caught fire
and blew up and I managed to get out before I saw the biggest
explosion I ever saw with a car, topping even the one in the
great famous movie, with Sharon Stone, “CASINO”! I walked
away and felt in my pants pockets to see what would be in my
wallet, to check out my keys to see if I recognized them, as well
as my ID on my license. Just as I was opening up my wallet, a
giant fleet of helicopters came beyond crash level low over me,
and began to hover, and one began to yell out to me, Frank turn
that fucking stereo down Pomona Boy. I looked at my license, and
it read, Francis Callio This was Sarah Callio's brother, the
Sargent of the Atlantic City Police Department back in the middle
nineteen-nineties. Then I slid a small section of business cards
out of another area in this wallet, and their was a small two by
two inch mirror, and I looked, and I was indeed Frank Callio. In
this distant part of hyperspace, I appeared to be one and the
same with Frank Callio. Then the helicopters all flew away and
right after this, a small blue colored pick up truck came along,
and stopped, and the driver window rolled down, and it was Jerry
Heitzmann. He started to giggle at me, and then the persistent
giggle became a raucous nasty laugh. After this went on a while,
he said you also know me in distant hyperspace as the
Phase-4-Entity (P4E) by the name of Jim Pratt. As some may know,
this was the main character of my 1994 fictional copyrighted
book, called, “The Permission Barrier”. He threw something
out of his car and sped away roaring louder than a hungry bear. I
went over and picked it up and unfolded it about eight times or
so, and it was an eight and a half by fourteen inch thick sheet
of light green bond paper, and on it was a page from my blog
dated in 2017, the same way I paste in the date and weather page
right now and have been doing. After the date, this print out
showed that I was not in Florida, but in Maple Shade, New Jersey,
and was planning to buy a home in Williamstown, New Jersey.
Whether or not I had ever lived in Florida or had iteractions
with the great KING branch of the family, and especially Paula,
was not made clear from this, but I did have a cell phone in that
universe, and in it, were pictures of kids I did not recognize,
and I had a wife by the name of Danielle Callio, whose maiden
name was, and get ready to faint if you're a major Star Trek fan,
Sarjenka. It seems that in this universe, I had two sons and
three daughters; Christ, what a frikkin' brood. I remember no
other details, but I know that there was a parallel universe
where in 1976 while asleep in my mom's apartment in Media,
Pennsylvania, on Jefferson Street, called the Jamestown
Apartments; I was with this character who then I called, “Sarah
Krasse's brother”, to exactly quote me. This dream took place
in the same exact few square feet of space where I was told, “You
want the word, go to the word”, and now, it was Jerry Heitzmann
saying the word HIGHWAY, instead of the WORD. I remember walking
and ahead of me was darkness and a few lights on in houses and a
few dim street lights. I knew if I just stopped thinking and kept
walking that I would wake out of the experience, and I did. There
is a complicated addition however to waking from a lucid
experience and even just waking, that I will get major big time
into, as the next blogs follow along.
You missed me, JANE SHITHEAD
FONDA!!!!!!!!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
SAGA OF NON-MUSICAL SONGWRITER MARK
MUD
CHAPTER 00014
The very first time that I had my
paranormal exploratron attack, was in a classroom in first grade
towards the end of the school year, in Miss Mulhall's class.
Right after recess ended and everyone was back in class along
with our teacher, early in the afternoon, at the Richland Avenue
Elementary School of Quakertown, Pennsylvania; a group of
exploratrons all jumped into various students, sitting all around
me, and one by one, and for absolutely no god dam mother fucking
reason whatsoever on this gods green brown Earth; they began
telling the teacher, Miss Mulhall; and I quote, total lies
concerning my behavior on the school bus, “He hits on the bus,
he spits on the bus” and although I managed to put the rest of
this below my conscious mind because it was so horrendous for a
six year old child to have to suffer this horrendous mother
fuckiGN torment and torture when I'd done no such thing, and in
fact, I thought I was losing my mind, and that I had done all
these things, and was going fucking crazy. It took me years to
realize eventually, that this was not me, as usual, being the bad
guy, but the evil dirt bag fawces of Mister Hall, doing
despicable and monstrous things to me. Yes the start of my
second decade here in this world, as MARK WAYNE MOHR, or the
early nineteen sixties, wasted no time whatsoever, bringing me
the very first of the soon to follow, endless unrelenting games
containing playfield after playfield of nothing short of my
mother fucking life in total unfathomable torrid horrid HELL,
with or without the singing glee's of the Tora Lora Lora Lora
Lies and other birds singing that the springtime is here. So if I
had to tell where I first fucking cock sucking encountered this
life long paranormal esoteric shit all around me, it would be in
Quakertown in the first years of the nineteen mother fucking cunt
sixties. Then right around this same time, came the dead children
who spoke to me at playgrounds, two different ones, the little
boy my age, and the little girl my age. Now people, I am the only
person on this planet, that would DARE LOOK A SUPREME COURT
JUDGE, STRAIGHT IN THE FACE; AND TELL THEM under pain of penalty
if indeed they can prove me lying to them; that my entire story
called MORIANITY, over a now just less than 8.5 year time period;
is all totally 100% true and accurate, other than for the one lie
I admit that I told that Sarah was there that night with her
great gang, on that public bus at around 10:30 PM, the night of
12 July, back in the year 1970. I now make this pledge and oath
and swear officially on this writing, to this statement, to all
nine Supreme Court Justices, and if you can prove I am a fake or
a phony hoaxer, then I WANT YOU TO THROW MY MISERABLE WORTHLESS
FUCKING ASS IN CUNT LAPPING PRISON, as that is where I would
belong!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some time ago, I would encounter a lot
of entities while 'exploring-dreaming', towards the ending years
of this century's first decade; and they would seem to enjoy
finding me in very unpleasant situations, and would love to say
to me along the lines of, or on many occasions, directly quoting
the words here, “Try getting out of this one”, sometimes
adding and using my first or Christian name of Mark, other times,
not doing that. Recently this happened, and has not happened for
about two or three years that I can pull up in my head right at
the moment. My daughters Pee and MY were with me at some small
private get-together, like a back yard pool party with no fence
lines separating homes on both sides as well as beyond on the
other side where a home sat at the next street over. No one
seemed to be living in any of these other homes, and it all
appeared to be deserted, or at least, I was somehow of this
opinion, based on some observations while there quite a while,
that I won't bother getting into. Pee was telling me that Zvonko
was trying to buy the rights to her computer towers, and she told
him to get lost several times, and MY heard this conversation,
and walked over closer to us from where she had been with her
family, having a nice time talking and dangling feet into the
pool. She said next time he comes around, have him call the
eighty four sixty four number around just shy of 3 in th
afternoon next Friday. I am just telling what happened. Suddenly
Ann King walked into the party from the street, along the side
area of the house and she was shouting that her daughter died
for nothing; and that these inventions should all be totally
broken, and destroyed; and that they are very evil. She was asked
to leave; and suddenly her son Joe, and her grand daughter Gemma,
Joe's kid; also popped up, coming from the same side of the
house. Suddenly at this exact point, I remembered being in this
house a thousand times, and living a life there every bit as real
as the life I am living here. Gemma called Pee a real nasty bunch
of names and PEE glared at her. They are both powerful giant
goddesses, but PEE is a super giant goddess. She grabbed Gemma
and tore one of her arms right off of her shoulder., and then she
pushed her powerfully and helplessly into the deep end of the
yard in ground 25 foot long swimming pool. No one did anything
other than stand there and watch all of this go down in absolute
horror. Then Gemma floated up to the surface, and the pool was
full of red blood. She was dead. An outside intercom system had a
radio placed near the send station and the button switched to on,
and the radio station began to play an old Chiffon's song from
the middle sixties that was one of my faves at the time, called,
“Sweet talkin' Guy”. After this song ended, the female Deejay
began to speak about something mundane, maybe it was an
advertisement for something, and then suddenly, the voice of
Gemma overtook the system, and only her voice could be heard. She
said that she did not appreciate being killed, and that PEE would
pay for this. Then like in a zombie movie, her dead body in a
trance like state began climbing out of the pool and walking over
towards PEE. I ran over to try and stop her, and she struck me in
my solar plexus with the force of a fucking freight train, and I
doubled over totally windless and unable to inhale a breath,
falling further and all the way down to a fetal type position
gasping. PEE walked over to her and punched her in her face so
hard, that her entire face was no longer recognizable, looking
more like a very large broken egg without any yellow color. Then
PEE literally picked Gemma up, all 230 pound of her, a girl made
of nothing but powerful muscle, all six feet of her; and she
threw her 30 yards through the air crashing her against the
house, right on the hard bricks, and also near enough to the
dining room windows to totally shatter all of them out with a
loud shrill chilling frightening sound. Both of her legs were
broken, and yet she floated up without her legs operating, and
began floating over to PEE, and PEE hit her again; this time so
hard that it sounded almost like a sonic boom. Gemma's entire
head broke into ten pieces or more, and each broken piece
literally rolled off of her neck, and some of the guests were
throwing up and fainting all over the place while all this
terrible horror was going on. Then the entire swimming pool
turned bright cherry red and began swirling around as if it was a
hot tub on full force and not a pool at all. Watery blood came
shooting up and out all over the lawn, and as this was happening,
the flowers and grass everywhere that was contacted by this
horrible blood-water, instantly shriveled up and turned
brown-yellow, and died in seconds. My heart began beating so
fast, I was pretty sure I was going to have a fatal heart attack.
Then after my heart was pushed beyond its limit, it exploded in a
massive coronary thrombosis. I found myself in the year 2055.
Suddenly PEE was holding onto my arm and we were standing in a
cemetery and a funeral was going on. It was the funeral of my
older daughter, who had just died a week earlier in September of
that year, and I asked PEE what the date was, and remember
distinctly asking this of her, and her telling me, “Daddy, it's
September twenty-second”. Then the dreamshift took me to
another place I have never seen before; batting me now 3 for 3,
for not recognizing any of these three scenes so far in this
super wild experience from a few days ago that I did not get
around to telling about on any of my blogs. I asked PEE why I am
still here as Mark Wayne Mohr, at age 100. She took out a mirror
from her purse and gave it to me, and I stood there in utter
shock. I looked exactly like the photo on my blogs, only I was
100 now, going on 101. Then the earth shook violently and voices
came from every grave in the entire place, sending people right
after the funeral had ended and folks were just standing all
around talking solemnly to each other; all running for their
lives in sheer and total fear. Then I saw them, the three
'ESS-LADIES' that I had been introduced to, in a parallel
universe, in early 2014; 41 years earlier. They had that witch
laugh just like we all see in the fucking movies, and I stood my
ground and demanded to know what they wanted of me, and did they
have no shame and no humanity, since I had just lost my daughter
and was here attending her funeral. Then one of them said to me,
I am your daughter, the first and the last, the Alpha and the
Omega, and just try getting out of this one, and with that, they
all grew to about twice normal height, around 11 feet high. FCC,
Bob McDowell, this is now the third mother fucking time, they
have used their fucking (DISAPPEARING WORD HACK) on me. I just
now went to fuckiGN cunt repair the last one, and the Milituforce
did it again; FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION, A FOURTH MOTHER
FUCKING HACK OF WORD DISAPPEARANCE, in total fucking cunt lapping
violation of my CIVIL, HUMAN, AND CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS AS A
UNITED STATES BORN FREE FUCKING CUNT EATRING CITIZEN, YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!! Now they struck me with a mother fucking
(`~HACK), BOB MCDOWELL, and I really could cunt lapping use some
mother fucking help here, FBI, ACLU, and all other civil fucking
servants, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank fucking you!
I said in my last blog 1896 instead
of 1986, a typographical error on my part, or a (PBHE) as we
called this when my blogging all began early in 2006. Another
possibility if the hell-theory is wrong, is that there is some
total absolute MIND CONTROL SYSTEM being employed, to keep so
much as one person from ever desiring to contact me and ask me
person to person, just what this offer is all about. There is no
way this is normal. Any real world I used to live in, I died
fuckiGN cunt out of a very very fucking cunt long time ago, Mizz
Attorney General of Florida, MA'AM!
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