CHAPTER
13, FUCK THE ESS
This is going to
be a little tiny tweety bird blog. I want to follow up on why SOME
THINGS MAY HAVE GONE DOWN FROM 1967 THROUGH 1971. I'll only be
opening a few doors, but this way, when I re-read my blog later, I
will remember clearly, all of the things that I opened up, and then
one by one, I'll continue down these paths, that I feel are somewhere
between due and overdue now, for being pursued. If it were not for
family diversions about seven years ago, this blog was heading in an
entirely different direction. Sound hyperspatial familiar to anyone?
Gee, like all Hyundai cars and DUH!
FEBRUARY
ELEVEN, 2015,
LATE
ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT AT 10:45,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE 57 DEGREES FNHT.
We
have examined the old worn out truth that all dots connect and all
things are connected, in my life, in your life, and in life in
general. We also do or at least should see by now, that this is very
old news. It may have been new in the nineties when many great new
age authors were starting to become known for many great literary
works on stuff that some think of as paranormal
or maybe semi-paranormal. Para is just old old old world for EXTRA.
All our medicines and most things in law, and medicine, and
professional career type knowledge; has words that are rooted and
based in this ancient, almost dual lingo of either GREEK
or LATIN; and by Latin, I do not mean current day South
American. Now, some very basically fundamental and rudimentary
knowledge, does indeed put an entire new and expanded view, on the
entire world; over where we all would be, without careful
examination, and study of verbiage, and its origins through times of
antiquity, up through right now. But let me move onward for right now
into the year 1970, and my nineteen day and night stay, at the child
molester home of one Thomas J. Reale, on Cornwall Avenue, in Ventnor,
New Jersey, USA-ESMWG. In order for me to be primed with certain
people who have a much more intense association with fifth
dimensional hyperspace in numerous realities, or the strange family
from the recurring dreams while I stayed in this house of horrors;
first, I needed to be in two situations simultaneously. I needed to
be isolated, and I needed to be away from home. Summer camp would not
have worked, to put it another way. When one is at a summer camp,
they are not by themselves. There are your co-campers, your
counselors, and a staff of proprietors/owners above any of them as
well, even if one or two minimum are residing right there where you
would be. In other words, it is protected, controlled, organized, and
no, not perfect. Still, to pull off the shit that was all being
planned for me, and not just three dimensionally, those double
ingredients are quite necessary, being away, and being isolated on
top of it. Now when I would fall into ''my sleep and my dreams'', as
we all do; this group of ROB ANDREWS
WHATEVERS that I'll label from now on as
RAW, since I learned about screwy
thoughts, puns, and other stuff; and even had it corroborated in a
sufficient way for me anyway, by something that I saw, on
educational television, about a year ago or so; but in moving this
along now, BOB
MCDOWELL of the FCC, my WORD
DISAPPEARING 'FUCKIGN' HACK
IS GETTING REAL MAJOR AGAIN KIND SIR; and yes, as are
all of the old hacks, old Cooley Wormhole Hall buddy. YOU
CAN SEE WHEN ''THEY'' DON'T LIKE WHAT I SAY AND START MAJOR HACKING,
EVERY MOTHER FUCKING TIME, VIOLATING MY RIGHTS OF FREE SPEECH;
but let me finish my point, which is exactly what they're trying to
stop me from fucking ass doing. When I went to bed in that house on
Cornwall Avenue, I would interact with these strange people, strange
to me, but NOT STRANGE to the other me, my double in hyperspace,
(doppelganger). If this was not the case, I would not have known
without being told, that this was, “THAT-FAMILY”. This seems to
mysteriously go even further, as it corresponds in its own weird an
dunique way with what Sarah's girl-gang group referred to me, only I
did not become aware of this for a short march of days when I escaped
on that bus on the night of 12 July, and heard them call me,
“THAT-BOY”. Despite ann Kings very rational explanation of this,
Pam Bondi, Florida Attorney General, I am not buying into any of this
stuff for a dam hyper second of New York time. Now this group did
things to me that were frightening and horrendous. They shot me dead,
and removed my lungs, and turned them into washcloths. Then they put
these new lungs back into me and revived me back into life, and I
remembered the entire procedure, when I came back awake or to here in
this universe. A common experience of abductees, according to all of
the old Bluebook information that all stopped at the exact moment in
history that Sarah Krassle entered my Oaklyn, New Jersey apartment,
the Dellway Arms on Oakland Avenue, and removed my motorcycle chain
that was secure and safe inside of a locked chest, in my bedroom
closet. This was the very same closet that in late 2007, the future
CBS television character Patrick Jane, came into, as a maintenance
man, and was there with a partner, calling himself THE GAMES EXPERT,
and was repairing a very large pipe that was underneath my bedroom
floor. This pipe should not have been there, and was the size of a
utility company pipe or a Callio-Pipe as I came to call them, when I
worked as a guard at the Griffin Pipe Company. Next week, a show that
ran for seven or eight years, will be over. This show seemed to come
out of nowhere, just a few months after my blog about that wild dream
of this GAMES EXPERT, and the rock-paper-scissors deal. It's all
there to be archived on my blogs from late in OHM-7.
I
will take us all as far as telling this, and adding in that I got off
of a mini bus that went from Atlantic City, all the way through
Ventnor, and Margate, towns to the south of Atlantic City, not broken
by water, but merely a road map; and got off at Cornwall Avenue
around eleven or shortly past, on the night of 5 July, 1970. As if he
already knew I would be getting off, out of nowhere, Tom Reale
appeared and yelled at me and gave me holy hell for being out after
curfew. I never went out after dark, not at home, or down there, but
I did want to go out to see the fireworks. They were canceled on the
previous night due to inclement weather, and the show in Atlantic
city is known all over the state for being really great, and many
travel many mile just to see it each year, to this day. Tom was so up
set that it was way more than just him all in a tizzy for catching me
out past curfew. He was almost beyond reasoning with, and I kept
saying, I am just going to walk down the street to the house and go
to bed, and I was up at the fireworks. He was literally sweating
bullets. I have other reasons as well as just this, but this ices the
cake in my opinion, that he knew what happened to me up there at the
pier one year before that, in 1969. No one would be that up set and
mad, I mean he was mad, scared, and his face had a display of
countless wild emotions, and it was unmistakable. But finishing out
what I want to say about this series of recurring nightmares, that
night I had my second one, the first one was on the last day in June,
and then every other day another followed, for a total of six if
memory is correctly serving me. But more happened than just me being
cut open and my lungs turned into weird bizarre washcloths. This is
what I will be getting more into. I don't have lots of real crispy
clear memories, but as I go on to tell some of what I do remember, I
will add in and show you that this all connects so many other things,
right up to my present days of hell here in Florida in the
twenty-first century, decades in the future.
|
Audience |
Why
my blog has died I think I have figured out. As all things are, not
three dimensions are limiting the situation, and this is happening in
fifth dimensional hyperspace. There are universes where I have no
blog at all. There ar euniverses where my blog went viral. There are
universes where my blog failed. Things all have to balance out in
five full dimensions in hyperspace. I am just in one of the nasty
ones where as with all things, I am a total failure at life. Gamers
seem to abbreviate that little reality. If the L&O-SVU peeps are
at all keeping with reality on tonight's NBC show, this proves what I
have told all along. If a male presence created the simulation, the
females inside of it would want the revenge. So reverse it, and you
get both tonight's cool episode, as well as the truths told in
Morianity. Is a MACY-WOW
appropriate right about now, folks?
Hay,
if people don't want to read my blog, that is entirely their choice.
It is mine to put a quick stop to it also, just when things are
getting real good and stuff is getting told. But world, if regular
folks were my viewing audience, they would read this and tell people
they know so it would not come to a stop. But that does not happen.
So before February is over and this closes down permanently, they
will have casted a vote to successfully shut me up. This if nothing
else, proves to those I'll be contacting later on this year, that my
words are true, all of them. This includes how my cable TV was cut
off every single night in the summer of 1986, when I would go to
watch the new channel on their lineup, called Nick @ Nite. Anyone out
here not an enemy and not in the ESS, and is for real and not for
REALE, you just go ahead and tell me that it is some huge fuckiGN
coincidence about McKinnon and Cannon and the hubcap, and the cable
cut, and on and on and on and on and on, and
not DON. Screw you and your thanksgiving dinners, CUZZ. I
don't need you, I have Jimmy Stone and Mickey Walker to do the dam
job, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHEEEEEEEIT. Hacking
is real fucking bad, FCC!!!
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW.
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