HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 6

WELCOME FOLKS, TO

(HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 6)

MARCH 18, 2015,

LATE WENESDAY NIGHT AT 10:31,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 65 DEGREES FNHT.

TEMPRATURE RANGE TODAY----(H-81/L-63)

HUMIDITY IS 93%, FEELING 64 DEGREES.

STEADY WIND AT 0, INFREQUENT GUSTING TO 11 ENE.

My mom had done something all throughout the entire nineties that aggravated the hell out of me. If I said or did something mean that really was beyond deserved after she would literally pummel me with horrible shit; she's half fake-cry and with a teary voice, would ask me how I would like it if my 'daughter' said or did such and such. If she was responding to something I said, then she would say said, and if she was responding to something I did, then she would say did, but always with this hypothetical 'daughter' that wasn't all that hypothetical. Not to my wonderful mother, anyway.

On one particular day, she was out on a weekend day with a friend that she rarely saw anymore, and I later learned that this friend had a friend with her who never met my mother. This was during the early times of the 36 month period living and renting the home on Route 561 that was owned by Misses Meeker, the mother of the New Jersey State Trooper. When she came home, I had awakened from an afternoon nap and had the television on and was watching the line-up of shows on the nick@night cable television channel. I think the great Patty Duke Show was airing when my mom was saying good-bye to two very nice appearing ladies, both about a score younger than she was, and they dropped my mom off. She never ever drove a car. When she got in and began preparing dinner for us, and the show ended; I lowered the volume on the amplifier system as everything was always put through a stereo system since 1980 with me, long before there was any such term as 'home theatre'. I did this because my mom had been out all day and wanted to talk a while, as our dinner was warming on this very fancy dining room system, that Misses Meeker's home had. To this day I remember the dinner. A very tasty lamb chop, some Seabrook frozen creamed spinach, some squash and Lima beans combo, and some mashed potato with giblet gravy. I had a large bottle of Mountain Dew soda and a tall icy glass. The lamb chop was sort of small and I was hungry, and she had cooked up half a dozen, and I ended up making a pig out of myself and eating of three of them. This is as clear in my dam mind from late in 1991 on some weekend in middle November, as this very day is clear to me. But here is my point to this. She sat down to go over her nitty events of her day with these two women, and I would out of politeness, listen intently and offer any reasonable conversation that would hopefully provide the least chance for any confrontations, disagreements, and or any other resulting potential pleasantries. Then it started. Some shit that this friend of my mom's friend had been saying, caught me off balance, and if I'd not been sitting on a chair facing the couch that she was on, I know I may have fallen down. This woman appeared to know some strange things about me, and she had no normal Earthly way of knowing anything. One thing my om was good at, even in her early senility years, was telling a story in detail, just like her sister Barbara did before her, and was a very annoying habit for a poor tortured listener who wasn't signing off all the time to hear a thirty minute dissertation on something that any normal reasonable person would expect at most, to last a tenth of that time, even at the rapidly talking speed of say for example an average radio DJ. But I have to admit that what she said and what I heard was major, and even connects as well as effects things in my life, to this very dam day; I promise. One thing she got on were recurring dreams, and then told a story to my mom, of one she was having ever since she was out of her teens; and this lady was about 50 give or take, so we're talking three solid decades of time here, kind folks. In her recurring dream was a large city that she never went to, such as with my Chicago deal. She was walking aimlessly around and did not know anyone there or even who she was or why she was there, and began to get panicky after time kept running on in this recurring nightmare, again, just like my Chicago deal. Then comes the flooring statement. My mom said, then she told me the dream went onto where she had somehow managed to become high up in a skyscraper building, and in an area containing some elevators. Many clocks were up on the walls and they all read the very same time, but she couldn't pull up what time. Again, same with me, down to the unnerving tee. Then came the part where she goes through a door into a very luxurious large suite that may have been a living space or part of one with an office area also inside, but she ended up suddenly very tired, saw a comfortable lovely large bed, fell into it just to shut her eyes for a moment, and this is in a dream; and then she wakes up, but is still inside her dream. It ends up where she falls asleep many times and keeps waking up and thinking she was really awake, but only to find that she still was having this incredible nightmare. There is a bit more to this and needs not be blogged right now. But this same dream that I know I never told my mom about, was very close to my recurring dream of Chicago. My only connections to Chicago are distant cousins and extremely distant cousins. Most of you may be thinking about my Great Aunt the gods only know how removed in marriages, by the name of Alice Gallagher. She hailed from this lovely windy city and married my mother's cousin Arthur Huntington of Massachusetts. A way more distant through way more removed marriages cousin, is Rich Boy Don. Now a lot of stuff is very complicated, so screw all this crap about my jerk off family. It isn't relevant, and just typing it up a little bit, is putting me in a very dam ugly and angry ass mood, kind folks.

Talking about my family is not something that brings peace and serenity into my dam soul. Maybe TWB sunset/sunrise will. Let's hope so!

• 

Another thing that's hard to do when I think of any of my wild distant cousins, or my daughter's wild distant cousins, for that matter; is to write a nice short little Tweety-Bird Blog.

TWEET-TWEET-TWEET, THE BIRD, NOT MY BLOGS!

The bird might be able to tweet out a chirp or two, but get me on my incredible 13,000 year old family and this planetary experiment of SSJKK; and this will become a long and drawn out major million page project that none of us want to see; least of all, any of the THE BLOG-WEB-SITES!!!!

HOLY SHIT, LET ME CHILL OUT AND GO ICE SKATING WITH SOME EASY GOING FOLKS WHO LIKE TO LAUGH AND HATE TO MOAN AND CRY.

AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA MISTER MCNULTY.

GOOD LORD AND 25 CENTS, LENNY MCKINNON!

Now this strange lady said something else to my mom, well many other things, but one other that I am going to touch on. She said she saw my mom in her other recurring dream and her son, which would be ME. She said it all started in 1978 at some amusement park, maybe the one in Piscataway, New Jersey; called Great Adventure. She couldn't figure out why my mom was calling me BF. But she was. She also was very captured that she usually only had vivid dreams in wild colors if they involved people who she knew, and only after seeing my mom on that day, did she recognize her. The first thing she said, according to my mom, that made both the other lady driving the vehicle, as well as my mother; jump a mile; and my mom told me, the lady driving, or her friend; swerved a bit, and nearly hit oncoming traffic going in the opposite direction, after hearing such shocking words come pouring out of this other lady's mouth. She also said, “I know it sounds nuts as hell Grace, but in this wild recurring dream, your son thinks nothing of just jumping up in the air and flying like dam Superman. No one else can ever do it, and I have tried it in these dreams; so why can he? Then she adds in, according to my mom and her wonderful story telling recall memory, that her and her sister Blabber mouth Babs the opera singer, seem to be gifted with; this beyond inconceivable tall brunette, with beauty that is blinding; always comes up to your son, and then sooner or later they embrace, and he kisses her, and takes her hand; and always calls her by name, Sarah Stacey. Shortly after the original time that this story got told to me; we were living in the next place, the Highview Apartments; the place where all of this began happening in real time, starting with my getting some repressed memories back of SARAH. My mom told me that she was always fascinated by the way this lady said the name SARAH can have an H or not have one, and Stacey can have an E or not have one; but your son always is so strongly insisting that you must have both the H in SARAH and the E in Stacey; and that it has something to do with a magic code that proves how this girl has returned from a previous life, and does this over and over again; and her real name is two other letters that make the contraction of I'M. Biblically we all know, or should, that God says over and over, especially to good old Moses, “I AM”. In one of my 1980 experiences, the Lois Foca song lyrics, that were not remembered until I re-entered the experience, via a very deep controlled and self induced tranced state of meditation, and was given the entire song lyrics from start to finish. Until that time, and from the first time in early June of 1980, I only could bring back the four repeating hook words to the lyrics, as they also were the song's title and still is to this day, “Love Is For Carpenters”, or compressed for short, into LOIS FOCA!

But you know in all honesty; forget all this. Forget all of it. Just examine how Robert McGuire, a millionaire businessman in Atlantic City, almost lost it and dam near killed me and caused thousands of dollars of damage to my property and belongs in mother fuckiGN prison; but look how he reacted as if I had turned his entire world topsy-turvy, just by going down to his area on Tennessee Avenue in 1997, to ask a few questions about things from nearly three full decades in the past from those times, and nearly a half century back from right now. If this was not all some beyond huge cover up conspiracy that goes so far beyond any normal family-secrets deal, I'll be a monkey's cunt lapping uncle on the milf farm of hot and wet horny bitches from heredahelda. Another person on public property accused me of being “an invader”. I thought Atlantic City and its streets unless posted otherwise by legal official no trespassing signs, were public tourist property for an y and all lawful activity to be conducted on. Yeah? Try it if you're me back in time, and see if it's so or not, lovely world! Photeous and John, the two young Greek sons of Mary the original restaurant owner on Tennessee Avenue, that turned it into a parking lot after the Mayflower Hotel was all bulldozed down, which I find fascinating that this suddenly all happened in the very beginning of 1983, after George Belton and I began going to the Resorts Hotel and Casino nearby, and walked right past the place many times and watched the crane and the wrecking ball. Oh Bassler Dreams and pizza shop bear hugs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me come down and land now, Estelle!

Every day for the past couple of weeks, I have played my new Roulette System, speaking of casinos and Atlantic City. What good is it if it dies during times of worst death siege and hellish negative magnetics, only guess what? It ain't fucking dying, ladies and gentlemen. It is averaging me a hundred dollars a game, on the green quarter level, every day for 13 days now, right up to this present Wednesday. Now exactly what is pushing Wall Street up in my endless fucking parallel event in reverse, with them up and me down, or them down and me up, for going on thirty cunt huffing fucking years now without any let up; all has to do with my 1983 health and mysterious sudden chocking condition, or thyroid glandular dysfunction. The Mayo Clinic will fix me up eventually, and I do not plan on letting these monster bastard mother fuckers from shit swallowing hellfire, just do me in without a dam ass fight, and IPYT, all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's a clinic and no cost for poor basically indigent sick peeps like me. All I have to do is worry about how I'll keep my apartment and also stay up in Jacksonville for the time needed for my treatment, but I am sure there is some kind of a Charity Care Board that I can speak to, and I will be in contact with Congressman Murphy soon, regarding the matter. I don't go down quite as easily as these mother fucking bastard scum bags think I will. Dave said he was going out with a bang and it was beyond pathetic. They won't do this to fuckiGN me, Congressman Andrews, calling my name or not calling it, from here to all of the lovely fuckiGN flowing long blue rivers, YO!

FUCK YOU MARCY LEVY AND ROBIN GIBB!

IN OR OUT OF SUMMER TIME OF 1980!

SCREW YOU TOO MALCOME ROSENBURG!

>>>>Ann King; you are a total piece of work.>>>>

Sure, I could tell a lot of shit, fifty times bigger than I have yet dare to tell, AND I PLAN TO DFO JUST THAT, IN THIS BLOG-BOOK OF ''HALLS WALLS''!

MY OLD FRIEND, FCC, BOB MCDOWELL; WHERE IS JOHNNY FUCKER FASTER, RIGHT NOW; U SEE WHY I HAD CALENDARS, AND MY TIMELESS-SATELLITE??? BOY WAS I A SLOPPY ICE CREAM SUNDAE EATER, YO!

THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW!