HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 145

HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 145

MAY 20, 2015,

WEDNESDAY MORNING AT 6:23,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 66 DEGREES FNHT.

RANGE TODAY----(H-70/L-66).

RELATIVE HUMIDITY IS 93%, WIND CHILL IS 66.

WIND IS 0.

PREDICTED HIGH TODAY IS 88.

Somewhere, someone, singularly or plurally; is responsible for my nightmare. Just as it makes no sense at all why some times this keyboard is all hacked and not others, or why I have to suffer agony physically with a condition that is totally treatable in two possible ways, with either synthroid for my glandular dysfunction, or ativan for the relief of anxiety that literally causes the gland to choke off my windpipe and air supply. This is the modern medical era, and unless a powerful MIB-TYPE of ops is happening all around me, this just couldn't be happening. Even when my mother was alive and supposedly looking after the welfare of her only child, back in 1983, nothing was done, until I at least was placed on the anti-anxiety medication, that I took faithfully for over 31 years, in perfect dosed amounts as prescribed originally to me, one milligram every six hours. But when the mighty Northeast Philly throat specialist called my mom up at her office at Lavino Shipping company, now called Inchcape Shipping; she questioned what was happening, and told him her son cannot breathe or swallow and needs help, and he went onto say to her, “That's not his problem, Misses Mohr”. Only because of the problem up here in the future with these same wild inconceivable people straight out of the greatest SYFY ever produced only it is all totally real; does evidence go onto come quite clear, and establish that this is all a nightmare that was and still is being created and generated around me, for purposes that only Satan's demonic sick twisted screwy mind can ever fully comprehend.

If you think the motorcycle crash incident was a little bit weird, then try this on for size, folks. I was planning to take the Amtrak Train into Philly to see my old doctor, right before the train crash. I was not going to say anything about this for very obvious reasons, but now I said it. Fate is in charge of my destiny now, and there is nothing I can do about any of it. After I am dead, my enemies won't have time to not sleep at night if they have any tid bit of conscience. They'll be too busy enjoying living like the year 1645 again, when the solar pulse strikes and blows our atmosphere into electrical disaster, wiping out the global electrical grid system for a lifetime. No more cellphones or jerk off Intel, no more computers, tablets, whatever Congressman. No more modern day living, tweets, social garbage media, no more radio, no more TV, none of it. And think of me when it is happening. I will be dead and out of here and laughing my fucking asshole off. You all just wait and CCCCCCCCCCCCC!!!!!!!!

ALL SAVANTS KNOW THIS ONE BY NOW; THE END.