HALLS
WALLS, CHAPTER 243
Well,
I managed to make it through the dam twelfth day of July, at least in
the normal waking world spaces, not the hyperspaces. Of course, that
was probably experienced in early morning hours of the thirteenth,
not that one time to another time, has any true or real relevance.
My
noisy scummy nabes are at it this morning, and were going strong last
night. Loud doors, yelping dogs, shouting, what else is dam new
around here?
In
this nightmare, I was in a parallel universe where the Roundhouse
Museum was half the way it is here, and half the way it is where my
younger daughter PEE is living there with me, or was, until I got
myself shot in the back, by a NJ State Policeman. In this particular
reality, Paula King Senior, and several other lovelies from my
hell-parade over here in waking life, all were telling me that I
could not attend some function with my mother, who was alive and well
over there by the way, until I finished paying what I owed on some
loan given out by a local area lending group. Somehow I was dating
the niece of the President of that organization, and when drove the
very same car that Sarah Callio drove into Cifaloglio after my 2006
fatal heart attack, that I experienced over here. I was planning on
moving out of state over there, and wanted her to come with me, as
well as go to this function, and she told me to talk to her uncle
about either forgiving the loan or making some kind of new payment
arrangements. For weird reasons, years had passed since the loan was
made, and I did not ever make any payments or even remember that it
had existed until that very night. Long story made as short as
humanly possible here; I spoke with this fellow and he fixed things,
and then I suddenly found myself outside of his office and speaking
his niece again. She said I had to stay and not move, and I felt that
I needed to move. I was totally oblivious to anything here in this
dimension while this was going on, IE my being over there in that
interaction, was as a TYPE-1-Exploratron, or a normal dreamer.
Suddenly I remember my mom being there and all three of us going at
it, and I flipped out and threw everything all over the place. I then
proceeded to drive to Florida, where after reaching here, as with my
last trip here in this universe; I stopped at Flagler Beach. Only
over there, a lady approached me and told me she was Estelle Bassler
from South Atlantic City, and she seemed to be my age or even
younger, which over here was not the case. She told me that she was
unable to ever tell me what I wanted to know, in any parallel
universe, and had managed to meet me here right now just in order to
tell me that. She said that a parallel world Paula is behind all of
it, and made the entire simulation gamogram just to get you away from
her SSJKK. I told her that all I wanted was to be left alone by these
horrible monster people. That I was only trying to escape the area
that night back in 1970, 45 years ago, and that I meant no one a bit
of harm. She then pulled out that same tablet or shoebox thing that I
had in 1968 back at my HTHS high school, in Jersey, when Nick and his
pals somehow followed me back into time from 1996 while I had that
other major OOB from Highview Apartments. She started to hand it to
me, and as I grabbed it, a vision came to me that the dude I worked
for who wanted me to spy on that wild house on the boardwalk in that
really far out other parallel world, some time back; and who was the
uncle of the girl I was now darting in this parallel universe, was
indeed none other than Wells Fargo Security Company's Mister Charlie
Harmon. He always is wearing a huge '1997' on his grayish black
tee-shirt when I see him in parallel worlds. In this world, he would
always be wearing an official uniform, that was pertinent to his
rank, as a security systems ops manager. The people that he wanted me
to follow and document in that parallel world who owned a home right
on the boardwalk in this strange parallel Atlantic City, were none
other than my older daughter and her hubby. Over there, hubby worked
for the Central Intelligence Agency, and they had a program in league
with Maryland's NSA peeps, called Project-Parallel. They all were
doing things that operated at or near the maxed out majestic level on
security clearance. Also, I seemed to fit into things in some big
way, yet Harmon wanted me to join a team in the government alphabet
soup, that watched secretly over them. This is why I am persecuted, I
came to learn, as they can never be positive one way or the other,
that I am a part of this team, in any parallel, even here where I am
blogging this.
JULY
13, 2015
MONDAY
MORNING, IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA
THE
TIME IS 7:42 A.M.
THE
TEMPERATURE IS 73 DEGREES.
RELATIVE
HUMIDITY IS 94%, FEELING LIKE 77 DEGREES.
©
2006-2015
MARK
WAYNE MOHR
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN (BOM)
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