CHAPTER
076, HIFISAF
Boy
oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy do I have some things to add onto from an
earlier laid freaking foundation, YO. Be braced, and weak heart
viewers, please be seated and have your nitro meds handy for a quick
under the tongue pop, so I don't end up feeling too dam guilty for
your demise as a result of your reading this blog, BRAH!
I
am getting a SAVE-FREEZE-HACK, where it does not want to save the
document, Sheriff Mascara, always something, and yes, I get this hack
but rarely, so it is just now being freaking mentioned, kind sir.
OH
BEAUTIFUL KATHARINE; YOU ARE ONE COOL LOVELY GREAT FISH,
BABY-GIRL!!!!!!!!
Lightning
Goddess Diana
Zuudlecronessia
Arteemis;
you are totally beyond white hot!!!
BUTTTTT,
that is not the issue for this blog, kind folks. What is the issue,
is 1980, moving into 1802 Robin Hill Apartments, and my doing those
four demo songs, The
Morning Light,
lost
Love,
Love
So High,
and Long
River Blues;
on April 30th
and May 1st
of that year; while simultaneously moving into this place, and doing
my shift at the recording studio where I worked then, the RPL
Sound Studio Labs,
at 1100 State Street, & 1558 Pierce Avenue, Camden, New Jersey,
USA-ESMWG!
Hello,
alive and dreaming here, I am Mark Wayne Mohr. But I truly am
ZERANNISS
ARTHUR YANCY JONES,
from
Dogtown,
and then Sahasra
Dal Kanwal;
thanks to my awesome great teen-queen, SSJKK.
The problem all along folks, is that all the while, her family who
hates me on the Astral-Plane because I dare to love this Almighty
Goddess, in ways that mortals are not supposed to; and as a result,
things for me get ''dreamed-down here in the hyperspace waking and
non-waking realities, where I am being monstrously mistreated and
viciously abused by them, in their hyperspace-equivalent
entity-self-persona's, and some if not the vast majority of these,
all reside in or surrounding and near, the mighty playground of the
planet, AKA ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY, USAESMWG! When I moved on May
1, 1980, into 1802 Robin Hill, you have all heard me discuss the wild
two ''DREAMING-INTERACTIONS'', first the LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS deal
where SSJKK sings this incredible song to me and when I come out of
this experience, I knew that I always knew this person, endlessly and
eternally, and yet the song could only be remembered in a couple of
tiny bursts, and from this it was recreated, with some help from Tom
Glenn who went onto do a lot of work with the National Football
League; mighty powerful Jessica Simpson, WEEEEEEEEEEE! The second
interaction was a couple of months or so later on, with the magical
black cat, Gawky Gaukauk who meowed the lottery number that was to
come out that evening in the famous Pennsylvania Pick-it Lottery, a
relatively new invention, as lotteries were around less than a decade
back then, huh Miter Morgan Collins, and if you don't raise the roof
or Mister Kings dogs, then maybe, just maybe sir, I won't raise the
rent on my Flower Wing! You can tell Diana's GAP brother that I said
so. But during the time in-between these two nocturnal events, the
LOIS FOCA and the GAGA, for a quick way of putting this; I entered a
contest, and sent my two disco dance tunes to a radio station in
Trenton, and called myself, “Dynamite Sound”, 'Stomin' Normin'
and Colin, not Cuzz POW! I had no way of knowing that this TAWF CLAN
from hell was in the BIZZ, and had even bigger plans to get into the
music bizz, back then. BUTTTTTTTTT, Mister War-Hero Levy dynamite
resourceful family branches all notwithstanding here; when I sent
that, mister Inductatherm Allberries Pedersen, I feel that a major
time warp was not breached at all as my Cuzz Trumpie believes. It is
all way more logical than all this fuckiGN time travel horse shit,
YO, and IPYT, you all's out here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe
traveling physically in time outside the normal speed we all pass
forward through it is not part of any of this, but there is another
wild thing, and perhaps much wilder and more surreal than even this.
First, before I go on further, I am man enough to admit my errors,
and even take back and retract shit when I am wrong. When I enlarged
the J-Picture Element Graphic of the WAYV, I realized that I had
misspoken regarding being hacked and having the Trenton frequency
number removed. It was only printed on the J-PEG, not in any of the
shit below on the chart that I paste-copied into my blog, sorry about
that. When I am wrong, I am wrong, right Lenny Orbach Dirty-dance
Briscoe???? I see that my spell checker HAS HOWEVER BEEN HACKED
again, folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I
rebooted; it is fixed, FCC,
again.
I
hope that all of you rotten hackers have one hell of a miserable
destroyed life and burn in DOGTOWN'S
FLAMES
of fires that are beyond hot.
MY BLOGS: PLEASE ARCHIVE THEM.
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, UNITED STATES.
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR BLOGS 2006-2014.
General
Patton and I share three huge things.
We
don't like paying twice for the same shit.
We know that all things in cosmos recycle, including intelligent
sentient life, and last but not least by any means; as much as he
wished he had kissed that son of a bitch soldier that he slapped that
day, I wish I never did that 1983 remake song, called, “YOU'LL BE
CROSSING OVER”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! See you in the funny papers,
George.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Again
Mashell Daniels, I am entitled to it, but all of this and multiplied
by twenty nine octillion, is still just MY PERSONAL OPINION. What is
not, is my actual experiences with this ''GROUP'' that all began at
the home on Cornwall Avenue, in Ventnor, New Jersey, in the final
days of June and into the first third of July, back in 1970.
SEPTEMBER
8, 2015,
LATE
TUESDAY MORNING AT 11:51,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE,89 DEGREES FNHT.
HUMIDITY
IS 65%, FEELING LIKE 100 DEGREES.
PREDICTED
HIGH TODAY IS 90 DEGREES.
WIND
IS SSE AT 8, WITH A SMALL GUST TO 9.
RANGE
TODAY-----(H-89/L-73).
THERE
IS NO WAY THAT TOM REALE, IN JULY OF 1970, WOULD HAVE BEEN THAT
UPSET, THAT NIGHT OF THE FIREWORKS; IF
HE WAS NOT ALL PART OF WHAT HAPPENED THE YEAR BEFORE THAT;
AND WAS NOT ALSO A MEMBER OF THE (GAP) GREAT AND POWERFUL
EXPLORATRONIC
SUPERMIND SOCIETY/PEEFOREY!!!!!!!!!!
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The
story told on the internet as well as on many BERMUDA TRIANGLE
DOCUMENTARIES, where the radio station fucking talk show host was
commandeered, equipment-wise, by those calling themselves, and I
QUOTE, the {{{(((“MILLIONTH-COUNCIL”)))}}}. Every mother
fucking twat eating claim that I ever make or have made or will go
on making on this wide world web system is totally true and
accurate, and can be backed up by anybody with the fucking desire
to GOOGLE around and find it all out for themselves,
BRAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
AFTER
MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM 3
CHAPTER
076, HIFISAF
HELL
IS FIXED
IN STONE
AND FIRE
So
here is where you need to be seated and have th enitro pills,
especially when you take the 1980 shit all into consideration
along with what I now will print, Sheriff Mascara, Prosecutor Ron
Wirtz Senior, and any and all good caring Law-Enforcement out here
reading my pitiful nightmare tale of woe straight out of the
freaking gates of HELL! So far the three hacks are
SPELLCHECK-REMOVAL-HACK, and I just got a WORD-DISAPPEARIN-HACK,
and I forget the other one, but I did mention it when it happened,
YO!!!!!!!!!!! Now here goes with the real story here on
Philadelphia's great American Broadcasting Company's “ACTION
NEWS”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When
I try and figure out with deductive reasoning, all the things in
my dam ass life, to put things together; naturally there are
vacant empty paces that need to be filled in with some guess work.
However where does any guesswork come from? Right on peeps. The
imagination, the land of the Peeforey!!!!!!!!!! So when I try and
make sense out of my life, no matter how logically and rationally
I work with it; it still trespasses right smack dab into the
forbidden territory of that magical fucking TWEEN ZONE. Simply put
folks, this means that things can go into places where normally,
we only get from our most wild ice cream and pizza before bedtime
dreams. I totally know a lot of this shit in black letter absolute
hard punching truth. But here and there I run into a gap and this
time, that does not stand for a great & powerful, not with all
the dam OZ-WIZARDS, and magical 1984 Lab-Technician daughters,
CUZZ DJT! Still, I know what I know. I know that all this time,
TAWF has been in th every industry that appeared to be screwing
the fuck with me all these years and decades since leaving the
Cooley-Hall, the Entertainment Industry. The only worse possible
nightmare in all of this for me, is realizing how unless
confessions are indeed forthcoming, I will only be able to put a
lot of truths together, mixed a lot of mother fucking TWEEN-ZONE
bullshit, because the very nature of trying to find truths using
reasoning, crosses over into, and no pun intended in or out of
1984 or 2012, but it really does, into the TWEEN-ZONE. We must use
our fucking imaginations in order to arrive at putting things
totally together. Now when for example we try and assemble a jig
saw puzzle, normally the completed thing shows up as a picture on
the puzzle's box. This removes imagination from the mix. Now even
if we lose a box that contains our fave puzzles, and we keep the
pieces inside some other container, we still can piece things
together, but if this was a real world, the effects that take
place while doing that exercise, would be totally different when
all factored in in all of its totality; than if we had the photo
on the box, and never needed to try imagining a finished product.
I try and see a completed explanation to my life and all that has
happened since 1954, 1973, 1980, 1983, 1986, 1995, 1997, 2002,
2008, 2010, 2012, and other so-called wild years where the surreal
shit in my life decided to cube-square itself, in or out of great
Cuba, and all of Dawn's lovely but so evil friends from fuckiGN
cunt lapping hell.
When
we take WAYV, and try filling gaps of many things, please don't
think this just covers that one fucking night up there at my work
place, Cifaloglio. You would be dead wrong. I used to tune into
their sister Trenton station a lot, while working with Kevin
Willis and others I have talked about, up at the Assets Protection
Guard Company site, the landfill, in Tulleytown, Pennsylvania, and
the landfill next to it further in towards Trenton and Jersey, and
especially at Post 120, where I manned th egate on weekends before
being transferred to the Griffin Pipe site in Florence, New
Jersey, where I went onto meet th egreat Olympian God, Psyche
Myrathus, humanly known as Steve Murray. I tuned to that station a
lot in the summer of 2001 while at Post 120, not having a clue it
was all part of Atlantic City and its WAYV station at the
boardwalk, right past the Trinidad Hotel that now is the Super-8
Hotel Chain. Several times, things were said that were absolutely
impossible for me not to have had that look on my face that my
mother and I got that day in 1981 or maybe early in 1982, at 1802
Robin Hill, when we would be watching a state of the union address
given by President Ronald Reagan, and we just with mouths open and
not a word spoken, turned and stared at each other, and you get
the drift here, unless you're denser than a ton of fuckiGN pure
dam lead, BRO!
Now
there is looking back on things with 20-20 and greater hindsight,
and then there is the TWEEN-ZONE. If you think you can corner this
market or control this universe, then by the fuckiGN gods, you are
better than me, YO. I have learned the negative side to seeking
and knocking and praying for great wisdom. As you get it in
unfathomably abundant supplies, along with it cvomes the reality
of the double horizon barrier, where you unmistakeably see that
the more you come to know, you merely are realizing that you have
yet so much more to learn and that never ever will you reach that
point of goal.
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What
do you think of this story?
Click here for comments or suggestions.
Click here for comments or suggestions.
Gawky
Gaukauk the great cat professor from Teck Bay Mystery School of
Province Olympia told me some incredible shit last night, only it
wasn't last night. Last night was just where I dreamed that I would
wake up soon and remember something. I am very used to that way of
thinking now, and have been for a decade almost I suppose. It is
amazing to sit in a class while this giant panther cat talks and
gives a lecture to a thousand students in a gargantuan sized
classroom, that otherwise would resemble normal college classrooms,
and I have seen many of them here in waking life, both here, and in
parallel universes. But it truly amazes me how the first ten minutes
after waking, I know a million things that I can never retain for
very long inside my tiny amount of conscious brain recall. It was
never designed to be that powerful, not even the brains of a hundred
Einstein's. Still, just the memory of holding so much powerful wisdom
really fucking blows my mind, people.
Why
I brought up Steve from 1974 is my own bizz. A lot of genius jerk
offs out in this world think they have so much all figured out and
don't know fucking beer from a can of stale fucking beans. Even why I
talk about the Fascitar is my own bizz, and I never told all of the
YYYY's behind it on any blog, despite telling a lot. Even down to who
it was that fate or RAW was behind transferring this data to me,
cosmically speaking, is my own bizz. Even my great marvelous sixth
cousin four times removed thinks he knows, and I promise him, no sir!
We'll leave things right there since he is busy at the moment finding
his pathway to catapult himself into becoming the most powerful man
on Earth. WEEEEEEEE! Hey, in much of localized surrounding parallel
parts of the hyperspace, we all know there are two of them, one 'R'
and one 'D' that get in, one over here, one over there, and so forth.
Towel seepage and hyperspace equation is way too complicated to even
think of tackling enough right now, so as to be able to properly or
accurately use, for making any 100% predictions beyond those great
two peeps. And personally, I couldn't care less, Oranthal Medical
Center J.S. Of 1970!
Times
change so fuckiGN rapidly and I am one of the few anymore and totally
realize same; who wants so bad to have things go back to the great
days of between a half century and a century ago. Still,
we could discuss times way before that, when
I was born in Germany; and did some pretty beyond despicable and
unspeakable things. And as I
speak, and no wonder; here is a major fucking
right side Morty Mortino death angel attack, striking me while I
type. Now he is gone from this room, and good fucking
riddance! WORD-DISAPPEARING fucking hacking just struck my blog,
Federal Communications Commission at five past ten this Tuesday
dirt-bag-morning, YO! They just did this hack-attack again, FCC, FBI,
AG Pam Bondi, and Sheriff K.J. Mascara, YO! Don't you wonder just
what these fucking jerk off worthless loser trash bastards are truly
so afraid of that I am trying to say all these years, I mean really
folks, be real and come fucking on with it already? Every single time
I try to get deep or say something, it is clockwork fucking precision
with the hacking, and my ten year blog here, PROVES THAT I AM
SPEAKING THE TOTAL FUCKING TRUTH HERE; LADS AND LASSIES!
MY
MY MY, Doctor Family Stations Incorporated HAROLD CAMPING.
2006-2015,
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
(BOM) BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR
All
I did was open up the dam door a crack for today, but later on, just
how I fit into a lot of this, will be harped on. It may be only my
opinion, but I have been its target even before it was used in Waco,
Texas against David Koresh and the Branch Davidian Cult in the early
nineties. For example, doors are banging all morning today, and now
these fucking asshole nabes are shouting and their barking yelping
dogs are going to town, out in my hallway, as they have no
consideration about disturbing their nabe, me. But is lack of
consideration really the reason for all this noise, or is someone or
something, Captain fucking J.T. Kirk, putting them up to doing this,
in one way or another, and this means this, along with half a century
of people annoying me constantly with major fucking noise-assaults?
THE
GREAT AWESOME TWB, YOU GOTTA' LUVEM!
OK
so I fucked up and printed Dennis's photo instead of Dawn's. Sorry
about that Chief Maxwell and lovely tall Barbara Feldon! Another
mother fucking WORD-DISAPPEARING HACK, FCC, YO! This is getting on my
mother fucking cunt lapping noives here Sheriff sir, YO my
pal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CRACKPOTS
FROM NEW JERSEYAND FLORIDA
OR
SO SAYS WFMU INTERNET RADIO AND JASSON THIEF FORREST
GEEEEEEEE-WIZZ,
listen to this:
Whoever
is sharing my life with me just as the collective is sharing their
life with all of you out there too individually whether you want to
believe me or not as it matters zero in so far as altering that
truth; but they always know when I want to get into powerful shit,
and then do all they can to fucking interrupt and halt me from doing
it. This is because they know that if anyone alive with true power
and authority were to ever take me seriously enough to give me a
chance to really prove all of this to them and the world, things
would alter a million times bigger overnight, than all this fuckiGN
shit since 1960 through right now today. I promise all of you that
this is the fuckiGN cunt absolute accurate total truth!!!!!!!!!!!!
MEOW-MEOW-MEOW-MEOW
END
OF THIS TRANSMISSION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You
just go right on laughing at me. I know a magic
person from Long Beach Island,
who knows the biggest secret of all, Patty Hollister; and
told me. You know, that SHE'LL get me for
this. Well, she got
me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You
just go right on laughing at me.
I know a magic person from Long
Beach Island, who knows
the biggest secret of all, Patty Hollister; and
told me. You know, that
SHE'LL get me for this. Well, she got me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You
just go right on laughing at me.
I know a magic person from Long
Beach Island,
who knows the biggest secret of all, Patty Hollister; and
told me.
You know, that SHE'LL get me for this. Well,
she got me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
OF THIS TRANSMISSION!
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Audience
FOR
SUCH A FAILED BLOG WITH ONE FOLLOWER, DOES IT MAKE ANY SENSE WHY THE
GLOBAL VIEWER MAP ALTERS SO RAPIDLY? I DOUBT THE PRESIDENT OF THE USA
TRAVELS AROUND THIS MUCH.
YOU'RE
MISSING ONE HELL OF A RICHIE RYAN PARTY, ALL YOU DOUBTERS,
DISBELIEVERS, AND MISSOURIANS.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
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