Chapter 18, CEMB---AMP

CHRIS, ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD

CHAPTER 18

There are no absolutes, but David Leigh Smith from Cooley-Hall had some very wonderful advice for me that day after I returned from Ellisberg Circle's weird school of machine-professors. I told on earlier blogs a lot about this place, the Ellisberg Circle that is, not just limiting this discussion to this school that was there. There was mom's boyfriend who took mom and me by car one Saturday afternoon in the autumn of 1969, to several stores there. My mom needed to buy a mirror, and I was told to take it to the car, and given the keys, so I could place it into the back seat, and then either come back and find my mom and her boyfriend Sid, or at my discretion, remain in the car until they completed their shopping task. I chose to do neither, and took the mirror, and used it to almost cause a lot of serious problems, by using it in a manner not intended by its manufacturer, that is, to reflect bright blinding sunlight, directly into the face of drivers. Today, the world of this new age would have seen me in what I call, the Abbey Carmichael Law & Order way, you know, a bad egg, a crazy nutty adolescent who needs to just be locked away, for not conforming and obeying and saying yes sir, no ma'am to every dam adult within my daily interactivity. Hey, I wasn't a really bad ass, but I was quite the imp who could really piss off my mom's sort of nutty boyfriend, Sidney, without, to quote Lenny McKinnon who I would not go onto meet for eleven years, ''any doubt about it''.

Before this time, back in the spring time of 1969, about a half of a year or so, I had become friends, an d not by my choosing, but everything in this life is always my fault and I am the perpetual absolute bad guy in all things, as I shortly thereafter have come to learn; but yes, Brad and I did some things that were bad, and I told about most of it, on these blogs, the first two years of them, in 2006 and 2007. But why I acted out, had something to do with being given this somewhat wild bigger kid, who was fourteen months younger than me, in the body of a seventeen year old, with the physical strength to match, and an eye for the fairer gender, and on I can go here, but won't, since he is not here to produce his side of anything that I might say; but yes, he was a wild customer, and quite a pistol, and a lot more; but he was my pal, and we did become close friends; about as close as any two young teen boys could be, who lived in the same garden type apartment system, of those times and days. But Brad was not the only reason that I began going a bit loco in many various ways, such as acting out with screaming and cursing, and being defiant with parents and authority, abnd feeling life was somehow mistreating me, because shit was happening to me, beginning early in February of that year, and going strong, month after month, in ways that no blog could ever really hope to adequately and properly address and define in terms that would permit normal and average type of people, any ability to identify and or relate to me, from their own personal private young lives. I am speaking of three major things here, that most of you out here know, or think that you all do, to some degree and some extent. These being, the chain and the wild teen girl on Tennessee Avenue of Atlantic City, the train and my suddenly remembering an entire half century or more of a lifetime, where I had grown into a man and an adult, lived a totally failed and fucked up life, and ended up realizing that I had been repeating this loop of nightmares, similar to being literally trapped in a helluish I-Ching Trance, for what would seem to be about six to ten thousand years, give or take, if all strung together. The biggest of all, was the first Saturday in July, just shortly before Brad and his mom, Grace Messenger, moved away, and took up residence in Cherry Hill, in the Stievasent Towers, about two miles or more away from the Haddon Hills Apartments. I do not have a play by play memory of the day it happened and the exact events. It is jumbled broken up nightmarish fragments, just exactly like the inverted digital year to follow, 27 years later, in 1996, when the great exploratron Patty-Paula, got me a second time, and this time, was witnessed to some degree, by a maintenance person at the apartment I was at then, called the Highview Apartments, in Monroe Township, Gloucester County, Williamstown, New Jersey, just down the street from the famous Black Horse Pike, and the Gete's Diner. My Spell-Check has been disabled, so I need to go off and come back on, and fix my typos.

Discussing exploratron-Patty-Paula or EPP for short, is like discussing Sarah Krassle, as with both, this mother and daughter team have extremely unfathomable abilities to do inconceivable and outlandish mystical things, and they do them on a regular basis. If you do not think about someone, yet begin to dream about them on a regular basis, this means that they are thinking about you. I promise you that this is true, but I am speaking in five dimensions, not three. This applies to both of these 'people' and yes, I do single quote the word there, as I do not know just who or what they really truly are. The game that Sarah wants me to play with her, seems to imply that by its very title that she spouted off to me on P. H. Day of 1996, and very interesting symbolic initials too if I may add here; this game seems to be all about indeed guessing who is 'real' and who is 'not real', or who is the guest, which can very easily be interpreted to mean, who has an active dreaming-doppelganger inside of them, hence that would be the 'GUEST' that I will need to 'GUESS', if I am to successfully navigate my way through this physical hellish life and this horrendous HUNTINGTON FAMILY CURSE.

She said to me, back on 7 December, of 1996, just shy of 5 AM, while I was dead asleep and out of this world where my body was laying in my bed, and I was on her great street, in-between the great TRINITY-HOTEL, and the great and powerful monster dirt ball Robert McGuire's Hotel-Bar, and I quote, “Let's play a game boy, called GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS”.

As I said and I ain't ashamed to admit to this truth that was not my fault at all; after 1969 and all of this wild shit, it is beyond amazing that I have any degree of rational fuckiGN sanity remaining. ''But still'', Detective Lenny Briscoe sir; as the great Mister Al Jolson the musical legend said, decades and decades back into time, YO, “You ain't heard nothing yet”!!!

Folks, it's past my dam freaking bedtime by two hours, at 2:36 Ante' Meridian (before noon). It is the ninth day in December now, here in 2015, on a predawn Wednesday morning, here in Fort Pierce, Florida, USA. It is 66 degrees here in town at the local airport, and is predicted to drop to 62. Now take all of that horse shit, and all the horses asses all over the planet as well, and a five dollar bill also, and you can either exchange this for twenty shiny quarters at most banks, or just go to Mickey-D and enjoy a small fries and a burger. Boy oh boy oh boy, Mommy, and Moomy Deaest, and Betty Roaches Dindin Davis!!!

END TRANSMISSION.