GUESS
THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 41
I
sure hope that you will do a little bit more to assist me in my
nightmare problems, here in your state and in your county, guys and
gals. This has been really horrible since the holidays, as always,
only this one totally takes all of the cakes in the pantry.
In
fact, things have been so bad, that you are not even getting the
daily reports of my errands, such as paying my rent, going to the
grocery store, and many other things this week alone. No one was in
the PHA building office on Wednesday so I will be seeing the
resident-manager on Friday, hopefully, unless she is gone now too, as
things are changing around here, and very rapidly. I have a new nabe
who is causing me a lot of grief, down the hall. This is the first
time I am getting a major door slammer out of that apartment,
Sheriff, and Mizz Marotto. It seems I must have lost the good dude I
had in there that never annoyed me, and I never even knew that he was
there. Now I have a pal of Boo and warren and Darius and Nick, so
here comes the crap, Sir Mascara.
The
party on Monday night and into Tuesday morning was with him and my
new people next to me in Stanley's old place. They are not the old
couple, as these may be parents, but a fairly young woman is in
there, with various guys, and has turned the place into another
problem for me. On top of that, I have the already existing people
from across the hall who are there to bother me intermittently. So
now I am literally surrounded with HELL-NABES, and thank you so very
much, worthless Mizz Moratto!
Yes,
back on Monday afternoon, I went to buy some groceries, I went to my
local bank for a balance check, and I went to the main PHA office to
drop off my rent check. To quote Judge Judy, I am planning to
M-O-V-E. I cannot live in Public-Housing any longer, as when you have
problems such as mine, living this close to really nasty low-lifers
is beyond miserable, and they all are making my life here beyond a
living hell. I seem to be hated by just about everyone, and you
cannot fight city fucking hall. You really can't. Some try, some may
even win or think they are winning temporarily, but that as with so
many things, is purely a short term time illusion. If I have
to go over Niagara Falls in a god dam barrel,
so be it, I will; but
I am getting the hell out of Florida, and fast!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What
you don't know is that a lot of bullshit is going on that I have not
discussed, because recently, I needed to get major secrets flowing
around the mind of cosmos, as well as try to man up and survive one
of the worst THANX-2-GIVENS
SIEGES,
since this shit all began with me in middle August of 1986, and never
ever looked back for so much as a peak.
Harry
Potter may have been written by a nice lady in England, but I assure
you that in all probability, one of her advanced doppelgangers, wrote
this through her, as for all I know, one of mine controls me and
writes these blogs. I don't know. I said in all probability and
perhaps, but magic in my life is a non ending loop of ever lasting
event. To quote my conversation on the telephone in 1976 with Jim
Burr, while living at Carriage Lamp Apartments that later became the
New York Apartments for the gods only know what reason as Clementon,
New Jersey is 100 miles away or so from New York, but to quote him on
the phone that time, “It will just continue and continue”. He was
referring to my totally fucked up miserable nightmare hellish sub
vampiric existence that passes itself off as my life.
©
BOM 2006-2015 MARK WAYNE MOHR
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN
My
1994 book, The Permission Barrier,
opens up a lot of doors to the following Morianity, and the story of
my life, also known as (AKA) BOOK OF BEACH 2.
I
copyrighted my four demo-songs on one
open reel tape,
at a speed of 7 and one half IPS, on a full track recording, copied
onto my RS-1500-US, open reel semi-pro mastering machine, that I
bought from the Martin Audio/Video store, in Manhattan, in May of
1980, and was delivered to my apartment by UPS, early in the first
week in June, right before my powerful and unfathomable bizarre Lois
Foca dream-HIE-RAW!
Suddenly
Marcy Levy and Robin Gibb, from the famous BEEGEE assholes,
had made a song, that was rapidly going into lower numbers, on the
Billboard Hot 100 Music Charts, called, “Help
Me”,
speaking of major fuckiGN symbolism, YO. After I saw the attorney
recommended by my arranger, Mister Glenn, the song magically seemed
to get pulled off of the air, and was killed cold; but no one ever
spoke a word to me about shit, not Howard Solomon, not Lenny
McKinnon, not Malcolm Rosenberg. I told the FBI that my life began to
change in the negative even worse than it was before, when all of
this went down and my shit was stolen back in the late summer time of
1980, while residing at 1802 Robin Hill Apartments. The book from
1994 that I wrote and copyrighted, “The Permission Barrier”,
tells a lot of powerful truths, and it is no means a work of pure
fiction. It has some slight exaggerations and lots of legal changes
of names and places and items where I felt it prudent and necessary
to do this. Otherwise, it is the truth, and it is real!
I
LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH, MY LIGHTNING!
Click
the link above the Comcast advertisement for lots of beautiful
lighthouse-images. WEEEEEEEEEE.
Yes
Mister Alan Wolf from 1966, you, Wilson Jessup, and I; had some
strange soul traveling experiences, regarding Tennessee Avenue, and
the great Trinity-Trinidad Hotel, of Atlantic City, New Jersey, USA.
And yes, right at that same spot in July of 1997; I spoke words of
great truth but did not yet understand why I had spoken them; to John
the Greek, at his parking lot, right there at the Endicott-Tag Pink
Goddess Games Hotel. I said and I quote, “My life ended in th eyear
1970”. Yes, Mister Wolf, it did, and you are 100% correct my
friend. Nut I am not speaking to Allan, am I dear agents and family,
and whoever/whatever----Congressman Oakangel Andrews????????????????
Sheriff;
I have to go to my whack job place today up in Oven Beach. Whatever
you can do for me, will be much appreciated, as things have
deteriorated for me to the point where soon, all fan shit will fly,
and we all are going to wish for that great clock turn back that
seems to be the only thing Earthers understand. Screw it all up, you
know, and then sit around for years wishing to go back in time and
change shit!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
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