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THE GLOBAL ENLIGHTENMENT OF MORIANITY.

THE RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM THREE

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER MARK MUD, SECTION-X

1:25 POST MERIDIAN

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

5 JUNE, 2019

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

Mark Wayne Mountainpen Huntington Mohr

HAMMERING FUCKING HARRIET NEXT DOOR IN UNIT #605, woke me up rudely and loudly to hard pounding on my wall, AGAIN, SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Many wild things are in the wind all around me, but things started to take a shape all their own on Sarah Jacobson Cooley Hall HH Watergate Day, shortly after I decided to redo an old 1983 song called, “Girl, I'll Tell You Anything”, and make a few changes to it, very minor ones, Mister American Express Goldman Mountainpen Miners. ADA WIRTZ SENIOR of the Camden County, New Jersey Prosecutor's Office refused to help me or get involved with the one really powerful item in my nightmare life from ROBIN HILL APARTMENTS, Blondie Harry's gal-pal and NABE BELOW ME in UNIT # 1801 while I was residing at Unit #1802. The two of them really got me got me got me, HUH, RON ME KIND SIR?????????? If anyone is ever seriously waiting for me to chalk of this wild and incredible mother fucking symbolism off as a bunch of never ending weird happenstance coincidences, JUST FORGET IT AS THIS AIN'T A MOTHER FUCKING HAPPENING, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!

I HAVE NEVER HAD THE ROACHES THIS BAD EITHER, AND I KNOW IT IS CAUSED BY THESE DISEASED NABES INTENTIONALLY BRINGING THEM INTO THEIR OWN UNITS, THEN ENDLESSLY BANGING AROUND AND SENDING THEM SCURRYING OVER INTO MY MOTHER FUCKING PATHETIC NICE CLEAN ASS APARTMENT, SHERIFF SIR, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, boy, the old non thrill and joy Mister Crichton (`~) HACK, huh lovely Stacey Lattisaw? WOW THIS, Mizz OPRAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, hear my MVP (Mind-Voice-Print). You will be totally absolutely crushing, obliterating, annihilating, and devastating, wrecking, ruining, and utterly wiping out, my enemy neighbors in UNIT #605, that are viciously persecuting me, bringing me endless ROACHES and NOISE, USING MAXIMUM POWER on a crush-destruct order, under GENERAL-ORDER-189. Open-Command, General Order #7. Use G-901, G-1133, G-14, G-719, G-13, CG5555-QP4 sub-code, under G-917, CG-2, under CG-18, and HOLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Your old AT&T landline telephone old style 1983 built tone-commands have been data-transferred into the two highlighted long-EEEEE vowel sounds. The high-tone is colored RED. The low-tone is colored BLUE.

Computer (Magnesonic) under my command and precisely matching voice print, I have an image-object (I-O) now placed on your transpower-block (T-B) after I have crush-destructed this. Once empowered, all actual beings matching this I-O on your T-B will be exactly crushed and singed and destroyed as the original I-O. To accomplish the scan, use your ZD technology built into your system. To accomplish this sympathetic reality duplication, use your AD technology, (ZD-Zero-Dimensional), (AD-Atomic Duplicational).

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

Live Camera from a random camera within the United States

[ 13 ]

Mohr, Mark W., 1954-

Saga of song writer Mark Mud.

PAu000501582

1983

[ 20 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitome of harassment part two.	PAu001148157	1988
[ 21 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitome of harassment part 3.	PAu001189027	1989

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BUTTTTTTT BIG ASS BUTTERCHEESE-BUTT, FOLKS, even they could not conceive of the horrendous fucking SHADOW MONSTERS OF PYLE AVENUE AT APARTMENT NUMBER 125-A, IN HADDON HILLS OF WESTMONT, NEW JERSEY IN THE MIDDLE MOTHER FUCKING NINETEEN SIXTIES, HUH GREAT DIVIDED PARTIES COPYRIGHT OFFICE OF THE FUTURE? LET ME GET BACK WHILE I STILL CAN, KEVIN CORNFIELDS AND JAMES EARL JONES, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!

[ 28 ]

Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-

Thanx to the shadows.

PAu002237985

1997

Yes there really was, Mizz 401 KRASSLE Virginia Avenue, a Sir James Knowitall Burr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So just what really are powerful LOIS FOCA AGE-10 CONNECTIONS, you may be inquisitive about, or maybe like Cuzz Don, 'you don't give a shit'. Here is the full scoop to a lot of dogshit, made simple by way of major abridgment and compression of course, folks! Naturally, Jane Miserable Rotten Fonda just struck me hard with another ONES-ASSAULT with mother fucking cunt eating PATE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, SO ALLOW ME TO QUICKLY COMPENSATE BEFORE GOING ON WITH THIS, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!

55555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

The reality that's being covered up by the MILITUFORCE is not aliens and saucers and invasions, and the worry of mass hysteria and insanity, and the total breakdown of governmental law and order, and all of this type of mother fucking dogshit; but rather it is even greater than this, and I am all wrapped up in this nasty ass mother fucking total mess, sir SHERIFF KJS, sir!!!!!!!!!!! They all totally know that if the world knew that all of my shit was real and they stopped believing that I am just a whack job nut case from COOLEY HALL HIGH HELL, then the real problems would come slamming along at the speed of light. In a total nutshell, all of what I am being put through could at any moment strike the entire planet, and not just one or perhaps a hand full few of us, as is the current situation. Once this happens, it will make alien fucking invasions and life beyond the Earth Planet all look like a birthday party of grade school children, next to the United Nations meeting right before WORLD WAR THREE!!!!!!!!!!! Go ahead, be skeptical and doubtful, because I know this absolutely true and real, and yes, and SO DOES THE MOTHER FUCKING HORRENDOUS ASTRAL WORLD HUMAN OPERATING MILITUFORCE!!! Assuming for one lousy ass second that Mountainpen's story is real, and I am not totally fucking crazy, Mizz Crazy Cursing dudes of WFMU Internet Radio; you do the mother fucking mathematics people. What would become of society overnight when suddenly and mysteriously without any hope of gaining control over the situation, Mountainpen and his life becomes the every day life of everybody all over the Earth-Planet for fucking crissake? Just think about this powerful fucking shit for a lousy ass cunt chewing second or so, folks, yo!

Sheriff, I am saving to move, and will be living on soup and crackers for the next nine months, because if I don';t get the fucking hell out of here, THESE DISEASED BASTARDS WILL KILL ME FOR SURE, just as would have Debbie Harry's gal-pal from below me in Unit 1801 back in 1982. So just how much total fucking cosmic magic and intrigue is truly behind and all throughout that wild 1983 song called GITYA, that later in 2012 was rewritten as the greedy fisherman's song? I will answer with this. It still is no match for the LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS deal from the first week in June in 1980, exactly mother fucking 39 years ago to right now, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo, me' kind awesome Sheriff KJM, sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Also folks, you won't find the title of that song on my list of musical copyrighted works, since this was just one song that was all part of one of the MOHR TUNES COLLECTIONS from back then. After-all, how could I have known then of the absolute significance of that song, since the future had not yet unfolded? Let me rearrange me' buckin pirate hat now Patty. Me buckin ears are under there somewhere, YARRR, maitees. Just don't ask me where, or what little Merry could have possibly done to not be allowed out that Halloween, Mister Knowitall James Tiberius Burr of Gloucester Brightlawns!!!!!!!! Hey don't feel bad Merry. I am not allowed to do anything or even live on this planet, after all of this horrendous shit all went down. Ask the great President Jimmy Carter. He knows as does dad, right James Stuart? WEEEEEEE, sir Chester Frank. Oh y es buddy, I know that you know who you are. I am still trying to learn who I am. You and Goddess Scylla, perfect together, or so says the mighty Tom Kane of 'Jeeuursey'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

THE MIND DIMENSION, CHAPTER 006

OCTOBER 29, 2014, 4:33 A.M. WEDNESDAY

I was holding back on telling, and I know I can post for safe keeping only, at least on the BLOGGER account, by hitting the ''DRAFT'', instead of the ''PUBLISH'' prompt. Still, it is being publicly continued for now, and holding back the largest part of that recent high school dream is just stupidity on my part, so I am telling it now. But I really have to make it so only the few who need to know what I am saying, will put the (2+2) together, and anyone who does not need to have this detailed information, might try, but may arrive at a 3 or a 5 or even a 9.368. I was going to say I must BE something, but PP and the first letter stands for paranoid and last one does not stand for anyone I ever conducted music business with; might get all bent out of shape and then proceed to come down here to my crib, and bend me all out of shape. So I won't say a thing, WAYV.

The high school was in a totally unfamiliar area, in whatever universe it was in. Still, across from it and a large baseball field past that, was a highway, and on the other side was a large building that was about a dozen stories tall, industrial, not residential. The entire building was owned by the makers of my PRIVECODE MACHINE from the tail end of 1983, when I purchased this wild device, and kept it in its shipping box until leaving 1802 Robin Hill to move into 134 Norris Avenue, from Voorhees to Atco, in New Jersey, on 1 February, of 1983.

Mark Minor as some of you know, along with Salvador, Peter, Wilson, Alan, and a few others, were all in one place in this ”waking world” but they were not all in this parallel universe of the dream world or the multiverse. Mister Minor had no sailboat, and was not related to the great John Dee of England, but he did want to go home, without getting into any fights or drinking all through the non daylight hours. He seems to have been connected with the same supernatural forces that both 'witch-doctor' Wilson and I both are also. Oh, that is what he called himself, until he graduated to 'voodoo priest', I merely quote things, tell news, you know, not make up stories,. But yes, I will tell stories, true ones, no matter how much they appear to be a must-be-fish-tale. Mark Minor and I walked across this baseball field, and the weather appeared spring-like, and there were no palm trees within the limit of sight, so I don't think I was in Florida, in whatever universe I was 'dreaming to be in' through a living double of myself. Suddenly Salvador came running out of nowhere, maybe left field if I can make a joke here. Then he pulled out a miniature KFP machine only a foot long, that also had a wearing collar, like that thing in 1986 I wore to play roulette, and got teased by the casino personnel in Atlantic City. It made access to two different money player chips more accessible, so I wore it, and let them all laugh at me. I was the one laughing making a clear grand weekly, off of their tables.

Instead of keys and knobs and dials and places for discs to go, was a long blank area like a rectangular drumming pad. He then proceeded to say hay there or some similar thing to Mark minor and myself, and then while wearing this thing that he put on directly after this, he put his two hands out as if to use a real KFP, and instead of music, he began doing what he did back in 1965 and 1966, over at the New Jersey Neuro Psychiatric Institute, now defunct; just like Bancroft Neurological Health System, as well, and Turnersville Pathmark; and so many other places; accomplished by powerful covert methods by the History Marker Remover section of the mighty ESS, the (HMR). Salvador Ventura then began tapping the way he used to at the institute, with his fingers, only as he did so, a tiny little speaker system on each side of the rectangle he was wearing, would speak what he was code-tapping, in any possible voice, and he laughed real smug while adjusting in-between tapping, with his left hand, a small set of almost invisible dials on the left of the contraption, I believe there were four of them. He had me talking, he had Mark minor, then he had Diana Ross, the Motown vocalist. I asked him why he was doing this and he began laughing, not loud and revolting or anything, just a soft unoffensive tonal quality laugh, but he just kept laughing, and laughing. Then he took the thing off, and put it back in some backpack that he had attached with a small double silver chain, into his right pocket, leaving it dangling half way to the ground. His laughter stopped abruptly, and he looked at me, and said, “You fucking asshole Mark”, meaning me and not Mark Minor. “You really believed that shit, and then you say how great you are at bluffs and fakes and poker and shit, what a crock”. I just stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the bastard, sort of angry, and a bit hurt also. I thought we were pals, and here he is fucking with me. Then Mark Minor spoke up and said back to him, “Hay, he doesn't want to get it, you know how painful some family shit can be, ya dork”. This is when I jumped in and said, “Will somebody please let me in on just what you mother fuckers are all quacking about”! Then we all sat down at some bleachers that were past the one end of this ball field, leaving us to stare off at a highway about 150 feet ahead of us, and on the other side of it, the building, completely owned by the one and only, multiversally famous, International Mobile Machines Corporation.

This is when Salvador reminded me that I was a type-1-exploratron, and “why should I tell you a thing”, he said, “get out of my pal's body before I kick your ass”. I told him the truth with unquestionable candor at this point, that I now remember this is totally true, but I did not mean to get here, it is all a sixth dimensional program that thinks and makes all of us pawns then move on a huge Packman type simulation videogame of a sort in five dimensions called hyperspace. Then he said, “I don't care about all that shit Mark, all that matters is that you talk a big game about poker and you're letting peeps pull all kinds of double blind bluffs on you, you know, like they would say those things with that much certainty on that show, and not know another truth”? Then I realized what he was talking about, even cornball idiot me has limitations to my VSG Syndrome and the stupidity that so many times goes along with maintaining more painless vacuums in memory. This is when I realized what was being spoken, and also I put together that I was here in this crazy place, sitting on bleachers, with the bleachers again, for heavens sake. Then he burst out into raucous laughter unlike the first time at the beginning of this, and said, “That wild so-called fictional book of yours in 1994, TBP, holy hell Mark, there is more happening than just port in the storm years, ya' dam dummy”. I then said, “hold shit, I know this now, stop making fun of me. Remember how you hated your father making fun of you and were screaming out for Miss Wescott to help you”? Then he retorted with, “That's your world, not mine. Here in reality, I never went to some sike ward with you in 1965, you fuckiGN butt wipe”. I then ended this conversation with, “Well Sal, all I can say is they do sound alike when they speak as adults, so Jesus, forgive me for not being almighty Goddess”. I jumped up and left Minor and Ventura just looking at me, and walked to a bridge for pedestrians to cross over the large highway, and went into the IMMC Building. As soon as I got there, I was grabbed bodily by security officers, bound, gagged, and carried off on some gurney type of item, into a deep sub-basement area. I saw myself on a large screen TV system that had to be 20 feet across, and brighter than a summer beach at noon. When my eyes adjusted to this incredible TV set, I saw them running my entire life in fast forward from the minute I moved into Atco, and all through the show, they kept saying, “We're always watching you, buddy”. They must have said this in a serious tonal quality at least ten dam times. I asked if they could go past this time era, and they said we can go up as far as twenty fifty five. They hit a skip button, that said right on it in big purple lettering, “SKIP”, and suddenly it was 1984, and I was watching myself living in Robin Hill again where I had left for a while, over in unit number 506. They eventually seemed to get bored with me and my questions and said to me that they were going on a coffee break, and would I like to be taught how to operate the scanner tendle, this is what they called it, I just report the dream, folks. There is no 'R' in the word, and I do not know what exactly a scanner-tendle is, but they showed me how to run it, and left the room. I realized I could make it go off of that part of New Jersey, and go anywhere. I learned some stuff that is so hot, if I ever told any of it, I would be dead in one minute from the time I hit POST PUBLISH.

Long Story Short (LSS), the school mates were breaking my damn stones about poker, and sure enough, I can bluff and I can read people, and I am a dam good poker player, and the average asshole would be cleaned out fast with me, I promise. But they were totally right. Some powerful people went way out of their way to seem to know something I totally believed had happened, was not the way I thought all along, and were quite adamant about it, more so than they would be if they did not indeed know better. 99% of normal readers not a part of this, don't have a clue why I had this wild dream where I was back in a high school, or why all of this was said to me, but I know, and the few involved in it all, they know. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Fire alarms go off every single day between the opening bell on Wall Street and shortly thereafter. I will not lie, it happens on the weekends too. If I wanted to skip that part and be dishonest here, I could have. The whole truth means do not skip a part of it or omit shit that negates the value of the crap you're trying to prove and make claim to. But my honesty prevails, and I am proud to be an honest gentlemen who may tell seemingly wild fish tales, but I KNOW THEY ARE TRUE, AND SO DO THE DAM GODS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe all of this IS where the shadows all dwell by day, or in Ireland with bands that like my Ernie song a lot. Give me a break Mister freaking Kitkat.

END TRANSMISSION.

the continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

When I lived at Jenny Plageman's trailer park in Mullica Township in Jersey, during horrendous death sieges, rats would materialize in my trailer. I know for a fact that these rodents and nasty insects are SENT TO ME, and I am a very clean person who never ever had these things until this enemy force really began tearing my life into absolute dog fucking shit at light speed squared!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The great biblical scriptures in the BOOK OF JOB talk about never ending persecutions by this evil devil and his forces (Diana's twin brother Apollo Lucifer). Just why that fucking goddamn star out there hates me so much I do not know, as Diana insists it is not because I love her so much, and that as long as I am good to her, he does not mind that I love her and that she loves me. Still, that bastard burned me to a crisp and left telltale sores all over my body back when I was ten or eleven and living on Pyle Avenue at the Haddon hills Apartments of Westmont, New Jersey, USAESMWG in the middle sixties. He has always been screwing with me. Many of the more distant stars do in fact communicate with me during various stages of altered consciousness states, especially during the twilight zone periods of before being completely asleep and completely awake. One of them is that bright star that we all see in the night sky during certain periods of the year and especially in the summer time in this USA hemisphere. My blogs have given the name that I know this astral city by, Hydroglacia. Time won't permit me getting further into lots of damn shit that I really want to, but that is what later writings are for!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ever since I left Cooley Hall High hell at the end of January of 1973, my entire life began to be under some weird type of attack, but nothing like the post 08-15-1986 date. Still it was real. Once I was about eighteen years old in my present dream-down sequence off of the purgatory, not only did crazy shit all begin around me for absolutely no good reason, bu as with JOB, I would begin to get one problem after another happen to my physical body, annoying sores, you name it, and it just never stopped, and it has gone on all of my cunt eating fucking life!!!!!!!!!!!! So don't anyone tell me there is no room for a JOB ll in some new bible, and is why I have created the Morianity-Bible!!!!!!!!!!!

Folks, the 2007 and 2008 BRIDGE, that crossed my life over from knowing the WOODSIDE REALITY AS OPPOSED TO NOT KNOWING, depending on which yellow telephone side of the dam bridge you or I may be standing the hell on; YO; ended up being, or shall I change that to, “I FOUND OUT THAT THIS WAS EVEN A BIGGER CROSSOVER LIFE AND GAME CHANGER FOR ME TIME ERA”; than even 1969, 1983, 1986, and 1994; and probably in truth; all of those four years all assembled together, and maybe doubled or tripled after 'even that', Evan Hanley and Quentin Andreas Petofi, of the “GAP”, marvelous and untrumpable television soap-opera show, called, “Dark Shadows”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Crissake, go dig me a grave, Harriet Rohr. JEEEEEEEEEEEZ TWINBAY!

12:15 P.M., JUNE 1, 2019, SATURDAY MORNING

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER MARK MUD

SECTION----W

RED ALERT—RED ALERT—RED ALERT

THESE MOTHER FUCKING DIRT BAG NABES NEXT TO ME AS WELL AS UPSTAIRS ABOVE ME, THINK THAT THEY OWN THIS ENTIRE COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKING PHA BUILDING, SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, SIR!!!!!! I am also suffering with another BRAND NEW MOTHER FUCKING MAJOR ROACH COLONY, AND I HAVE NOW SPRAYED TEN FULL RAID CANS NOW, AND I CANNOT GET RID OF THEM. I CANNOT EAT OR SLEEP WITHOUT THEM BEING ALL OVER ME AND FUCKING WITH ME, BITING ME, COMING ONTO MY PLATE, AND SINCE THE FUCKING COPS TELL ME THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT THIS SHERIFF SIR, I WILL SEE WHAT THE FLORIDA MOTHER FUCKING BOARD OF HEALTH HAS TO SAY WHEN I SCREAM AND CRY ON THEIR CUNT EATING SHOULDERS, KIND SIR!!!!!!!!!!! DOOR SLAMS, SLAMS, SLAMS, SLAMS, UPSTAIRS FURNITURE MOVING AROUND AND BANGING ALSO, AND ROACHES ALL OVER THE PLACE, SHERIFF MASCARA SIR.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

THIS IS A LEGAL INTERNET DOCUMENT!

I RAN AWAY IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT IN NNEW JERSEY WHEN THINGS GOT BEYOND MOTHER FUCKING TOTALLY INTOLERABLE AND INHUMAN FOR ME, AND I WILL BE DOING IT ALL OVER AGAIN, SHERIFF SIR, BECAUSE YOU REFUSE TO DO YOUR MOTHER FUCKING JOB, OH WONDERFUL GREAT KIND SIR, JUST LIKE ADA PROSECUTOR RON WITTZ SENIOR BACK IN JERSEY AT THE CAMDEN COUNTY PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE. ALL OF THIS IS SORT OF MAKING ME REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD FUCKING SAM ASPBELL IN THAT OFFICE, PLAYING COWBOY AND FAKING THAT CRIME, AND THE WHOLE PRESS OF THE WORLD REMEMBERS THAT STORY, DON'T THEY MISTER MAJOR CRIMES GRIFFIN MCCOY KEN NOT GLENN FORDICE???????????????

We get these stupid fucking moronic amber alert annoying calls and cable television interruptions, yet a pathetic old sick persecuted person such as me is ignored and scoffed at while someone or something is getting away with total mother fucking murder, harassing me to total cunt lapping death, DAY AND NIGHT, YEAR IN AND YEAR OUT FOR FOUR PLUS STRAIGHT COCK SUCKING DECADES, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!

[ 20 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitome of harassment part two.	PAu001148157	1988
[ 21 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitome of harassment part 3.	PAu001189027	1989

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John and Photeous at that great and mysterious parking lot next door to PAULA KING'S PARKING LOT, ALSO NEXT TO ROBERT MCGUIRE'S BAR ON TENNESSEE AVENUE IN ATATLANTIC CITY, in the summer time in 1997, had a lot of powerful and interesting things to tell me about so many things back in those times. BUTTTTTTT BIG ASS BUTTERCHEESE-BUTT, FOLKS, even they could not conceive of the horrendous fucking SHADOW MONSTERS OF PYLE AVENUE AT APARTMENT NUMBER 125-A, IN HADDON HILLS OF WESTMONT, NEW JERSEY IN THE MIDDLE MOTHER FUCKING NINETEEN SIXTIES, HUH GREAT DIVIDED PARTIES COPYRIGHT OFFICE OF THE FUTURE? LET ME GET BACK WHILE I STILL CAN, KEVIN CORNFIELDS AND JAMES EARL JONES, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!

[ 28 ]

Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-

Thanx to the shadows.

PAu002237985

1997

Yes there really was, Mizz Virginia Avenue, a Sir James Knowitall Burr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So just what really are powerful LOIS FOCA AGE-10 CONNECTIONS, you may be inquisitive about, or maybe like Cuzz Don, 'you don't give a shit'. Well, don't let him or any other rotten prick in this twisted screwy world try fooling you for a lousy ass New York micro-minute about their connections with me. They DO give a shit. If they didn't, they wouldn't hack me day and night, and hack out my account with numerous things, such as the County Medicaid Office of Florida.

B-U-T, kind folks, it is time for me now to add something in for you about all this. My fathers razor was talked about in very early blogs, and how while visiting my mother and I back in the middle sixties in Westmont, New Jersey, his electric shaver in this world, became something entirely different in a dream world that I was in. All I am able to tell, is Shakespeare himself knew about not only Atlantic City and 1965, but he also knew about Sarah's shop on Tennessee Avenue. But without reading his great plays or caring at all about the great classical literature, no one will ever see these powerful and awesome fucking truths. I wonder why this dumbed down world and generation all happened, just like I wonder why all kinds of fuckiGN wacky laws were passed since 1988 regarding PC and I do not mean computers or any other thing, Mister Bill Mawr. Yes Detective Curtis, we're losing people, but the king of the morning light seemed to be onto all of you. The day at the other KING, AKA Burger King, you crooked fucking stupid phone app rip off people; Ann told me some things that are unbloggable. Well, most of my shit is unbloggable, and just because I dared to blog a lot of it doesn't change that whittle fact, Elmer Fwudd!!!!!!!! HYPERSPACE is not some easy quick 'Pyle of shit' to be discussed in a short whittle mother fucking essay, and then forgotten and removed from the human conscious collective, not if my hell on this Earth is ever to be understood for even a tiny mother fucking second. Since I am being put through his quintessential mother fucking total assault this weekend by this evil pussy huffing MILITUFORCE, let us pick up on where things left off regarding all of this messy nasty ass bull shit. Speaking of bullshit, Mister Henry Cabin Mailboat Fonda, your kid is nailing me day and night with her miserable mother fucking endless ONES ASSAULT ON ME, YO YO YO YO YO ME BRAH!

Allow me to cunt phlegm rape here with a bit of counterstriking FIVE DIGIT COMBOS, YO!!

© MARK WAYNE MOHR BLOGS 2006-2014

THERE IS NO WAY 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-ESS) OR THE 'GREAT AND POWERFUL EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND SOCIETY'!!!!!!!!!!!!

This may sound shocking, but I would not trade places with anyone of you who don't have my problems and hell, not a one, not for a dam minute, and here's why. I couldn't live for an entire minute, all dumbed down and blind.

NOW THESE DIRT BAGS NEXT DOOR ARE HAMMERING ON MY MOTHER FUCKING WALL, SHERIFF SIR, AS IF YOU COULD CARE IN THE LEAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NATURALLY IT'S JUST SHO OF JANE BITCH SLEAZEWEEDSDISEASE FONDA ONE ELEVEN THIS DISAFSTERNOON, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO PEEPS, IT IS NOT REALLY JANUARY 2, 2015,

FRIDAY EVENING AT 11:13, JANE WHORE,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 71 DEGREES FNHT.

TODAY'S RANGE, (H-77/L-69)

HUMIDITY IS 94%, AND IT FEELS 76 DEGREES.

WINDS ARE NORTH AT 4, GUSTING TO FUCKING 6.

Travelers are why all the rest of us NOT IN THE DAM ESS have memories that fade out. This is what is behind their seemingly magical power over memory. If they can change fucking shit all around us, then memories change as well. It is really a DUH deal.

All this mother fucking UFO/ALIEN bullshit is a cover story. The 'mibs' supposedly covering it all up, all of it, one big phony fucking con job, and you all are buying into it. 40 years ago I talked like the folks on the cutting edge of shit on TV now. It will be 40 years more until these blogs are going to be appreciated. Thank you kind children and grand children of all those reading them right freaking now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh yes, laugh laugh laugh laugh. Big funny amusing fucking shit. Well, not to everybody. There are a few out here, RIGHT NOW, that totally know that Mountainpen is 100% for real, and NOT FOR THOMAS J. REALE, of Somers Point and Northfield, in Jersey-USA!!!!

Those two times on Tennessee Avenue in Atlantic City New Jersey, and the time in my apartment on Kent Street, number 2-D, in Williamstown, at the Highview, oh yes, I know what is really going on, and I know the other shit is all just a big ass cover story!

All the times that reality has altered around me, now THIS is what the dudes in black with the eye shades, don't want any of you to know about, and as long as my blogs remain buried in the giggles of obscurity, THEY WIN, and all of us LOSE! And this can go on forever, or as long as anyone out here wants it to. That decision is not mine to make, but is all of yours. W—O—W light-bulb Microsoft Macy Stacey!

So if that experience at age ten or so with pop's fucking electric razor is any indication of how hyperspace mechanics not only works but can theoretically be put to work in someone's advantage, here is a wee bit more bullshit regarding this nasty-ass fucking total mess, yo!!!! Whatever happened in 1986 on the 15^th day of August with me in that Cherry Hill home on Route 70 or the Marlton Pike, has totally worked its way into my new world and life, only permanently. All of the answers are to be found,not in Carlisle, Pennsylvania such as was the idea of ADA Ron Wirtz, but rather in exactly what happened to me in every messy detail, in that experience that appeared to last five solid months long and yet all went down in the space of one single night, huh Russican Picard of the great STAR TREK, a few years later?

Even the great and powerful Divided Parties Copyright Office of Washington DC knows that powerful shit is all connected somehow into this, after-all look at the great Atlantica, New Jersey and then along came the Atlantic City Medical Center changing its name (4-REALE) not that long after the entire dirty mess all went down, yo!

Yes, bob McDowell did indeed grow up into a fine gentleman, and as you put it so eloquently, Mister Mackey, back in late 1972, in your classroom; ''a man''!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Makes me wonder what you knew back then as well, along with hallway communicator Marcucci and his Beatles friends, and Marola and her school play insistence wisdom. Don't even get me started, Misses Eckert Pharmacy, back on 7/12; on the topic of EXPLORATRONS, PLEASE! TANKS!!!

DON'T READ THIS UNLESS YOU WANT TO HAVE YOUR DAMN MINDS BLOWN TO HELL!

MY BLOGS: PLEASE ARCHIVE THEM.

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, UNITED STATES.

© MARK WAYNE MOHR BLOGS 2006-2018.

Frankly Congressman RA, I don't even care. All we can try is to live and to die, with love for each other to share.

I also know the other stuff that I mentioned before, and won't insult you by wasting your time rehashing this mother fucking bullshit. Yes sir, Russian hackers are alive and well at my mouse, boy oh boy!!!!! But are they really Russian hackers? Physically perhaps they are, maybe they aren't, but in neither case, is it really them. No human being on this planet is under their own control, and only a very few ******* gamers know this truth, and are most likely intelligent enough to keep quiet, so their lives don't get thrown into cunt lapping hell times infinity.

Oh Lordess Sarah Krassle, some of the things that I say are major, and us, great United States Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) for short abbreviation, only one lie was ever told on all of my MORIANITY, and I had no idea that my information about what I was telling, was faulty, so it really was only a partial lie. Unlike the great childhood days of
Quakertown, Pennsylvania, USA, some things are weird times a billion, and then comes a decade later as a teenager, and things quickly escalate into weird times a septillion. Yes folks, only one half of a lie directly, and all the rest was totally true.

Then right around this same time, came the dead children who spoke to me at those Quakertown and Allentown area playgrounds, back early in the nineteen-sixties. Yes there were two different ones, with the little boy my age, and the little girl my age. Now people, I am the only person on this planet, that would DARE LOOK A SUPREME COURT JUDGE, STRAIGHT IN THE FACE; AND TELL THEM under pain of penalty if indeed they can prove me lying to them; that my entire story called MORIANITY, over a now just less than 8.5 year time period; is all totally 100% true and accurate, other than for the one lie I admit that I told that Sarah was there that night with her great gang, on that public bus at around 10:30 PM, the night of 12 July, back in the year 1970. I now make this pledge and oath and swear officially on this writing, to this statement, to all nine Supreme Court Justices, and if you can prove I am a fake or a phony hoaxer, then I WANT YOU TO THROW MY MISERABLE WORTHLESS ******* *** IN CUNT LAPPING PRISON, as that is where I would belong!!!!!

AUGUST 29, 2018,

WEDNESDAY MORNING AT 1:13 ANTE' MERIDIAN, (JANE SLEAZE WEEDS DISEASE!!

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, U.S.A.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE, 75 DEGREES FNHT.

HUMIDITY IS 96%

HEAT INDEX IS 80 DEGREES FNHT.

What did you say to me Mike McNulty?

AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-I THINK IT IS 1971!

MIND CONTROL is very real, but how about SOUL CONTROL? Who is making us dream where we go to dream, and then effect our waking life back here as a result? Most of the time we ourselves control most things, BUT NOT ALL THINGS, AND NOT ALL OF THE MOTHER FUCKING TIME EITHER, KIND FOLKS!!!!!!

Yes there really was, Mizz Virginia Avenue, a Sir James Knowitall Burr, and Patty Hollister of GLOCUSTER CITY, NJDPAESMWG!!!!!!!!

They are going to pay with this short but powerful revenge blog. It is twenty-two minutes past fucking one on Monday morning, nine February, 2015. Congressman old buddy from 1975, it has been brought to my attention by some cool dude who goes by a wild name in a parallel universe, Ethan Ballaterra, of course I am spelling it the way it sounds only. He was telling me that I will get more and more wrecked and brutalized, the more secrets I tell, because this is behind a lot of what Scott Ransom and his little speech to me in 1988, was all about. Well, it is nice to know where the nerves and funny bones are, as I will just kick all that much harder, right in those nasty mother fucking places. I have nothing to lose, as my entire life has been completely fucking obliterated by this scum bag stinking twisted disease, from the other side of the dam gates of hell.

Saturday around mid day, the fucking jerk off Milituforce tried to attack my video again. There were two attacks, and I saw it happen live. The reason it stopped is because my friends at the FCC were triangulating the signal source, illegally bouncing into here, from a nearby remote source. What none of you buttwipes seem to know, and I don't mean youth peeps of 35 and under, but those say a wee bit on the south side of that number; is that cellphone towers were up a full thirty years or almost, before cellphones were used by us ordinary people. When I talk about death attacks, and health attacks, and death beams; just about anyone reading immediately thinks, 'whack job', 'crazy person', 'tinfoil hatter', and along these lines. Fine, but explain why these cell towers were all up in the early eighties. When cellphones came into being in the last few years of the past century, no changes were made to any of these structures. They were there, ALL ALONG!

Why do I appear to despise the mother fucking entertainment industry so much; many scratch heads and wonder? Do you really want me to someday spell it out, theft by theft, clever little steal one after another? If I ever went past just telling the details of Lenny McKinnon and the ''Lost Love'' song, in the summer time of 1980; we'd be all cunt huffing night and day, and I still wouldn't have it all told. But keep hurting me you rotten scum bastard toilet lickers, and oh yes, I will make this detailed list, and post it up, ''CONGRESSMAN''!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My best to Angel.

Why do memories stay and fade away? We seem to keep some and lose others. None of us have clear detailed memories like a tape recorder, going back day after day, year after year; yet many major eras in time are clearly held in the memories of even those who don't have particularly great life recall. This is not old age and diseased minds anywhere near as much as it is reality changing around us. The biggest argument for this is that people say to me when I discuss this with them, come on asshole Mark, the newspapers don't change, the buildings don't change, my wife is still my wife, my kid still failed his algebra class this year, and so on. Well I hate to break this powerful fuckiGN shit to the world, but what you see as green, the next person may not. But because they both can identify with seeing that same 'reference to green', it appears not to ever change, yet even this can. You don't think events are being reshaped or news is changing, but I could wipe out this world's fucking sanity if I told you all right now how to conduct a simple little experiment that would absolutely prove that I am telling you the truth. Just because you may not fully understand this; I still am handing you all a powerful mother fucking deadly dangerous truth; friends. Oh yes, I was wrong about McGuire day. It was not the 19^th anniversary, it was the 18^th anniversary, back on the seventh. But why do our minds hack out like this? Is it really just happenstance and accident, and in my case, early senility and old age? Well, the DSM-5 would tell you quite emphatically, YES. But I will tell you, NO; only who gives a dam shit what Mark Wayne Mohr says??????????

When I left McGuire's bar around shortly past two on the afternoon of 7 February in 1997; I had forgotten the name 'CALLIO', that Sarah had given me over his pay telephone. It was hopelessly irretrievable, until sometime a couple months later, while speaking on the telephone to Estelle Andersen Bassler, of Ormund Beach, Florida; and when I said names like Calico or Callahan, and a few other near similar sounding ones, she said to me, and I will quote her from middle 1997, “Well, there was a Callio, he was a policeman”. Now in and of itself, this is not all that important in the grand scheme of my life. But then came October of 2006; the day Ed Lynch and I went to Atlantic City to take some photos for my new website at the time, the Morianity-Foundation, and we went to Tennessee Avenue. When we developed the film, there was McGuire, right at the passenger side of the car, right in Ed's face, clear as a fuckiGN bell. Neither Ed nor myself have one tiny bit of recall or mental recognition of this happening. There is no way that we would not have seen a large menacing dangerous fucking old Irish dude approaching the vehicle, and coming right up to it and into our face. We did see it, and more, and then when he was done with us; he erased our memory of the event. This same thing happened in a home on a dam highway where a lot of naked people all were, near the Tacony Palmyra Bridge, in Philadelphia, back in 1984. Not all that long ago, some local person who knows quite a bit about my life, stopped me and asked me how ESS can be measured, and in the case of this story, how can this incredible and outlandish lab technician, be a fourteen year old girl, and yet have done that stuff in the eighties as a fully grown woman? They went onto remind me that just as with the I-CHING, a host body is always needed, and it is soul that travels in a dream-travel-event, just as in Dark Shadows plots throughout the second half of that marvelous television show. Well, this person is totally correct, but I do not have enough time right now, to detail just how this wild maneuver was all pulled off, or if a pun is permitted me, carried out. Still, ask Donald Trump; the one son of a bitch who knows for a fact, that indeed, this was done. It is complicated, but it can be explained, just as cell towers all being right there all along, yet none of you out here question a dam thing. Sometimes I seriously doubt that even conspiracy theory types ever really sit back and ponder on so many things that are right there in fucking plain view. That is always the very best place for things to be hidden, my peeps, right there in plain view. Ask any good cop or detective, or for that matter, ask any good fucking outlaw fugitive and criminal. Of course, they might lie to you, as criminals love to lie. Here comes the mother fucking (`~HACK), Bob FCC McDowell, at five shy of two AM. Boy, I was living real nice and mother fuckiGN well without all these hacks. Whatever you guys in the FCC were doing, it sure worked for a little while. Same thing with the POPE. His prayers seemed to stop Morty jerk-off Mortino for a couple of weeks, but WOW, he came back with a cunt chewing fucking vengeance a week ago; and shit is right back to the rotten negative status quo. Maybe, Your Holiness, this is why the BIBLE says to “PRAY WITHOUT STOPPING”.

Yes, very early in 1996, Doctor Mark Wolf of Moorestown, hypnotized me. The very first thing out of my mouth when I heard the session tape, was about the Speedship Sunram, and Atlantic City. I had put all of this out of my head, or so I had thought. But some of it was not put out, it was BLOTTED OUT, by other hypnosis. I have been taken to that COMCAST-ESS-MUSICROOM upon numerous occasions, so it seems; and just as with just about all who claim they have suffered 'alien-abductions', it is an ongoing and repetitive process, IE it doesn't happen just once. Just as we get recurring 'dreams', we also get recurring non-dreams, that normal people cannot as of yet, outside of Morianity and its teachings; even really begin to rationally explain. Why have I mentioned Ingrid so many times, and just how did she get onto my telephone? What really was going on in 1980, 1983, 1984, and 1986? What does anybody REALLY know about anything? To quote a fantastic philosopher I knew, and was proud to call a pal, back in 1969, Mister Sigmund Malyeska; “You don't KNOW nothing”! And here comes Morty Mortino, ------------AGAIN!!!!!!!--------

6:22 P.M., May 29, 2019, WEDNESDAY EVENING

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER MARK MUD

SECTION----V

THESE MOTHER FUCKING DIRT BAG NABES NEXT TO ME, IN UNIT NUMBER 605, THINK THEY OWN THIS ENTIRE MOTHER FUCKING BUILDING. FOR THREE SOLID DAYS NOW, IT'S BEEN YELPING DOGS, BANGING DOORS, AND NOW AT JUST PAST SIX, YELLING IN THE HALLWAY, AND HAMMERING ON MY GODDAMN WALLS, AGAIN, SHERIFF SIR!!!!!! During these past three days of their shit again, I have also suffered with another BRAND NEW MOTHER FUCKING MAJOR ROACH COLONY, AND HAVE SPRAYED THREE FULL RAID CANS NOW, AND I CANNOT GET RID OF THEM. I CANNOT EAT OR SLEEP WITHOUT THEM BEING ALL OVER ME AND FUCKING WITH ME, BITING ME, COMING ONTO MY PLATE, AND SINCE THE FUCKING COPS TELL ME THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT THIS SHERIFF SIR, I WILL SEE WHAT THE FLORIDA MOTHER FUCKING BOARD OF HEALTH HAS TO SAY WHEN I SCREAM AND CRY ON THEIR CUNT EATING SHOULDERS, KIND SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I tried sitting down to dinner at just shy of six, to try and watch some mother fucking cunt eating news on the television, and the roaches were fucking climbing up on my dinner plate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had to put the food away and respray the entire mother fucking apartment AGAIN, my third can of mother fucking raid, FLORIDA BOARD OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

THIS IS A LEGAL INTERNET DOCUMENT!

This is a dying utterance and an official dying mans declaration. Every mother fucking medicine that I have been legally prescribed, has been fucked with and made unavailable, and when you take away people's fucking needed meds, that is attempted first fucking cunt degree murder, that is if it ever can be proved, and of course, in this power hungry evil empire nation, little shits like me cannot do one squat eating thing, and we know it. All I can hope to do is to survive until I turn mother fucking age 66 years, when my disability monies turn magically into regular social security bennies, and then I can leave for points south of this VERY EVIL EMPIRE!!!!!!!! When I tried to order my BUFFERIN TABLETS at my Walgreen Online Pharmacy, I am not able to do this for the first time, and the reason being, another shortage or some such total fucking bullshit excuse. I lived through the days of the oil crises twice over in the cunt chewing nineteen seventies, and learned there is no such thing as a shortage, and it is all being intentionally done, normally for the purposes of avarice and greed and filthy fucking lucre, but with me, it is way more personal, it is TO COVERTLY MURDER ME, SHERIFF MASCARA KIND SIR. I need to have my blood kept a little thinner and I pop two Bufferin Tabs in the morning and two in the evening, to keep it that way, as I have been doing this now since the early fucking ass nineteen nineties. This is the first time that I could not get my Bufferin Tablets, kind Sheriff sir. They have stopped all of my necessary medications, and now they are going to murder me for sure by doing this, sir SHERIFF!!!!!!!!!! All throughout May, they have turned off the bowel death ray beam siege that they were using for months and fucking cunt sniffing months, and turned on the other death beam assault, the heart fuck up death ray sonic system!!!!!!!!!! By coupling this with stopping my meds as well as my Bufferin Tabs, well, you do the mother fucking math, Sheriff sir. This is an official dying mans utterance and declaration, sir, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You all know I speak the truth. The same force behind everything, the Bible calls this the devil and SATAN, and the AAT folks call this the space aliens, but Mister Shakespeare said long ago, “What's in a name”? It's what is being told that matters, and shit smells like shit and roses smell like roses, even if we wish to reverse the names of these two items. This same logic applies whether me ears are well hidden under me buckin' hat or not, lovely lady from 1974!!!!!!!!!!! AHA-AHA.

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER

MARK MUD------V

BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN © 2006-2019, 'THE BOM'

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POOR MISERABLE HUNTINGTON CURSED MISERABLE ETERNALLY SUFFERING MARK WAYNE MOHR, AKA MOUNTAINPEM THE BLOGGER OF WOE WITH ME'S!!!!!!!!

This whole entire ugly nasty ass fucking turd eating mess is done by and through the EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND SOCIETY and the tool they use and employ to get their evil demonic fucking shit accomplished. That of course is 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' 'MIND CONTROL' and yes, lots and lots of endless mother fucking nasty ass messy covert stealthy MIND CONTROL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SOSO-WEIN-SSDD, HUH WONDERFUL SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA OF SAINT LUCIE COUNTY, FLORIDA, DPAESMWG?????????? So let us discuss this a wee bit more, since I am being persecuted to death with a major DEATH SIEGE BOTBAR DAY AGAIN, kind sir.

My life has run in a precise and definite PATTERN ever since August 15, 1986, upon my coming out of some wild and beyond Twilight Zone experience, old TZ or new TZ! My point here however is the word PATTERN. If you were trying to solve a crime here in your great county kind sir, and you found a pattern; you would use that pattern to help you to solve that crime, and would so instruct all of the LEO's underneath your command to do so likewise, am I wrong sir? Well, my life has absolute perfect patterns too in this MILITUFORCE NIGHTMARE. My blogs have accurately told the story of these patterns all throughout thirteen and a half years of these BOM that began early in January of 2006, and is still running with nearly 170 kilo-hits. When I say that every time these dirt balls next to me in unit #605, begin another assault on me, after a very short back off period; a giant ROACH COLONY ATTACK also follows, is this not a LEGITIMATE FUCKING PATTERN, SIR? Would you dismiss shit like this if instead of nut case whack job Mountainpen, it was some huge case like that monster prick that just got sentenced last week for killing that poor little girl's parents and then kidnapping her for eighty-eight days? I know what I know sir, and I know that absolute patterns continue to happen to me, and just because nobody can explain most of my problems in some rational logical way, this does not in any way lessen or reverse the original truths of what is around me indeed being real and happening to me all of these long fucking years and decades now, since my leaving the mighty and super strange place called COOLEY HALL of Haddonfield, New Jersey, mysteriously removed from the world as was the Haddonwood Health Club, as soon as I began either blogging about it as in the case of Cooley Hall, or trying to find the mysterious alien 'SARAH' back in my Haddonwood days. How much of all of this shit being done against me could be possible or real, unless we take seriously, Sheriff sir, the reality of MIND CONTROL, and since the majority of police officers seem to be religious and of some faith in a supreme being, then I ask you to find any part of biblical statements that deny any of the topics claimed to be happening in my life in my Morianity story and on these Mountainpen Blogs. Mind Control is everything, and the technology to do it is merely a super advanced radio frequency control that permits this to become a very real weapon. Also, the ESS group is not all just the Astral Plane COINS and COILS. They obviously need worker-bees here in the human world. Look at the greatest proof to that claim in the BIBLE, the story of GOD telling MOSES to free the Jewish People from the bondage of their Egyptian masters and oppressors. Then there is Noah and saving a small group of humanity, and then Jonah being told how to save a city called Ninavah. I could list a zillion huge tales from scripture, proving how the Astral World Authorities (AWA) or the mighty MILLIONTH-COUNCIL engages assistance with their plans for humanity, by coming to certain peeps here, and demanding and commanding them to obey them and do their bidding. One way or another, Morianity does not open any new doors whatsoever, me kind Sheriff sir, it is all about MIND CONTROL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And yessir I will be harping big time on this throughout the time left while I live in total fucking misery here in this PUBLIC HOUSING HELLWHOLE APARTMENT, and being persecuted to death by monster scoundrel subskummites from DOGTOWN, AKA HELL!!!! I would call all the scoffers and disbelievers in Morianity total quintessential fools, BUTTERCHEESE and BIG ASS BUTTTTTTT, I do not wish to be in DANGER FROM THE MILLIONTH COUNCIL (MC), to quote our Lord Jesus Christ, again, open up the great Holy Scriptures to the New Testament and read the four gospels where it begins. You will see why I do not wish to call you all a bunch of silly and ignorant fools. Poor old Yancy-Firedog Ricky Mark here on the Earth-Planet, stuck here in misery until my wonderful LIGHTNING comes into my place and takes me home with HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, HOLLER, HOLLER, AND SO ON, HOLIDAYS FOR ME ARE ALL A PART OF THAT GREAT GAME OF SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KRASSLE'S; AND ONE OF HER VERY FAVES, IF I MAY BE 'PERMITTED' TO ADD IN HERE ALSO, UNCLE BABYLON GOZZWALD HEINZ, CAMERA OPERATING MAVIN OF 1972! So let's take this and start to play this great PEARL HARBOR GAME, with the great SSJKK. Every time I ever used to do anything at all, between late 1986 and right through the present time, to in any way try and either improve my personal life situation in any possible way, or try and get someone to listen to me and believe my problem with all of this fucking dog shit is really real, EXPLORATRONS from the ESS would get into peeps around me, and every time with no exceptions, make them real noisy, make them do bad shit to me such as damage my property or worse; and this pattern is beyond any chance in a trillion fucking trillion to that amount of an exponential power, to one; against being just a random pattern of sameness, happening over a near three solid fucking decade period in time.

Patterns and timing, and never real protection. Doing things that they can't do. Making skies just a wee bit blue. Telling them the things I knew, 'cause I AM HERE. They sure were dancin' away to my mother fucking songs over at the Moorestown, New Jersey McDonald's that day; huh Wonderful Oprah Winfrey, like WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW????

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My life has reverted mother fucking back to the nightmare it was in 1986 when all this mother fucking 'REAL-GOOD-GIRL' fucking shit all started, on August 15, 1986!!!!!!!! But is this the only timeless great Paste-In? I think fucking not. How's trying this shit on for size, Charles Barkley, old BB buddy, YO? yes, the STOCK MARKET DOUBLED in this tiny fucking 3 year period of 95-97, and 1997 was as bad for me as 1986, and now, HERE WE FUCKING GO ALL OVER AGAIN!!!!! Hey kid, I wish you a very happy Halloween, and where are your bucking ears? I know, you are going to tell me that they're under me bucking hat, you pirate you. ONGUARD, Mister Russell MCTHAXTON! Lots and lots and lots of other pirates have stolen my entire life. Songs, daughters, sanity, you name it Sheriff, as the list is as endless and exhaustive as the fucking seas of the world!

We could literally play the great PEARL HARBOR GAME FOREVER, and this is exactly what I plan to do in this new book-blog. I'll be pasting in archived proofs, then tell how it all connects, and then count these up, one, two, three, and let all of you out here see for your fucking selves, that this pattern goes into the thousands, and not all of them are since my blogs started, since these blogs only go back close to eight and a half mother fucking years, and this hell on me since 08/15/1986, is quite a bit longer than this; still; I PLAN TO SHOW ALL OF YOU SOME REAL MIND DESTROYING PROOF, and if anyone chooses to read along and go JOSEPH PAGET CRAZY, this is an official mother fucking disclaimer. Take that to the great and wonderful Toronto Dominion Bank, oh wonderful Mister Crichton sir. Get out of his way everybody, old Walt is driving that war ambulance away from the battlefield. Makes anyone think of another great dude, such as ol' grampa Speers? Talk about a human warp engine, forget flesh engines, lovely FBI-LOOPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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HELP ME, MISTER FREGGIN; BEEGIE AND ROBIN GIBB HILL FARMSHIRE. And Mister Smith said that mathematics is so fucking totally impersonal. YEAH YEAH YEAH right, huh lovely Melanie Rollerskates Safka. BANG BANG BANG BANG, THREE FUCKING DAYS STRAIGHT OF THESE EVIL MONSTER NABES FROM FUCKING DOGTOWN HELL, YO YO YO!!

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0523

1:10 AM-EDST ON 22 AUGUST, 2012

ONE MINUTE SHY OF JANE SLEAZEWEEDSDISEASE

BEGINNING THE BLOG:

Diana (lightning) came over yesterday afternoon again for a 7^th time, with lovely beautiful ribbons and Cloud-Ground bolt lightning strikes, filled with surreal and fantastic colors, lighting up my very soul. THANK YOU BABY BLOND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did you know, that if any group of ten people, observed any event, anywhere and anytime, that they would not be able to tell the facts in full to this event, as they would never match up, not if it was more than a black cat entered a small red doghouse and an animal fight seemed to be the result inside or something that quick and simple. This is not because of any existing reason, not by head shrinks or scientists or philosophers, as no two persons can seemingly totally agree on this either, as to the why's. Now add a videotaping or complete recording of the event. Let each person see the replay after the event took place, and before they are individually asked to give a report of what took place. Still, the same thing would happen. I am perhaps onto a tiny fraction of what is behind some really powerful OZ-curtains, but just a small fraction, not the entire deal by any means, still I will tell a little tiny bit of this on this blog. First I'll say this much. Anyone can hear a person tell a wild story and all the time they hear the teller of the story insist on its truth and validity, the listener has a various degree of beliefs and doubts, as to the full substance and total of what they are hearing. I challenge anyone to do this, before we go ahead and march on a ways. Without really thinking so hard you sweat, begin with one thing that happened to you, I do not care what, something you said or did, something done or said to you, something you witnessed, or any of many other possible things, but begin with some part of each month, going back month after month, and tell me how far back you get in months or years and months, before you find it difficult to just get one clear thing in your mind from somewhere in any one particular month. Also, tell me you do not have to almost mysteriously wonder, if the other people around you if the item involves a person as it may or it may not, that is up to you; but be sure some of them do, and ask yourself just how you think in your most honest mind, this other person or persons there, at that month, would be perceiving what you are perceiving. These little mind games and mind tricks are indeed done at labs that study the mind, but let me tell you a little bit that you won't hear there or anywhere, in case you might just be at all interested. Things or events, or whatever; are not happening at all; and this is the hugest cosmic illusion of the Virtual Reality game of Waking Life, that we all are sharing right now. In this game, we definitely have scoundrels and evil monstrous folks, as well as darn right decent good people. Naturally, the majority are always a group that lays within some magical zone, that would exist someplace smack dab in the middle gray range in-between the other extremes. But excluding the most rotten wicked evil few at the extreme end of the scale, who might just be able to kill their grandmother and laugh, for the most part; we all are trying to coexist in some relatively peaceful cohabitant environment, in a very weird new global society, here in the present times. My life has something that war veterans can all relate to, two things in fact. All though I never served my country in the military, I share these two following items with those who did. One is a lot of traumatic experiences, and the other is not always being able to line things up in a rational time order, where our personality, our life, our very core beingness, altered in one or more ways and at one or more times. I have gone out of my way to show a lot of mindsets over the past five years or so, along with reporting my life on these blogs, by this I simply mean, I will introduce subjects that could possibly be related to things I tell and blog about, such as missing time and forgetting things in strange ways and UFO study and all things along these lines, or then I may discuss conspiracy theories or paranormal phenomenon, and then scientifically related topics such as the Quantum Theories and Dynamics. I can, and have, gone on and on, and spoken many things; but all of this, is just to get folks to stop being endless blank tapes, and try and get a few people on the road towards heavy thinking.

I can only keep trying to put things together, and I am human, I make mistakes, I get moody, I get depressed and angry, sue me for being flesh and blood, I'm sorry. Still, this does not change a thing. These words just tell you that I've been walking you all through a lot of wild areas, in the hope of getting you to think on a wider ranging scale in general, before we step Morianity up to any newer or bigger levels. Anyone looking hard and tagging along next to me, not only would, but I could cite case examples from days gone by, who actually HAVE told me that I am not like anyone they ever knew before in any way, and that the rules of normal physics seem to even bend from time to time, around me. Some paraphrased statements made to me from college educated and degreed people, include and are not limited to items such as: You go beyond man and his religion. Before meeting you I could rationally explain anything, but with you I am forced to admit that things go on around you that I cannot always explain. What are you into, it is effecting the lives of me, and the entire world it seems? All three of these things were said to me, one in the nineties, one in the eighties, and one in the seventies; and folks you need not be concerned with more than that, for right now. All of these people had degrees. They graduated from a good college, and were not fly by night bums, living in a building such as I do, and living off of public assistance programs. If you think any of this is what I want, or ever have asked for; you know me about as well as as you know the next approaching hurricane. If things were all planned before I ever even left High School, and they were; then they were just as easily planned before I was even here physically, because the true reality is not physical and the Quantum Physicists all totally know this, and it is admitted to. It is on unlimited television documentaries, but it is not something the leaders of the world are hoping that the mass population will start thinking seriously about, so instead; they bombard them with reality shows, talent contest shows, and other junky entertainment shows of facts and fictions. This was all a totally laid out plan, from the days when Hollywood the great, was BORN. I know this. I had a mother who had a wild so called psychic cousin named Maud Huntington. She knew things. One of those things that she knew, I dared to sing about in a song that I sent to the US © Office in 1986 called, “Rip Off Town”, AND THIS MAY HAVE JUST AS EASILY HAVE BEEN WHAT STARTED THIS ATTACK ON MY LIFE OR ITS WORSENING FROM WHERE IT ALL READY WAS LAYING SEMI DORMANT IN THE FIRST PLACE, AS THAT OTHER SONG FROM THE SAME ALBUM, AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT THAT WAS, 'RGG'.

For reasons that no one can ever know, many things happen every day, every hour, every minute, to all of us, so I am no different from any other living being, not as far as that is concerned. As for citing one particular thing that happened to me, just tonight in this PHA Building in Fort Pierce, Florida, USAESMWG, with my next door subwoofer dude neighbor; he gave me a nice personal concert for an hour or so, and then it got quiet, and he has not done this in quite a while, so I asked the GAWNUM why this event happened as it did and when it did, and out came PCN-963, and more than ten-thousand good reasons for what is going on, or maybe we can forget the thousand part for now, yet, it is still very pertinent, and I need not go on with that. Many wild things are in the wind all around me, but things started to take a shape all its own on Watergate Day, shortly after I decided to redo an old 1983 song called, “Girl, I'll Tell you Anything”, and make a few changes to it, very minor ones, Mister American Express Goldman Mountainpen Miners, but enough to make me see that stuff I thought I just might be imagining, was not at all imagined, as music and the mind, are two things incapable of having their pants catch fire. Indeed, the great inescapable CALLIO CLAN, is just that, no matter what I do, or hard I try; as this is first a world of E, and then later and after, it is a world of M. Even the great New-Age author Mister Castaneda knew this, and wrote about this in his fantastic books back in the nineties. Thus a young fifteen year old, does not go down to the seashore to work a summer time job, and end up in a wild series of intra-nightly-dreaming-experiences with a wild family from the so-called future; and then poof, the future has been here now since the days of Approximate Haddonwood Gerard Styles Shadows, of all shades, light and bright, or dim and dark.

Now for those not reading these blogs and words at blogger dot com, you need to go back to blog number 0500, found at the URL given below, and re-read the story of my mom that I began to print in sections, as it will continue now on this blog, and be pasted into blog sites where as far as they're concerned, it seems to just begin here, so go back, and read it folks. The second URL is to archive older stuff at the blogger site; but use the first address for the newer stuff.

http://www.theansweristheqyuestioncontin ues.blogspot.com/

http://www.drunkenhive.blogspot.com/

SUICIDE, OR WAS IT?, BY GRACE EASTMAN MASON—1977.

Once more, overwhelmed with chagrin, I visited my cousin for just the weekend this time. It was such a lovely home, sprawling by the beach overlooking a bay. Again I collected myself to face the future. My only request of him was that somehow he continue to provide transportation to work. I realize now that what I should have said was - “please give me a little time to find another means to commute even if I have to move”. But, at times like this, he was very uncommunicative. He had not even given a reason, nor would he, for this very sudden and shocking change. Upon returning from my trip, I asked my doctor for a prescription for my nerves, and told him why. On the way home from work I picked up the pills at the store.

Next morning I met him outside my apartment building ready for work as usual. I managed to get through the day. But, that night there were many buzzes and knocks on my door. I did not respond as I had gone to bed early. When the knocks and buzzes pounded in my ears, I could not go to sleep. It left me little alternative but to answer the door. I did. There stood both man and wife, staring at me. The rest is somewhat vague, but they did come in. I do not recall whether or not I invited them.

Not one word did he utter during their brief visit, but his wife talked continuously. She reprimanded me for having gone out with him, even though he had not been home more than three times in the past two years and during which time their divorce was in process. I was at a loss for words. It was too much to bear.

Then came the full impact – the second blow which I was not yet prepared to handle. As he sat there with nothing at all to say, she pointed her finger at me and said harshly – “My husband is never to take you to work again”.

Sometime during all this, he had quickly walked out of my apartment. I do not recall at just what point, or why. Everything became hazy.

This will conclude the reading of my mom's sad story about her office romance that went horribly wrong, back in the year of 1976.

This will also conclude the blog for today, other than for my making this final little insertion here folks. If I had a silver freaking nickel for every spurious event in the life of me or the close in part of my family, as well as all the wild stuff in the life of other parts of the family that will be endlessly beyond blogger limits, I would be at least a seven figure boy.

WHAAAAAAAAHA-AHA-AHA, MCNULTY!!!!!!!

THE GLOBAL ENLIGHTENMENT OF MORIANITY.

THE RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM THREE

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER MARK MUD, SECTION-W

1:39 POST MERIDIAN

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

1 JUNE, 2019

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

Mark Wayne Mountainpen Huntington Mohr

May 21, 2019 10:00 PM – May 28, 2019 9:00 PM

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WHAAAAAAAAHA-AHA-AHA-AHA.

END TRANSMISSION.

The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

Wednesday, June 5, 2019

ETERNAL JOURNAL OF SONGWRITER MARK MUD, X

the continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

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