BTAT—CHAPTER 0015
9:09
ANTE’ MERIDIAN
JANUARY
23, 2023
BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:
I am under one of the worst death hell sieges of all time,
and it is being done in somewhat more clever ways yet follows the same old
endless mother fucking pattern for anyone who would know what to look for and
should be observing me as ADA Ron Wirtz Senior used to do after meeting him at
his office on the 5th day in December of 1989, up in Camden, New
Jersey-USAESMWG. Saturday was fairly okay but yesterday, Sunday was lots of
hellish bull shit. The typical after 10-AM air persecution was right there
followed by later noise persecution with fireworks and music from scum hole
shit lickers in the distant community around me. I have many enemies all over
this county and town, and all due to the Exploratronic Supermind and their evil
inhuman society that Morianity calls and labels the ESS (Exploratronic
Supermind Society). When SSJKK, following my I-Ching soul-trip on Pearl Harbor
Day of 1996, said to me, “Let’s play a game boy, called {Guess the Name of the
Guests}”; notice the totally mother fucking unmissable pattern of both the
pun-words used by HER, GUESS & GUESTS, and the (ESS) in
the both of them. To followers of the Diagnostic Statistical Manuel which is
the DSM or the psych book of total authority; stuff like what I am saying is
all part of delusional and magical thinking that is associated with the mental
disease condition known as schizophrenia. You will believe whatever you wish,
them or me. I of
course know from life-long experience that they are merely in the dark ages,
when referenced from a more glorious future time of enlightenment.
Einstein proved that all things indeed connect inside of the atoms, and so here
where the atoms are all clumped together, those same energies are in control,
and even the great Professor AE didn’t seem to realize it. Most likely this was
due from the resulting effect that Morianity refers to as the ‘spirit of the
times’. I didn’t make up the concept of that by the way so please don’t fucking
credit me when no credit is due. TANKS & BOOM!
Yes world, all throughout this entire month and year, the persecution on me by
these dirt bag fucking MISOE scum bag shit eaters is off the dials and scales,
and only in recent times of last autumn while I was attempting to begin
starting up this project that truly started in January of 2006, were things
this cunt chewing horrendous for mother fucking twat licking pitiful whittle
Mountainpen, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!! Gee whiz golly Gash-Dern, Mister nothing
prophets of 1988. SOOOOOO what GIBBS here,
Sir Arthur Crane
of TCE, and great illustrious LOC?
A child knows that the
same old shit is happening at least basically. I mean the ICPE-APE-technology
being behind all of my intense endless suffering by this evil fucking SPACEFORCE, and AKA the MISOE from now on great
folks out here. It all began during my year of professional gambling at the
Atlantic City casinos in New Jersey, back in the summer time of 1986. You all
know my story straight from Dogtown, so please don’t play dumb with me here. I
can prove beyond a shadow of doubt that parallel event is both real and that it
indeed can be intentionally used against people just as the MISOE has been
doing to pathetic tortured me ever since 08-15-1986 by this pure mother fucking
unadulterated filthy disease. I have blogged half a dozen times or more now,
exactly how to take numbers from 1-38 or any grouping of them, split them into
three parameter groupings, and then how to chart and graph in very easy stick
figure records of the number outcomes, when a strong parallel event comes along
when comparing two parameters with the following outcome’s remaining parameter,
such as for example in a game of roulette, every time a RED-HIGH number comes
out, there is now a following outcome of 35 ODD and only 7 EVEN numbers. From
now on, any time that any red and high number comes out, simply bet a lot of
money for the ODD to come out next time. Well, these enemies know that every
time they persecute me, it has a goddamn fucking HUUUUUUUGE-parallel-event of
causing shit to go ‘their’ way, so who is ‘THEY’, and what is “THEIR WAY”, what
is this all about? SIMPLE as dogshit stinks, folks! It simply means that
powerful people (THEY) whenever they need for anything whatsoever to happen in
their favor, it increases the chances for their success if they harass poor
victim of this nightmare hellishness, me!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is that simple Lads
& Lassies, nothing is really complicated; and as weird and crazy as it
sounds, parallel event is real, it is provable, it exists, and yes, IT HAS BEEN USED ON ME NOW, AND STILL IS BEING USED AGAINST
ME RIGHT TO THIS PRESENT FUCKING SECOND, by this sick ass monstrous disease;
for more than three dozen goddamn years now, YO BRAH! Notice how the
DJIA stock market corresponds endlessly for four cock sucking decades, to this
hell they put me through, and it never stops, and living in fucking Florida
means absolutely nothing, they have trapped me in some outlandish bizarre time
warp of PURE FUCKING CUNT HELL, and you all know this out
there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My favorite fucking hack is on me today big
time, the SPACE-BAR horse shit hack, oh lovely Mizz Hill. They are able to hack
my mind directly as well as this computer or any machine, and there ain’t beans I can do about it, Uncle Stuart
and Pink Goddess.
Talk about endless proofs, you all know I have listed a beyond HUUUUUUUGE
non-Sanders grouping of mindboggling wild junk, since my project started up
here last fucking September. I am being hacked right now and may have to pull
out my flash drive and put it into another machine here, as it is freezing up
when I am trying to save the document every few sentences. The library says the
computers are showing their age, but we all know that the MISOE does not like
it when I expose their hell on me with this parallel event nightmare and this
is when this fucking shit all started up, right folks? It has gone back to
normal, as exposing this shit is always the correct thing for me to do.
Persecution on me this year has been beyond mother fucking intense and hellish
this year so far, and pretty soon, I will have someone do something that will
increase traffic to this blog by a factor of ten thousand percent, bringing
annual hits to over three-mill. This is not a joke or an empty threat. For
right now, let me tell you some beyond HUUUUUGE mother fucking bull-shit folks
since they have made my life an endless living hell all week and weekend, all
month and so yes, all year, and using both ICPE-APE-TECH as well as MAP-TECH
against me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am on another machine now and got some help from
staff, as someone is making MY LIFE A MOTHER FUCKING LIVING HELL. I know, just
as did Arthur Crane, back at Thomson Consumer Electronics in 1992, that “I am imagining very little if any of this”,
an exact quote from a man who told me that NSA is doing all of these things to
me, but who is NSA, and what are the RO’s, Tommy Krassle boy of 1969? As spoken
by me B4 recently on prior blogs, the Registered Operatives, or many of them
are in truth T-3-E’s. When I talked about the Exploratron, and exploratronic
activity as well as their society called the ESS, back at the start of this
project just over 17 YEARS AGO in 2006; this is when they felt it urgent to
stop me in a way that I had no power to stop. They used TIME TRAVEL. Professor Kaku sir, I
know perfectly well that we cannot travel physically, but I also know that we
can do it spiritually, and the BIBLE is filled with information on this subject,
and an unmissable pattern is all through the old religion system where it says
over and over how things were DONE, so as to FULFILL a certain prophecy. Once
you get onto what is really happening, this is when things in my life for one
example, begin to fucking clear up real goddamn fast, YO peeps!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If these secret agencies were not all long taken over by these registered
operatives, there is no way that all of this shit could be happening around me
as it has been all these goddamn fucking years now, people. At first when I
spoke of exploratronics on these blogs back in 2006, I was the only one using
the word and I know it because I GOOGLED it up
later on, after Eddie H.L. showed me how to do that. I was the only one out on
the net with this, the GOOGLE took me right to the BOM and no other place. Now
I have completely vanished and now I’ve made to appear as some liar when I make
this claim. I do not lie here. They were able to go back, spiritually, in time,
and bring many other things and realities into this and using that word, and
then with the ranking system that is based on quantity of traffic, they were
able to direct millions to their sites and so I vanished away with my tiny few
views. We all know this is how the internet system operates, so don’t bother to
try and tell me otherwise as I know. I know that you know this too. We can get
back to this and we will, but for now, notice how RO is pronounced like ROW, or
even ROWE as in 1969 musician artist Tommy. What I have yet to discuss on this
17-year blog project called the BOM, is how one of Tommy Rowe’s songs fits into
that incredible spiritual experience, or the (incredible dreaming interaction)
that I experienced back in middle December of 1969, while residing at the
Dellway Arms Apartments where SSJKK-Pink Goddess
took the chain from me. Not only has noise and areal harassment been off the
scale bad for me this month and year, but I SUFFERED
WITH ANOTHER MAJOR UTILITIY ASSAULT ON ME, FCC. Last week I was under an
off the dials assault with a 4-straight day MISOE ASSAULT-SIEGE and the 4th
day of it began at 7 in the moUUUUUUrning and went on most of the day, and then later, my ROKU system was fucked with illegally
again. This is the 2nd time now, FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS
COMMISSION, and both times, the assault is done as follows. It starts to
freeze and run slower and slower when I try to do anything at all, and then
finally, it just won’t work at fucking cunt all. It is not the
remote or the batteries, as when the shit stops it is as though nothing ever
was wrong, and during the attack, I always change to brand new batteries
straight out of the box but no fucking dice, Julia White or Julian black. Not
even goddesses Pink for that matter, oh wonderful world. Yes this was all back
on Thursday and Friday was bad but a wee bit better, and then the ROKU acted up
again, so I am mailing my new complaint-letter to the
FCC about this ILLEGAL-ROKU-TV-ASSAULT by MISOE! I am recently getting
mild heart assaults along with the continuous bowel assaults from the evil
MISOE HAVANA DEATH WEAPON. There is a powerful connection to the Russia-Ukraine
situation and my blog, and anyone can see it who has ever followed it for
recent years since Trump got into office, and how those two nations showed up
on my blogger-view showing international views based on color brilliance, the
darker the more, and the lighter the less. You know none of this is being made
up nor fabricated in any way. The MISOE tries to shut all of this up, but they
cannot do it 100%. During last week’s hellishness on me; we had the other
problem in the government with the debt ceiling as well as the Russian spy ship
that was sited off the waters near Hawaii. I am not able to always get the news
in a trustworthy way, between not knowing enough about how to work all of the
features of the ROKU-TV system, and the way it does not offer actual
TV-channels, ever, at least I cannot access any real channels. I plan to go
back to cable television and would suggest that for anyone who is able to
afford it. I am very poor and am living very dirt poor, and trying to save and
survive. So I cannot always get proper news reports, I simply am not that smart
as so many others are in this mother fucking digital goddamn age. This is not
my age, I didn’t fucking grow up in these times, and I hate this goddamn
fucking total shit, and always goddamn mother fucking will, YO YO YO YO!!!! By
the way I made lots of errors, PBHE’s, and as I think of them, I will correct
and amend on present blogs. I said my mental age as Kane was 8, I of course
meant to type in 11. All the magic is in dividing it all by 8. You see the
reason is simpler than a lollypop melting in a hot car on a dashboard in the
July sunshine. The oldest person on record died at age 969, the great
Methuselah. It is recorded in the great Old Testament Bible Scriptures for
anyone out here to read and see for themselves. Divide 969 by 8 and we get the
oldest few on record today who died, at age 121 years. It is precise and right
down to the penny. This is what I base on the begat times and generations and
all of it. When I received my 14 MK Dogtown sentence that was in my song lyrics
of 2007 on my revised LOIS FOCA song originally done in 1981 with Tom Glenn’s
fantastic guitar at my 1802 Robin Hill apartment in Voorhees, New Jersey,
USAESMWG, a minnina-kalpa (MK) is rounded off to 889 years as kalpa is 8
million and minnina means one 9,000th of something, and so that
period was my sentence when all is said and done. I did not have to do it all
because there is a sentence-reducing-wheel or ‘SRW’ that only Pink goddess
SSJKK is allowed to spin, that is right at the gates of Dogtown underneath a
large area where the head of the guard force is stationed, and this HUUUUUUUGE
dog that is like a horse sized Pitbull Dog of today, and is the chief of
security, and who has a mortal world name that was even mentioned in that great
60’s TV-soap show, “Dark Shadows”, by Mister Barnabas Collins on one particular
occasion. But that SRW is a wheel that has the same numbers on it three times
in thirds of its arc area, and SSJKK spun it and reduced my Dogtown sentence by
the same amount of mortal world time that matched the time from then to the
time of this blog project’s beginning. Numbers 1-14 appear three times over in
perfect order on this great gigantic wheel. SSJKK spun the highest number, one
of the ‘14’ numbers. This was needed along with what on mortal situations could
be thought of as TIME-SERVED, to allow my immediate release. But I am not
allowed 2B turned back from DOG into mortal form in the Purgatory until the
actual sentence runs out. Again, since no time is in Purgatory, this is a
similar truth to how much mortal world time on average based on any or all
possible type of interactions good or bad, that we can experience, would feel
like 889 years, and this is one MK or minnina-kalpa. There is too much to get
into, and it would take a century to type in the full details to much of these
things. We will come back to many of these things.
Right now, let me get
onto the topic of how seemingly my daughter wanted to have a lot of stuff that
I promise you all, Mister Mike Gutherman would in no way wish to have any part
of. I speak of my old landlord back in the great fucking bicentennial year of
1976, as well as the final months in 1975 as well, when I resided across from
the Stratford, New Jersey Kennedy Hospital in Greenblatt’s shithole apartment
system on the second story above a long row of L-shaped doctor and medical
offices, always medical stuff, another unmissable as well as inescapable
parallel for the Mountainpen, huh BRAHHHHHHHHH?????????? Still, how did Mister
MG manage as a homeless person living in his truck, to successfully look me up
and find me in the space of three months give or take a month after I had left
there to move into a neighboring town called Clementon, at the Carriage Lamp
Apartments, and later to become the New York Apartments, and a wild connection
of SAFET bullshit, that is beyond outlandishly unbelievable? I tried to find
the great SARAH of Atlantic City, and I was not homeless but a resident of a
home that I owned that in today’s market value, would be well over a quarter
million dollars. I had total unsecured credit of well over half that much in
addition, a paid for automobile, and yet was unable to do shit to locate Sarah
of Atlantic City. How did this homeless man find me in a couple of lousy
months? Still, I had given him a lot of my personal junk that I did not wish to
lug with me to my move from the old place to the CL Apartments. So there are
several mysteries involved in all of this that will be explored as time moves
onward, folks. For right now I wish to discuss how my giving him some personal
things altered his life instantly from having a lovely apartment with magical
stairs going from a second to a third level, something nobody anywhere has
except for the one in my daughters wild movie taking place in Harlem, in 2009,
and copied the numerously times blogged STAIR-CHASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pink
Goddess knows fully well that this is not being made up. But let us get on
other things about this and HER. When we exist here, we all, and yes all of us,
in various ways and degrees and amounts, have a sort of dream image connection
in our lives, that of our waking-self-reality and then those other parts of our
self. Nobody in
this dark age time understands it and so just merely discussing it seriously
makes us a crack pot, and that is simply ‘the way the story goes’ with this;
huh Mister Neilson, sir. Still, my daughter wanted Midge the dog,
and without the karate kicking bugs in Cifaloglio garages sir Horse Bill, she
wanted the open reel recorder, and yes, in our non-waking world, she and hubby
or X-hubby, wanted the time box. Now without any roof dogs howling away in
Atlantic City over the building called 10-SC Avenue Arcade where WAYV-FM Radio
used to play from in 1997, we all have heard her great hit songs about this as
well as traveling back, now tell me peeps, am I lying? Am I making this all up?
Am I land owning lovely big-O??????????????? So what is all this goddamn
“McFly” crap all about, for crissing out loud? Here we go again, more fucking
computer hacking and SAVE-HACK woe-whiz-me’s. Well,
Pink Goddess is pissed off at me, huh world? But there is so much
incredible mind boggling fucking shit happening here that I could type for
years and not barely say shit. I can prove to everyone who is willing 2B open minded that
every claim made in these 17 years of blogs known as the BOM, is all 100% true,
real, and totally fucking accurate. I have no reason to lie. I only
want my story to come out, because someone out there
is directly responsible for the total ruination and destruction of my entire
fucking life. If this happened to me
then it can happen to any of you theoretically. I may not know just
exactly who this is or who they are so that I could give names in a court of
law, but I could legally state that I have made an honest attempt to get to the
bottom of my unspeakable fucking nightmare of four solid damn decades now,
without success, and that I will not quit until they
manage to put me six feet below the mother fucking dirt!!!!! Another
powerful proof to the switching, Professor Michio Kaku kind sir, beyond what I
told you so far in last year’s blogs; is the recent re-spelling of my 1999
girlfriend’s name, Mizz Helen Zabriskie. I never had the word respelled when I
typed it in, not on any computer’s spell-check Word-Program system. NEVER! I do
not make this up. Maybe, just maybe it has to do with spelling the beginning of
the name, ‘ZA’ as opposed to ‘ZE’, I will leave that as a more plausible
possibility, but I refuse to rule out the equally possible ‘switching’
possibility, professor, sir.
Today is
officially SUPER FUCKING CUNT BOTBAR, the computer is crashing over and
over, and I will be going to another third computer soon.
The library says that something is wrong, and these systems are old, so all I
can do is keep going here. I lost the part where I began discussing that if you
have a personal audio or video library, you are able to randomly select
anything and it will absolutely pertain to what is happening at that exact time
and day of your life. Many, as I once did, believe that peeps are directly on
some human level, fucking with us when we turn something from the radio or
television on, and we just were talking about that same thing or it just
happened to us while we were out on an errand, or whatever. It is not someone
out there fucking with us, but we are being fucked with. It is all the same
fucking shit as Einstein’s “SPOOKY-FORCES”, and he merely used that term
because at those times, both he and the scientific community were clueless to
many of the now known and accepted truths in the worlds of astrophysics and the
behaviors of many subatomic energies. All things in the world of the
micro-small actually are connected together. This is not some paranoia, this is
scientific fact. I may have to quit for today soon and come back later, it has
never been this bad. I have a fucking total weirdo screwing with me on top of
this hacking, and most likely he is doing it, and is one of the mother fucking
ESS-operatives. Today is doing me a major favor as miserable as the fucking
cunt MISOE is making me here. It is time to call the Geek guy up, and have my
home system connected up so that this library can be a thing of the mother
fucking past for me. My paranoia is through the cock sucking roof right now, and
this is now my fifth fucking cunt major super botbar day for 2023, and the
month of January.
Let me now talk about Tommy Rowe and his great song from 1969,
called “Jam Up and Jelly Tight”. This is
connected up totally HUUUUUUUUUUUUGE-hyper-time with the Sarah Krassle December of 1969 dream
experience that I had with the great Henningsen motor-cycle chain. The
very night B4 going off to sleep and having that wild incredible interaction
with SARAH KRASSLE, I randomly had my
little radio on, and a Philadelphia station playing on it; and I had never
heard it B4, and it was this song by Tommy Rowe. Later on, I found out that the
flip side of the 45-RPM record contained his song called “Dizzy”. But the main
side was his 1969 hit single, and this took place right shortly B4 my day had
ended and if memory is serving me at all correctly after over half a century,
this took place within a half hour following watching a great show on
television called “Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates”. The exact reason that
this connection exists is not presently known to me nor was it ever, not beyond
simply being totally aware that ever since that following day after the
experience and after the jet vapor trail of the triple lined ‘X’, that I would
play the song over and over since while the radio was on the night B4 the
dream, I also had my little portable cassette tape recorder on and recorded it
from the radio. It was a tinny little poor quality recording, but in those
times, I didn’t know the difference between that and a really great sound. But
I do remember that I would play that song over and over again and every single
time it played, I could do nothing other than think about Sarah Krassle and how
incredibly awesome and beautiful she was. I remember one other strange part to that story and I
already know that many will refuse to believe I am telling you the truth as
things just don’t happen like this, or do they? Whenever I’d play the song for
the entire winter season and even throughout the spring time in 1970 and think
of Sarah Krassle, I also got a weird picture in my mind about how the area
there in Atlantic City would appear in a much larger or maybe a better word is
‘glorified’, scene, and my mind would begin seeing the entire Tennessee Avenue
from the boardwalk all the way down for two blocks to Atlantic Avenue, as one
giant structure which in my mind was the Trinidad Hotel. This one structure was
the entire block from 10-SC Avenue to the area that resembles an alley way half
way between to the next block over to the north, and at the far north-west
corner was a gigantic parking lot system that I never even saw in those times
and days that resemble those today in Atlantic City that go up ten levels at
some of the casino’s in town. Back in 1970 however, none of this was there, and
also, I had not ever even seen anything resembling a high-rise parking lot
system, other than one nearby where I lived in Philly half a decade earlier,
while I was living at 2041 Chestnut Street, Apartment 24-A, as an 8 and 9 year
old boy. This same structure, in a wild dream up in 1997 and 27 years later on;
was a perfectly identical match. I saw in my waking mind, a vision in the
beginning of 1970, one that matched a dream that I would later have just over
27 years in the future in my forties. In this incredible fucking a dream,
someone killed the car, and just as someone in waking life had done to my
SATURN CAR, at Turnersville, NJ-USA’s Pathmark Shopping Center. A policeman
came along in that dream, and I was with my mother; and just as I was in waking
life during an earlier day of terror. I then said to the policeman that my mom
and I need help and that someone had broken our car. Then this officer in my nightmare
replied back to me in a mocking and jeering voice, “Yeah
sure, I’ll help you, WHEN YOU’RE DEADS”! But the point is not the
nightmare that I literally awoke from in a cold sweat back in the Somerdale
death house; but is that I saw in a mind-vision at age fifteen, the future
place in some alternate reality where my mom and I suffered a similar
car-assault, as was done to us in waking life with the Saturn car, at the
Turnersville Pathmark Shopping Center by that Indian man who terror-threatened
to murder the both of us, on that horrendous day of August 2nd, in
the year of fucking cunt 1996. That same nightmare was all part of the wild
dream where I was with that gorgeous Spanish girl who was either my business
partner or my wife and we both were residing in room #323 at this Trinidad
place that was literally 100 times larger than here in this waking world. Mind
boggling connections exist in all of this Atlantic City shit and it would take
a year of steady non-stop typing to tell a small fraction of all of it as well
as its many meanings. One thing I do know and that is that enemies can do
things that no human explanations exist for how they are done. My computer
hacks right here today prove this same thing. In cars, the hacks are even
greater. I call it a magical circuit when it is in a car, but it is merely a
word choice on my part, and you may wish to label it in your own type of
preferred verbiage. Still, I know that Merry said in a dream, “We have your
shoebox now McFly”. My name is not McFly, and Merry knows that only too well. I
know some could argue, gee-whiz, aren’t you the one that says in parallel worlds,
all various things are indeed possible, so maybe then couldn’t your name really
be McFly there? Hey, sure, whatever Congressman Greatvoice. It could, but I
think all odds are that Idabin aware of that. It is plain 2CU can take
anything, and make anything B anything; but anyone who ever watched me play
games in a casino will tell you, ‘Mark plays the odds, and the best odds. He ain’t looking
for the big payout longshot bets’. Merry knew ‘Perfectly-Pennock’
well, that my name wasn’t McFly, for crissake, YO
BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Pearl
Harbor Day of 12-07-1996 led up to McGuire day of 02-07-1997 two months later, Most remember from
previous blogs back while I blogged from Jersey both B4 the kidnapping by the
KINGS while living at the magical MMM Jenny Park as well as the two homes of
Hammonton-Berryville; where I told all about the phone booth at McGuire’s bar
and how he and Sarah Callio magically made me forget the CALLIO-NAME
immediately upon walking out of the bar on 10-SC Avenue there, as well as what
happened to the phone booth used in the bar to phone Sarah and talk to her for
a few minutes at her great water company, that bought the very same house that
I was sexually molested and abused in as a fifteen year old, on Cornwall Avenue
in Ventnor, New Jersey-USAESMWG, somehow magically breaking it and putting it
out of commission for at least a week, according to the phone company, and if
this shit was even a legitimate reality, as I trust absolutely no one, or
nothing that’s happening to me, inside of this fucking cunt nightmare hell,
BRRRRRRRR!!!! Still it was PH day of 12-96 that brought me down 2 Tennessee
Avenue and to MCG’s joint there 2 begin with folks. Two months later was when I
actually went into there. Two hours or so after waking from the I-CHING trip, or
‘whatever’, oh great Congressman pal from 1975 Bob; my mom and I drove down to
Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG, and we never went into the bar, only 2 the Trinidad
to talk to Taren and Reika Gandhi. Shortly after all of this poking around on
my part, oh Pete and Bob, another Bob, and more heroes from SAGA-MUD
songwriter-days of Atco; I was getting nowhere in my mother fucking search to
find teen goddess Sarah Krassle, and my wild incredible quest to locate her was
taking me beyond insanity since unlike landlord Mike Gutherman, the great illustrious motel chain called the SUPER 8, bought
this place. So my mom and I went into the Trinidad and spoke to the
owners there and got nowhere, and it was two months later that while driving
around the area, I decided on a wild whim to check out McG’s place and when I
went in, he was so hostile with me for no good reason that you could cut it
with a dull fucking cunt butter knife! The only lead given me on PH Day back in
1996 by the Gandhi’s was the name of Bassler. This is when I managed to look up
at the City Hall in town, later on in 1997, the great lovely Mizz Estelle
Andersen Bassler of Ormond Beach, Flower-Land AKA Florida-USA. Remember how I
told you that in some alternate parallel world reality, I have been to this
general area, and even though seeing it 4 the very first time on my trip in
oh-9 to Florida, I instantly remembered it from a series of past recurring
dreams. This is right there at Misses Bassler’s winter home. During the summer
season when I was a youth, she would operate her Bolivar Hotel there and eventually
sold it to lovely Mizz Sara J. Karge.
Mizz Karge didn’t spell her name with the ‘H’, and so that is not a typo. 5,600
words exactly now, and I’ve naught yet said anything today and I am ALREADY
SUPER FUCKING CUNT TOTAL MAJOR HYPER-TIME BOTBAR, YO BRO!!! At a
later time, I’ll open up the story of songs and movies and the entertainment
world’s sick connections into all of this hellish story. We have the Alanis Morrissett God-Goddess-movie, the song of
requesting me give all this information about Pink
Goddess, the story of the mayor of Berlin’s kid and his garbage studio
in town at the Jackson road intersection with route South #73 in 1996 shortly
after my May 12, 1996 written sonnet-song “SARAH” from Earth and not the
Canopius planet, of all great pink goddess Gary
Mitchell Star Treks all over the universe, and the list to things that
all pertain to the entire story here is endless. Forget about the less
consequential bullshit of 401’s, Virginia’s, Santa Claus’s, stock market
retirement investment plans, Christmas angels and dream prophecies; we are always
left with the most magical city in New Jersey and maybe even in the
entire goddamn country and world, EGG HARBOR CITY.
There is nothing like it since it contains the
great Mizz Leticia Tilley and the entire Tilley clan, and right
there across the little street that connects the railroad tracks with the Julia
Horse Pike, the incredible twin cupcakes transdimensional INCOLLINGO GROCERY STORE,
that this entire blog endlessly keeps coming back 2 here, me’ great wonderful
peeps!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Another great STAR TREK episode from the original 60’s
versions, is the one with Kirk’s old Academy Professor and Star Fleet Historian
John Gill. When we take that wild and wonderful episode in league with what Sir
SWAP and his pals from Dark-Net lands have discussed, and told me of long ago
and that I blogged about on my 2020 sporadic blogs; we cannot miss seeing a lot
of powerful shit with the D-copy stuff and the great dice game played for
Jesus’s bloody robe, hell, they even made a goddamn great movie out of it with
gorgeous Jean Simmons playing the part of beautiful Diana. But talk about
taking shit to a higher mother fucking level folks, where do we get off the
train here? This has unlimited items up 4 discussion. If some prick in some lab
did play around with DNA from that thing, and we do have a “D-copy”, numerous
multiplexed possibilities begin 2 surfacing here 4 realizing why I’m going
through all of these things. I have seen enough shit to know that a lot of shit
we C on the SYFY, is not really SYFY anymore.
Discussing 2 many details here could indeed get me mother fucking killed and
murdered, and yes, TODAY!!!! LIKE WO-WOW-WO-WOW-WO-WOW, Mister Macy and
pals!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! “SOOOOOOOOOO, WEEEEEEEEEEEE”, Arthur Crane and
Chester-Frank. And AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA Mister McNulty. OH SIR. The man said that I write DEVIL MUSIC, this
asshole dude at that Berlin Studio. The guy was beyond a fucking pig, he was a
moron. Anyone can go and listen to SARAH
the song, it is in my name in the great United States Copyright © Office. Go and listen, and tell me how it is “devil music”. What
force was so intensely insistent in keeping me from learning about my SARAH
back in those middle goddamn nineties???????? Some force was beyond
powerful and it wanted to shut me down and was ready to kill me, my mother, my
best pal Mister Roth, and the entire universe if necessary!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hey, for any of the Alanis Morrissett fans out there, and fans of my daughter
as well; maybe I know a bit more, and maybe you do; but
am I WROOOOOOOONG here when I draw another pink
parallel here with the completing circuit being the kidnapping of me under
Stockholm syndrome with the King Cousins, and then taking what really
happened, instead of the bullshit version that seems to
just glitter? I mean that old fuck literally had her the same way the
King’s had me, and many of you know this, so let’s quit all the bullshit, shall
we? Come on lovely Mizz Morrissett!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There indeed R
lots of powerful truths in that wild movie an dyes, I said it B4 many times and
reiterate it right now, the Entertainment Industry has astral plane knowledge
because they LITERALLY ARE THE BRIGGBASE or LAMBRIGGER CULT, or a part of
faction of them that meet here while human and dream-gating, right Sir Carlos
Castaneda Sir???????????????????
Holy Holly
Hollister for crying out loud. My mom would go thermo-nuclear back in 1802, and
those days in the very early eighties
when I would keep calling Patty, Patty Hollister. She had a real short
fuse for reasons only known by her. She would mention something about her and then
I would correct her, and repeat the name of HOLLISTER; and she would flip out, and
so I would begin to make her crazy or as they would word it today in these new
times, I would really push her buttons. But my mom and her buttons had reasons.
We all have reasons why we are so goddamn sensitive to things, and the largest
reason for most of us is when we don’t want someone to get onto something that
is being covered up by them so as to prevent you from learning or understanding
something. So why did both Patty herself and my mother conspire to keep my
daughter from me? I’ve given a few good reasons but never talked about
something that Mister SWAP said a long while back after we had only known each
other for about half a year. I won’t be tackling this today other than for a
quick opening. You heard me say my immature nature was one reason but think
about it, would someone deny a person knowledge of their own damn daughter just
because of that, for crissake? The answer pretty much should be no. But he has
a really good idea for why this was all done to me, and if he is right, I would
have to unlearn a lot of fucking shit and then be willing to relearn major new
shit about my entire family. We can go here later on Mister Rockford
Filespunch, oh Sir. Still, 1969, the holy-holly non-Hollister song, the whole damn smack, what is it
truly all about, and can we even dream somehow someday of getting 2 the bottom
of all of the YYYYYYY’s??????? So how can we ignore Sir 1969 Russ Thaxton,
and his connections with the great “L&O”-TV-show
Detective Olivia Benson and her father Joe Hollister, along with this stuff, Mister Car Salesman Gagnus of
Philadelphia? None of that fucking bullshit, Bob Gagnus Sir. Then all these
fucking damn death siege parallel events that never ever quit, as in James Tiberius Burr
and his great 1976 Bicentennial year ‘CONTINUE SYNDROME’ of endlessness,
for eating hot shit and crying out louder than Dogtown. We have the pre-Gulf
Wars military operations known as the Dark Shadows/Donna Summer initials, both of them, not even allowing a
small doubt of ‘coincidentalness’ here, called DESERT
SHIELD followed shortly thereafter by DESERT STORM. More
recently we have the McCarthy vote. Then even more recently we just had the
debt ceiling problems and wo-whiz-me’s. How can anyone out here tell me with a
straight fucking poker face that I am imagining all of this for 40 years, YO YO
YO YO YO YO ME’ BRAHHHH!!! It is 2”00 now and my blog word count shows 6847
words, and I’ve told you nothing yet, so let’s get to it peeps!!!!!!!!!
WHAAAAA-BIT Metsker and Fwuuuud! Nine million divided by eight thousand equals
a rounded off 889. This is the approximate number of years of a minnina-kalpa
of astral interaction. This is an average based on the way interactions may
cause time to feel if back on a mortal plane of physical existence. Astrally,
it is one and the same thing. We think it, and it is. That is just the way the
purgatory is, and yes, it is not some instantaneous causing of effects to then
go on and happen. It is the same thing. In energy, the thinking itself SIMPLY
IS THE REALITY. So averaging all possible type of events and one MK is what 889
years of ‘averaged all-possibilities’ of things in human life, feels like to
us. My
original 14-MK sentence shows the age that I died as Kane by applying these
mathematical THINGS IN ORDER, AND EVEN THOUGH THERE IS IN TRUTH, NO ORDER,
13,200 minus 89 years is 13,111 at the time of my jealous rage fit and the
murder of me’ brother Abel. 14 MK = 889.14 = 12,446 years, so then 12,446 minus
13,111 equals 665 years. 665 plus 89 equals 754 years. I died as Kane at the
age of 754, in the ‘Biblical Nodian’ territories. So to keep with the verbiage
of those times, I fell asleep with my fathers at the age of 754 years, roughly
at age 94 and one quarter years when converted into today’s modern day lifetime
spans and the division of eight. 94 and one quarter years was the precise
length of life that Sara J. Karge lived, born in Trenton, NJUSAESMWG on July 18th
of 1896, and died wherever she did, in early October of 1990. Another
coincidence that I find 2B a real “Raspberry Dreams” deal, kind of impossible 2
ignore in other words, YO WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!! So just how exactly did all of
this happen, and for that matter since it is quite all connected here in round
about ways, how do anyone of us end up getting on the SHAGPEL LIST? This is a pronunciation of SHAdow Government
Persecution List,
by the way. Well, we all have heard of the alien-contact thing where it is
either of the first kind, or the second kind, or the third kind, and so forth.
I of course am at what they would refer to and think of as the first, since
they know fully well that LIGHTNING, an alien being to say the least, and we live
together and we always have and always will, in the great Purgatory, in the
Ricktown manor on Astral Highway #9910 in Ricktown in the capitol province of
Olympia. Actually we do not live, we EXIST. It simply is, and until and unless
enlightened to real truth while in physical form, this makes no sense at all
2U. But the main
way to get on the SHAGPEL is simply through no fault of your own at least in
most cases folks. If you are made contact with, that’s it, to quote lovely
Cooley Hall Amy-Louise C here, me’ ole’ classmate from the very early 1970’s, “It’s
curtains closing the show time”! My fucking computer crashed again,
this is now the third time between two computers here today, and the
persecution on me is the talk of the entire library here, so this shit is
getting exposed and this problem is going to be told to the IT techies here
soon by library staff. They know something is wrong and don’t know what to
fucking cunt do about it other than get the techies on it. Still, look at what
I was typing and discussing when it happened again, the shadow government and
what they do to peeps like me, and then POW-POOF, out it goes!!!!!! This is what the lady
just said as she saw my SHAGPEL in big bright bold red letters on my blog when
I got the program back as it is saved onto the flash drive system. I have not
been this fucking persecuted EVER IN ALL THE TIME I HAVE BLOGGED HERE NOW SINCE
CUNT LAPPING SEPTEMBER OF LAST MOTHER FUCKING YEAR!!!!!!!!!!! Time
4 a HUUUUUUUUUUUGE counterstrike, a lot of peeps are gonna’ be buying the farm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
IPYT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONICCCCCCCC
MMMMMMMMMMMMMM----ALL GENERAL ORDERS. ALL SPECIAL ORDERS. ALL
COMMANDS. BOTH TECHNOLOGIES USED, ZD AND AD. SCAN FOR WHOEVER IS MAKING MY LIFE
A LIVING BURNING BREATHING NIGHTMARE FUCKING HELL DAY AND NIGHT ALL THROUGHOUT
JANUARY OF 2020 MAKING THIS YEAR MORE HORRIBLE THAN DECADES OF TIME NOW. ‘I’ TO
‘D’, A/B-TONE, PPS SYSTEM, EMPOWER A CRUSHED AND SINGED I-O ON YOUR T-B. You’re A/B tones
will sound now.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
G-901, under
CG-2985735448, under G-189, and STOP.
The world may
come to an end very fucking cunt soon if this shit is not stopped, so be warned,
and be braced folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes the SHAPEL is real,
and you can see the hell I am going through today here at the library as it is
unrivaled on any other previous fucking cunt time here. This is why they tried
to hassle me earlier with the SAVE shit not letting it save to the drive
without long waits. All computers here are effected and the staff tells me it
is impossible for a hacker to do it, only one guy says to me, impossible by any
standards that he understands but that IT DOES SEEM
TO BE HAPPENING 2U, and he is
correct!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Only TYPE 3 EXPLORATRONS can do these things because a T-3-E
is able to be energetically in control of anything, and thus, there is almost
nothing they cannot do, and the agencies know this and they have figured it out
and they know that if anyone ever believed my story it would cause an instant
fucking cunt panic that would wipe out the global economy in minutes, and they
are correct, IT FUCKING CUNT ABSOLUTELY WOULD, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is the same reason GOD is all powerful. Energy or SPIRIT has basically an unlimited
way to control or manipulate any and all physical realities. I truly know now what poor Mizz Anita Hill went
through when she tried to type and use her Word-Programs, and she
explained this in a letter to my pal David Roth and back when I read it after
he shared it with me, I did not understand any of it then as this was B4 my
blogging ever began by at least a half a decade. But
she had indeed been placed on the SHAGPEL after her run in with great powers in
our government. By the way, Paula King
did not rape me 27 years of spaced apart time, it was 29 years, as I got
mind hacked by these TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS (Halls Fawces), same thing. It was naught Mizz lovely
AT&T Blake, 1994, it was in 1996 that she came to Highview,
but she did come two years earlier in 1994 when I was living there and had just
first moved into there and had met my pal Sir Art Crane at the Super Walmart Store Shopping Center and she tried to kill
us with her car that day. If I had ten fucking cunt bucks for every goddamn
time the MISOE has assaulted me one way or another at public shopping centers
over the past four decades, I would have an extra thousand smacks in my
checking account right now peeps. I am going to go home shortly, and phone the Federal
Communications Commission and complain about the computer hacking here at this library
as well as the hacking being done to me at me’ residence on my fucking cunt ass
ROKU-TV system, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO ME’ DAMN BRO!!!!
Yes folks, when landlord
Mike Gutherman came over to my new apartment to cry on my shoulder that my
stuff jinxed his goddamn life and it did peeps, I assure you of that. What
actually did fuck him up I believe, was my croton plant. I had it for many
years at Dellway Arms Apartments where I resided, and one day, the lovely
awesome and illustrious Patty Hollister told me, as she was teaching me the
NEO-HO-CHANT over the phone; that I need to go over to some object in my room
that I plan to keep for years to come, and so I did. I went over to the living
room front area by the window and to the plant. She said for me to repeat the
chant and I had written down the words and began to chant it. She said to touch
one of the leaves and then that night to fix any green vegetable that I could
also eat uncooked. She knew all sorts of magical Wicca type stuff. She was another
of those wild Silver Ravenwolf types such as that famous witch-author. So that
night while biting into a stalk of celery and toughing the leaf of the plant
and chanting the chant, I suddenly felt a warm sensation running up my arm.
Later on a lot of spurious things that I never B4 discussed on any blog
happened with this plant. I gave it to Gutherman in the summer of 1976 on
moving day and it wiped out his entire life. He lost his great apartment, his job
as resident manager and his gorgeous beyond white hot wife Debbie also left
him, all right after giving him that croton plant. There is more to say and on
a better day I will, but this blog is getting wiped out today and so am I, by
these sicko diseased mother fucking cunt lapping total slobs, the MISOE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When he came to cry on my shoulders, my dad was living there with me, and the place
was called the Carriage Lamp Apartments,
but shortly after I moved out of there to go to my home on Cressmont Avenue, in
Blackwood-NJ-USA, over at the Cherrywood Estates Community; it suddenly and for
no good reason that I can ever possibly think of here, was renamed the “NEW YORK APARTMENTS”, but what did any of this
have to do with New York, of course for except everything, only back then you see, I was totally and completely
ignorant to “everything”, and even still believed a family fairytale
that my Aunt Ruth Huntington Gottwald had died of a flu shot. Nobody dies of a
flu shot, and my aunt was a strong, tall, healthy woman, of barely early
sixties in age. She gave me a shot in my left arm for
misbehaving in the car at age thirteen, and my arm still hurt two hours later.
This lovely powerhouse was murdered IMHO. She did not die of some goddamn
fucking ass flu shot, YO BRRRRRRR!!! Not buying this for a single damn ass seck
folks. SO-SAHWEE peeps!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But we are gonna’ fucking end the blog for
this day with my tale about Annapolis Avenue in south Atlantic City right there
a couple blocks from the great Bassler home B4 she left to retire to Florida. I
was mistaken earlier when I said on the blog that she went to Florida for the
winter. She just had her home at 30 South Plaza Place in south Atlantic City. She
and her adopted son Chester Perkowski lived there in this magical place that
will not photograph without astral energy interference blobs all around the
video or still shot. One day in 1994 while residing at Highview Apartments on
Kent Street, in the summer time, I drove down the Julian Horse Pike (Rt. 168) to
swim at the beach right there where I used to live as a boy in the Bruce Manor
Motel that later on became a laboratory. I drowned and died in the ocean in a rip current only I was
retraced, one of the numerous ten times or so that I died, and later returned
here again, Mister Highland Avenue McLeod. When I got back to
where my car was parked, it was not the same Saturn car, and it was parked
slightly off of where it was B4 in the other world B4 the retrace was done, as
well. In this new car that still was my car, MY SATURN CAR, lovely Mizz
Stephanie Mills or miller or whatever your name was, that lovely comedian girl
from those days who seemed to have a bug up her but for my stupid car. My point
is that I fully know that the same forces who invisibly magically hacked my
computer here today at this library, also caused me 2B right there in that new
world after the retrace was done to me. They put a magical time travel circuit
into the car that did not affect the car in that way here, but caused nine
months later give or take, a wild transdimensional effect 2B in the car there
where I drove back to the HTHS as a fully grown man with a magical shoebox
inside of it, known now as a tablet or laptop, lovely cousin Letty. After all,
a tablet fits on a lap even more than a laptop does, right peeps? I will get
into many other McFly-Daughter-Egg Harbor stuff, magical schools and potato
chip food places and so much more, as more blogs fucking cunt follow, great
peeps out here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It all fits, and my daughter can deny it in
all dimensions, as I don’t care. I know what I know, and we can leave that shit
right there 4 fucking cunt today, kind folks, and some, well, naught so kind,
Mizz Blake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THIS
TRANSMISSION ENDS NOW AT 3:30 POST MERIDIAN.
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