MORIANITY-2
JWC2-DAY-00006-BLOG
A
SIXTEEN
MINUTES PAST ONE AM
THURSDAY
MORNING IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
Glory
be to me, as I know one thing more than anything else in the entire
world of worlds, totaling all of the hyperspace.
One
scripture that is in the KJV Holy Bible, and only one so far, in my
current 'me life' as Mark Wayne Mohr, is “Ask and it will be given,
knock and the door will open, seek and you will find”. This is both
paraphrased, and changed into non old English without all of the
'thees' and 'thous' and all that stuff, but at the final part of the
message that my sixty-first grandfather's uncle spoke, this screams
at me over the past Astral Plane recognized grouping of interaction,
that would equalize a material world score of so-called time, really
STM, or Space-Time-Mind. There of course is no STM, on the Astral
Plane, but this period there, known as the BRIPER, shortened from the
Briggbase-Period, is reflected in the Earth waking world television
show of some time back, running mid sixties until the beginning of
April, in 1971, called, “Dark Shadows”. Their Fan Club address is
a post office that if you call the post office, they will tell you
the number I'm sure, and it is located in a place called, Maplewood,
New Jersey. Yes Mister Roddenberry, another 'place' called New
Jersey, and don't play me for a fool. We all know they used me and my
life, to give them that great TNG Star Trek episode about Wesley
Crusher's pal, the “TRAVELER”. Still, the 20 year period is
understood only too well, by me, by the Paul Stoddard Fans, such as
my great and awesome oldest daughter, and yes, by many others that
can all remain as nameless right now, as the dam north winds of cat
chases.
OK
folks, here we go again, old kids, new kids, and if you want to stuff
ear plugs in, along with Mister Marcus, and mister McGinty, go ahead;
you won't make me cry one single tear, kind audience. Forget about,
at least for right now, the Doogie Howser days, and let us take a
little journey quite a bit back in time further, to a time that a
particular 'traveler' and not the fake dude on the STAR TREK TNG
show, but one who is as Sarah said on 10-SC Avenue in the summer of
1969, a bit darker than he was, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA, and yes, he was
always fascinated with me, my high school, and my life, and for
reasons that go beyond just material stuff; whether the few who know
what is being said, can fathom it or not, as they in all perfect
worlds are thinking, well, if you're being totally up front here
about all this stuff, Mountainpen, then what is bigger than great sex
and great wealth, and as I told a new friend of mine recently, on an
e-mail message, the emotion that is experienced by being a real live
'traveler', is like riding a roller coaster at the age of six years
or there about, and then take the thrill of this, if you can, and
multiply that by maybe three or four billion times. Now go ahead
folks, and tell me that would not totally dwarf the greatest sex
life, billions of dollars, or any other thrill that the California
Car Window Hollerers Club of mystery, could ever possibly throw at
anyone. The proof of my statement folks, is the very existence
indeed, OF the CCWH Club, in the first place. Even with all that
happened to me in 1994-1996, this would be as we might say in
mathematics, HD1,000,000,000,000,000,000. That does not stand for
High Definition by the way, but Haddonwood. Now don't go dying on me,
old buddy and partner, Paul. Yes, from September of 1966 through June
of 1968, I attended the Haddon Township High School, and to be
perfectly honest, I could care totally less. But for reasons that
blow me away as of yet, my son in law thinks something about those
days and that place, is monster ass huge, to quote the dude, in a
parallel universe, when he said this to me, when I fell asleep one
night at the Highview Apartments, in early 1996, in Sarah Williams
Town, in New Jersey, Gloucester County, in Monroe Township, don't
slug me one, oh great other traveler, and yes, I've got it all now,
and lots of memory blocks have been knocked away, painful as it may
be, in more ways than one. Maybe he was fine, and hopefully old
George will be, but if not, he is always enjoying the hospitality of
good old Table-15 at the Ricktown Manor Restaurant, on Linelane 9910,
in Ricktown, Olympia. Give it up there, smiling Paul Stoddard. WOW,
Mister Macy, and co-writer old friend Mister Strauss. James
Patterson, try not to be too dam jealous, and no, none of this stuff
is 1% fictional, and I only wish to the gods that I could tell all of
you that it was. But this leads me to the 'HTHS', and a strange kid I
knew from the school just two blocks down the street, for the first
through sixth grade students, called James Stoy Elementary. Albert
Pileggi lived right down the road from both of these schools,
spitting distance, Hannah. Still, Tuggy was a cool dude, and would do
anything for you if he liked you, and if he didn't, well, a name pops
into my head, a grown up version of the kid that I knew in 1967, and
that would be my pal David Roth's best pal for many years before he
even met me at Caldor Department Store #113 in Woodbury Heights,
NJUSAESMWG in November of 1985, and his name was Bob Vandegrift, the
hater of Ronald McDonald, that I told about when my blogs were all
new the first two years, back in oh six and oh seven. Still, there
were reasons for my ending up at the farm outside of Haddonfield that
was special, and had a cosmic reality all its own; just as I informed
my educator in 1970, Mister David Leigh Smith. How I remember Irene
Cara, the lovely eighteen year old diva of 1980, doing the National
Anthem at one of the summer time Philadelphia Phillies games, wow
what a gorgeous dish. Still, Albert Pileggi, Bob Andrews, Irene Cara,
and others, take a back seat to the real reasons that the Phillies
began to be part of a huge parallel event with me and my own personal
life, right around this very time as the eighties replaced the
seventies, and I had actually moved into the farm outside of
Haddonfield, after indeed, and just as I told Smith in 1970, ten
years before that; was no longer producing food, and instead, a new
set of garden type apartments were built, called 'ROBIN HILL'. As I
told Eddie Lynch Himacane on the eighteenth day of December in 2006,
after McGuire and his crew accomplished their mission of again,
destroying another one of my automobiles, this time without almost
murdering me in the weeds and bays outside Atlantic City, and the US
© Office has the tapes of me and Roth in 1988, discussing the entire
thing, so don't play dumb ass with me, any of you; Trump or any of
you other rotten bastards, just quit frikkin insulting my
intelligence, please, TANKS! Yes, as I said to him before he
eventually was forced to board the same bus that I was on this very
route in 1970 that late night in July, the twelfth to be exact,
around 10:30 to quarter shy of eleven somewhere, and right there with
me were the great awesome girl gang that was known by many Jersey
local teen boys, as the Quoddy's or the Quoddy Mockers, or the Quoddy
Mocker Gang, of whom, the great Sarah Callio was one of, along with
Nina Soifer, Paula King, and many others. Oh yes, I said to him, when
he exited the vehicle and headed towards the bus, and he asked me
when I would be able to go to his house, at this time, where he
rented a small one little room, a place owned by the world famous
almost, Hammonton, New Jersey, Judge Frank Rasso, and I quote now
what I said, and maybe Tuggy should have been not so much there with
us that day, but also there with Irene Cara and her two two friends,
and also, not Jason Forrest Donna Summer, but the real 'McCoy', and
maybe he would have been able to heed a warning meant for him, a lot
more than it ever was meant for Eddie Lynch, “All bets are off”.
Now Mister Macy and Mister Trump, I will not print a large 'W' word
just to frikkin entertain your warped sick minds. Wait a second
folks, I just returned from a hyperspace experience, and am mixing up
a beautiful flower and a name almost like my youngest daughter's
insisted upon nickname of her, with this other dude. STM is a very
powerful thing, still, at least you are not the one in the shit can,
Tuggy. Well, if the relief pitcher of those times, or a few years
ahead, was good enough for the great awesome Motown Queen herself,
Diana Ross, I guess they are good enough for all big blonds, and
other big blonds, copyrighted music, motor cycle chains, and all
potential reactions and or near infringements, but hay; I'm a
forgiving person. Who gives a hoot-pollute about music anyway? I know
I don't, walls or no walls.
END
TRANSMISSION.
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