SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER DCLIX ------- (0659)
SUPPLEMENTAL
ENTRY
START
OF BLOG:
Ladies
and gentlemen, I am somewhat hopeful that soon, my blogs will be
less, fewer posts, less lengthy material, less compilations, the
whole smack. Things since early this spring went on a roll that
defied a lot of logic for most. It did not escape me, it was all
about a song, and a conversation from a long time ago. On top of
that, the family will never be done with me, because they know I know
too many secrets, and especially the real doozie whopper that they
are all TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS.
Now
folks, this is only a tiny part of things, but there is nothing tiny
about a family who owns planet Earth, and on top of that, enters into
the program that they made from so far away that nothing can explain
it, other than pure cold hard facts, such as it is now a quarter shy
of three in the morning, and suddenly out of nowhere, my nabes are
shouting in the hallway. This is the kind of power that the Donald
Trump's of this Planet Earth can only dream and drool over, and will
never have, as money by itself, is not true power, but is merely the
ability to purchase all of the goods and services you desire; but not
all of everything you desire, only this can be done with real and
true power; and this family has just that, and can choose to
conveniently forget all of this in their waking world conscious mind,
or they can also choose to remember it, and pull it up at will; and
I've learned to never forget that powerful punching reality. Right
now, I am going to sleep, and will resume the next paragraph when I
am up and showered and eat a little brunch. A lot depends on a lot,
but I do have a lot of news, but this news must be kept under the
radar for the present time to better insure my safety.
I
have a powerful feeling that the great SSJKK will be communicating
directly with me either tonight or tomorrow night, and at least the
chastisement is over and done with as long as I remain obedient and a
to quote HER, as long as “THAT-BOY remains a good boy”. Well, she
did not bring me any “dreams” last night, it is now late on this
Thursday morning. We will get back later on as we always can do this,
am I not correct, James Toothloose Rockford. For right now, I wish to
take us someplace else, quite a few places in fact.
I
told about receiving a notice from a PAYDAY LOAN STORE a while back,
addressed to my address, but to a resident who lived in the apartment
before I did. You also know that many peeps around here all are in
with each other. As I speak/type, this is a test, this is only a
test, says the Port Saint Lucie Power Plant authorities, driving up
and down the street, you see if you are within about 10 miles or so
of a nuclear facility, they run these tests periodically. I only wish
the thing would blow and end all of this, but unfortunately, that
will not happen and I will not be so dam lucky. As I told my old late
nineties eye doctor, Doctor Reida, some time back, I want to stop
this horrible life, and the only way is death, and anything I want,
never ever happens, and stuff I do not want to happen, well, what do
you think folks? If I was a young child, I could sit and say, see, it
is never Santa Claus out there, no, it is always the loud nuke test,
or the loud nabes, but no, it is never ever Santa Claus. This makes a
very powerful point, that probably a lot more kids would believe than
adults, ashame, because I don't lie, and it is all so sadly frikkin
true, and all my dam life, without let up or break. But shall we get
back to the letter from the PAYDAY ADVANCE that came a while back. It
is always the one time that I quickly open with my letter opener, all
,y mail, without checking to see if it is addressed properly and with
my name, that I open mail not addressed to me by name or in some
cases in other towns, not even addressed properly by address. This
was the day that I received the notice that the former resident here
passed a bad check, and now owed three and a half hundred dollars to
them, with a bounced check fee included. I still think this was to
buy that stereo over there. Now, in any case, this was fraud, and was
a crime, committed by whoever lived here. People all around here are
friends and hang together, and even move closer together from time to
time, as told earlier by me, as the peeps across from me now are
there only after the former nabes left to be closer to some friends
in the building on another floor. So if I am right, not only was the
stereo bought as a persecution for me, but also, they tried to make
me look like I bought it and was the bad guy, and I was so worried at
the time, that I thought, being these type of peeps, from stuff you
see and hear on television, that I might go out one day, and come
home to everything I have, which ain't much but I need it; gone,
repossessed by PAYDAY, and then I would totally be up Smellytown
Creek with no paddles, and very brown arms. The reason that I think
this is the case despite my manager telling me not to become too
paranoid, is that when I saw her just the other day, she examined a
log sheet that people have to sign if they do not live in the
building, when they enter, the security guard normally sounds people
out. She told me she had to call “Crime Stoppers”, and to just go
back to my apartment and that the apartment was being subletted, and
that the lessee's of the unit are going to be given a thirty day
notice to vacate the premises. I will not lie and say I am not
worried or nervous, but she seems to have a handle on things. I will
always know in my heart, that the MYSTERY BOY with the hub cap hammer
is behind this, and has been there in many forms, younger, older, and
even as Lenny McKinnon in 1980, and I could say more, but who will
believe any of this. They seem to believe tons of fucking crap up on
YOUTUBE, but let me say anything, and it is as if the equation
suddenly changes with the magic of Hogwarts and Harry. Unless you
have ever experienced shit like this in your personal life folks,
then you are and will remain, totally clueless to this hellish and
nightmarish HUNTINGTON DAM CURSE. I have said this over and over,
people. I am against nobody, and wish the very best for everyone in
the world, so long as they are not wiping out me and my pathetic life
for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than some irrational stupid
kids game!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That sucks at C-SQ
in any world, right Hannah Montana? Paul, you talk about me, YO, you
have some strange associates, my brother.
Long
before I ever blogged a word, long before there was such a thing as
blogging, and the internet was new, in the days of Haddonwood; there
were so many unexplainable things going on that I could type all day
and not even put a dam dent into anything. Still, after the swim club
closed down, I had moved a short time later, just weeks actually, to
the Somerdale, New Jersey 'death-house' as I have come to label the
place on the corner of Harvard and Yale Avenues. Don't get too chummy
with Mrs. Bassler, and go sloppy on me now, Donald, you twisted old
rug top. A few decades from now, you prick, your insides will be the
flies in the air, and you know it, so enjoy it all right now, old
pal. Yes, I was at the death-house, where a million wild and scarey
things freaking happened; and without any candles or summoning, huh
daut; and there was a 25th anniversary special television
presentation for the STAR TREK show. This was early in 1997 somewhere
or late at the end of 1996, I finally do not remember which, praise
be to demons. In this range in time while my quest to find the great
SSJKK was at its total nightmare zenith, I saw the show about the
people who were taken away to a distant world and then their
descendants were trained to go on missions, the name of this show was
called, “Mission Earth”, if my memory is correctly serving me.
WOW, am I under an attack, first the county nuke noise, now a loud
and piercing fire alarm just struck at just before half past noon.
This is going to be another bad one, I believe, good folks, and I
swear that to Satan's Hell. Back to the MISSION EARTH, that someone
following this illegally on my computer, is obviously not happy
about, and trying to break my all ready limited concentration. I
found out from the Atlantic City, City Hall records and Tax Office,
that Misses Bassler' Piccadilly hotel where Sarah's shop was in an
area of the ground floor there, had a Tennessee Avenue street
address, of a number that corresponded with the agent-number of one
of the two 'sent agents', that this 'STAR TREK' man, show-named GARY
SEVEN, was supposed to meet up with when beaming himself to the Earth
from this distant world, and was intercepted by the Starship
Enterprise and its transporter system. This in itself is not such a
huge thing, but then came the fact, that I learned from the Atlantic
city Public Library, that Misses Bassler also had a 1974 telephone
number that began its prefix tri-part before the four ending digits,
with the same corresponding number of the second 'sent agent'.
Throughout the show, Gary Seven repeated these two numbers, both to
Terri Garr who played in the OH GOD movie with John Denver, as well
as to his private Beta-computer system that was in his office, that
looked almost identical to the coaches large locker room in
Cooley-Hall, as was talked about a lot throughout my 2006-2007blogs.
The fire alarm stopped after three minutes, then resumed after one
minute, then stopped again in another minute, while I was typing all
of this. I do not know if this is all a TEAT along with the NUKE
PLANT sirens, or if my rotten nabes are behind it, I did hear a door
as though they were trying to fan out their smoke into the hallway,
and then after I heard it slam shut, it stopped for the second time,
and there is no fire engine or other authorities outside my windows.
OK, I double checked, there is a firetruck out there now at about 39
minutes past twelve noon, parked further east of my view than normal.
Well, I was born double checking, and now am doing a lot more double
clicking, and so I ask again, where are you, Harry Potter, when I
need you, pal? So back to the two agents in this fictional television
show, if memory serves me at all correctly, their numbers were 201
and 347 but I know I am close. The 347 was the first digits of misses
Bassler's phone number in 1974 as stated, and the 201 Tennessee
Avenue, was her Piccadilly hotel address, where the great SARAH had
her shop in 1969 and before that. To me, this is a wild coincidence
in and of itself, but throw in the mission Earth concept and trained
families with great powers and technologies far ahead of the times in
the late nineteen-sixties, and that Gary Seven's office was in ion
place other than good old Manhattan, well, if you do the math, these
odds start growing quite exponentially, that this all just was a
random show without a special message just waiting for me to come
along years later on Star Trek's 25th birthday, and piece
it all together during my horrendous wild crazy quest to locate my
SSJKK, or the GREAT SARAH KRASSLE, as Jerry Heitzmann from my days at
the Bancroft School of Haddonfield, would call her. The only person
that knows this is all real and true and might be able to help me out
of this fantastic demonic nightmare, would be the Chairman of the
FCC, my old school friend, Bob McDowell, in the name of demonic
darkness, PLEASE HELP ME BUDDY!!!!
It
is so funny, or really, so anything but Parkway/Driveway funny,
stairs and all. I only wanted to tell this wonderful lovely teenager
that I was sorry that I never approached her and told her how beyond
lovely she was and how much I wanted and dreamed of being just one of
her special friends and look what happened in the nineties, to my all
ready horrible life. Go ahead Donald, make fun of me, laugh, you sick
twisted pile of filth. I would still rather be me than you, any dam
day of the year or the millennium, oh great sir!!!! And you scowl at
me brother? I think all three of us know why this word will get
printed now, YO! *****W-O-W*****.
There
is tons of stuff to tell, but this star family from 1896 is draining
the energy and the life out of my soul, even at sub-warp drive,
Mister Seven, or MISTER 3+4. My naves are over there screaming and
yelling now, what else is new, this is another very bad day for me,
brother Ed Green, SOSO!
END
TRANSMISSION FOR RIGHT NOW FOLKS.
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