/////THE
MIND DIMENSION, CHAPTER 007
There
is so much to speak about, there is nowhere to begin. We must talk
about REALITY-3 as well as the MIND-REALM or sixth-dimension, in fact
they are quite the kissing cousins. No matter how much wisdom I
appear to gain as year follows year, I am never an ounce or an inch
closer than when this all sprang into the hell that it is all around
me; closer to figuring out how reality-3 figures into the entire
freaking mess of it all, nor can I understand the most basic truths
that exist in the great ELEVATOR-ROOM that these blogs talked about
in the middle and late twenty-ohs. For one quick and obvious instance
and case, why is it that as hard as I try to avoid seeing the time or
machine counters or anything, with a string of ONES IN THEM, in fact,
I DO, over and over and over, with absurd regularity? And why did
Miserable Rotten Jane do that to me in the first place, at the
Atlanta Braves Baseball Park, back in 1993? Why is this all happening
since 1980, with the mysterious SCYLLA TREE ANGEL, or was it 1972, or
was it 2008, or was iy 1986; and you can see how this would blow the
minds of even the greatest scientific thinkers of present times,
right down to the Quantum Dynamics dudes and duddesses in the biggest
greatest laboratories the world over. WHY, WHY, and WHY? Remember in
grammar school days, people, how we would meet that super annoying
little brat, boy or girl, who either repeated what you said no matter
what it was, or just came back no matter what you said with that same
question; “why”? I know I sure do. I blackened a kids eye for
doing this while at some playground in the sixties. Still, this
changes nothing of what is being spoken of. Probably the greatest
compliment ever paid to me, was from a very special person, I know
deep down who it was, and whether this be true or not, I only wanted
a shot at getting this information out to the public so that they
could then decide for themselves whether to just chuck it or do
anything with it at all. Thanks to a lot of hooligans and shenanigans
in the criminal justice system and with the Atlantic County New
Jersey Office of the Prosecutor, back in 2009, this website is
forever lost and gone, along with all the other wild and powerful
stuff that would most likely vindicate me in so many things, no
matter who tries to send me subtle indignant messages day and night,
how wrong I am in all of this. Basically, you can go straight to
Dogtown, my friends, whoever ye may be. If I cannot overcome how R-3
fits into parallel event, and the weapon-tool of the evil
WOMO-MILITUFORCE, called the PAWM-PIE-ETTOS; or ever get one inch or
ounce closer to understanding simple things like the ONES ATTACK OF
SLUT-FONDA; well; just tell me people; how am I supposed to ever
accomplish anything at all? And this is why I am 60 years old, with a
zero-resume to my name, not for lack of major determination, guts,
blood, sweat, tears, and desire! Anyone who thinks I am just a lazy
bum, only knows my life since I began blogging in January of 2006.
You don't know Whoopee Diddly about me before that, and you never
will, and you know why? Because you never wanted to , and you never
will want to, and you know why? Because some force called the
PAWM-PIE-ETTOS is interfering with an otherwise normal life I would
be having, if they weren't totally screwing the hell with me
24-7-365.2422!
On
Blogger since January 2006
Profile
views – 2992
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2014
KIND
FOLKS, MY LIFE IS CURSED. I AM PART OF A SECRET SO BIG, NO ONE WILL
FREAKING TOUCH IT. IT
IS CALLED THE HUNTINGTON CURSE.
'WO',
BILLY; TO QUOTE YO.
I
was one month at 1802
Robin Hill,
and it was on the night of June 4, 1980. I'll bet Doogie Howser
remembers, even though his great show was yet to be falling into
humankind's consciousness illusion of SPACE-TIME-MIND,
in more ways than one, if a wee bit of NY ST humor is permitted me,
uncle Heinz Gozzwald of great mighty purple Babylon of great prophets
and visions, huh
traveler Saint John,
cut me a big ass brake, willya, Margie 1985 Leo, kammaan?????????
Papas Island 1923 years ago, gimme
a dam break there, mighty (GAP) EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND CHARIOT
RIDERS of the AAT CLUB,
like freaking WOW!
MY BLOGS
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Not boring,
without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can honestly say
with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or have lived here,
none have shared my wild ride through hyperspace, with awareness.
Fun is replaced with 'intense'.
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You forgot
your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and olive
pits?
An
angry mother.
Also
at the risk of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly
sure of is that you cannot be sure of anything. Sorry Twinbay,
JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ!
///////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
1980 KEYBOARDS FROM PETA-HELL ®
Of
course, speaking of ICPE-APE TECHNOLOGY good viewers, even
exploratrons need tools, such as the PAWM-PIE-ETTOS, ICPE-APE, and
many more black stealthy super covert junky trashy horrific things;
my inability to get to the bottom of whether reality-3 causes
parallel events to exist, or the other way around; is the main part
of what lies underneath and out beyond this 30-60 year pummeling
assault that is absolutely unrelenting. I have experienced the great
void, and visited the mind dazzling elevator-room, and still, I am no
better off for wear, give me a break, Mister Kitkat. This makes as
much sense as being back where I socked that dumb ass kid in the eye
for saying “why, why, why, why” over and over to me for about a
half of a freaking hour.
OH
LOUISE HENDERSHODT, WHERE ARE YOU? DO YOU REMEMBER 1967 AND 1968 WHEN
I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE MAGIC OF THE GREAT:
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Well,
their DOW JONES flew after they killed me last night. You heard me,
They killed me. I do not stay dead, I am the one from 1406 Highland
Avenue, back in July of 1984, through March of 1985, when I left
Cinnaminson for the first time living at the great marvelous
untrumpable HIGHVIEW APARTMENTS OF WILL-I-AM-ST-OWN, NEW JERSEY.
My
pal, and Chairman
of the FCC, BOB MCDOWELL, from 1972,
at the great Cooley-Wormhole Hall, of magical locker rooms, belonging
to gymnasium coach instructors; but who really do they belong to, and
Y? Ouch, my dam eye, YO! I really miss the Johnny
Faster joke!
I
COULD NOT DETEST A PERSON, MORE THAN I HATE YOU; MISS J.F. OF
ATLANTA, GEORGIA!
I
rarely do blogs in excess of 110 fucking cunt pages, but when I do,
guess who gets me real gooooud, with her filthy rotten ONES-ASSAULT
on me? You got it; JANE
the muscle girl;
work
that body, pump pump, Mister Hilton-Hack-'98!
Oh
Goddess Scylla, without turning over any more rocks or barking and
begging so you'll sing some of our special songs to me all eternity
long; those powerful awesome outlandish moons sure love to float
about, up above the night
scys
of where that charter school should be, and appears to be there, by
light of day, only don't tell Roseann Delaney, we all know
she will never ever be able to attend or even see that magical
school. WOW, the cursed little bastard can laugh and find humor in
nightmarish family fights and stair horrors! Don't you just mother
fucking television. Rewind-99 on the LAW AND ORDER, you know, where
that fat slob kid falls for that silly murderer teen blond. You can
scream out for help online all night, Hammonton fuckiGN Police
Department in New Jersey, Goddess help you while you lay there dying
and stabbed to fuckiGN death by wonderful cousins of my wonderful
marvelous kid!!!!!!!!! It's all on my 2008 blogs, during the times of
my psychic revelations and vision-dreams, give me a break there,
Memories-Babs, all suppressed so well under the great VSG Syndrome.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!
Poor
ENGINE-15 of Fort Pierce, Florida. The
great Public Housing Authority
is keeping you quite busy and on your toes.
When
the red leaves fall, I'll be coming home; in or out of the year of
1975; great
wonderful Congressman Andrews,
AHA-AHA-AHA!!!!!!!!
{{{{(((''BUT'')))}}}},
WILL THE LONG RIVERS KEEP FLOWING BLUE, IN 1980 AND IN 2014, HAY OLD
BUDDY, TALK TO MY PAL HERE, YOUR TEAM MATE, I DON'T WANT THE LAKE TO
POLLUTE MY COUNTY ALL TO HELL, YO!
Oh
were those the day Bob, when you sang my two country demo tunes, and
I was moving into Robin Hill Apartments at unit #1802, on May 1, in
1980, seems like twenty mother fucking minutes ago, my pal, my best
to Al Pillegi and Angel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
©
MORIANITY BLOGS
©
BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR
2006-2014,
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THIS
IMAGE IS COURTESY OF WEATHER BUG AND
CHANNEL
12, SOUTH FLORIDA TELEVISION!!!!!!!!
Note:
The image above may not reflect the current alert state for your
county due to a several minute delay between the issuance of the
alert and the map processing.
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Advisory
Colors Key
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Winter
Storm Watch
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Non-Precipitation
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I
Hurricane
watch/warning
I
Rip tide warning
``````OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
Oh
Lordess Marcucci, it's getting heavier and heavier, and I know how
powerful memory blocks can be, old hallway communicator.
IT
ALL BEGAN AT ONCE WHEN I'S TOO HAPPY TO SEE, THAT SOMETHING REALLY
BAD WAS GONNA' HAPPEN TO ME, © 1969, ME, WHO THE FUCKING SHIT EATING
HELL ELSE, YO?
Home
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Grounds
“Sometimes
having, is not as pleasant as wanting”. Does
anyone give even a tiny little stinky fucking shit, why the grass is
always greener on the other side, to us poor fucking stupid ass human
beings?
WHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
NOTES
TO MYSELF:
Journal
Cassette Tape #25,766 has dalmatian photos.
DALMATIANS, their true origin far from Earth, in Sahasra Dal Kanwal. Still, the link below takes you all to a really cool co-blogger of mine at BLOGGER, check it out. You will be glad you did, it is really a cool blog.
YEAH
HE'S SAYING, “I LOVE YOU SARAH-STACEY KRASSLE, ALMIGHTY
TEEN-QUEEN”.
Well
before the Samanski Sisters and I roll out the barrel of fun, with
the also late Lawrence Welk, of Pikerville; to quote Mister David
Charles Roth again, “while
water keeps right on seeking its own level, and jerk offs and
assholes abound, and are dangerously out-breeding us”;
all quotes from this incredible fellow who once lived amongst us. His
lover in the plank realm is the great Julia White; a story
that needs addressing eventually, in major detail. Still, I have come
to learn I write these things down for me, no one else. Only I
understand the power to all of this dam shit. Others will only see a
crackpot fucking nut case for a sike ward. Fine, I know better, and
you can all know whatever makes you happier than dam ass Silly Puddy!
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!
OCTOBER
30, 2014,
THURSDAY
MORNING AT 4:06,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE 63 DEGREES FNHT.
HUMIDITY
IS 93%, WIND CHILL IS 62 DEGREES.
OH
THIS NICE COOLER WEATHER, WEEEEEEEE!
I'M
LOVIN' IT MISTER MCDONALD DANCERS!!!!!!
MY BLOGS:
Good
old Robin Hill Apartments, Mister D. L. Smith!!!
SO
WOULD I EVER TRY A FOURTH STAY AT THIS FARM OUTSIDE OF HADDONFIELD,
NEW JERSEY, MISTER DAVID LEIGH SMITH? LET ME ANSWER YOU WITH A VOICE
FROM MY PAST, EBENEEZER SCROOGE;
''AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA''!!!!!!!!!
The
Mind Realm is not something you or I will crack in a lifetime or two
or two million. Better entities than you and me, have tried, believe
me, I TRAVEL, I KNOW!!!
DOW
JONES INDUSTRIALS FOR 10-29-14.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
You
are so BEYOND
RED HOT,
DIANA ARTEEMIS,
MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.
HAY
LOVELY DIANA, I AM HERE FOR YOU! I saw you the other night on the
Jupiter-Inlet-Cam, lovely girl!!!
5555555555555555555555555555555555
I
AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT GLARY EYED BILLY-C FOR A SHORT WHILE. I COULD
BE A SKULKING BASTARD AND GET A PHONE AND GO SEE HIM, AND RECORD THE
WHOLE THING, OF COURSE HE WOULD KILL ME, BUT MY POINT IS, I DO NOT DO
STUFF LIKE THIS. EVEN IF I DID, I AM NOT LIKE OTHER PEOPLE. I WOULD
POST IT, AND FACEBOOK AND YOUTUBE WOULD EITHER REMOVE ME OR PUT ME ON
A STOPPER-PAGE, LET ME EXPLAIN. ALL YOUTUBE VIDEOS ARE POSTED AND GO
TO A STARTER-PAGE. FROM THERE, ONE OF THREE ITEMS HAPPENS WITH
AUTOMATED PRECISION. THEY INTO THE NEUTRAL PILE, THEY GO INTO THE TO
BE PROMOTED PILE, OR THEY GO INTO THE INTERNET EQUIVELANT OF THE DEAD
LETTER OFFICE OF MY DAY, THE (STOPPER-PAGE). IF YOUR VIDEOS GO TO
STOPPER PAGES, AS DO MINE, IT IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE FOR ANYONE TO
EVEN BE ABLE TO EVER FIND YOU UP THERE AT ALL, AND YOU WILL GET ZERO
VIEWS OR A VERY TINY TEENY LITTLE TRICKLE. THAT IS THAT. THOSE THAT
STRIKE THE MEDIA'S (ATTENTION-PAGE) ARE ALL SOFTWARE AUTOMATED.
WHATEVER IS NEW OR HOT THAT WEEK, OR MANY POSSIBLE TRIGGERS AND
KEY-ITEMS MY DO IT, BUT BOOM, THIS IS HOW AND WHY VIDEOS GO VIRAL,
THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A VIRAL VIDEO, I PROMISE YOU. AS ALWAYS,
THE WORLD OWNERS DECIDE WHO GETS TO MOVE UP IN LIFE, WHO IS ENDLESSLY
HELD DOWN AND OPPRESSED, AND WHO IS ALLOWED TO JUST BE IN A SORT OF
EARTH-PERGATORY, A NEUTRAL FILE, WHERE WHO KNOWS, ANYTHING CAN
HAPPEN, AND MIGHT HAPPEN, AND NOTHING MIGHT HAPPEN, BUT AT LEAST IT
HAS AN HONEST FAIR CHANCE TO HAPPEN. I AM ON STOPPER PAGES, AND
ANYTHING I POST, YOU WILL FIND IT NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO, AND IF
YOU DO GET THERE, THE HACKING IS BAD, THE QUALITY IS BAD, AND I COULD
GO ON AND ON WITH THE WAYS THE FREE-MEDIA, LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH,
HANDLES THIS, AS REMEMBER, THEY OWN IT ALL TO START WITH. YOU AND ME
LITTLE PEEPERS DON'T OWN SHIT, THEY OWN IT ALL. WE DON'T OWN GOOGLE,
MICROSOFT, YOUTUBE, ANY OF IT, THE FORTUNE 500 PEOPLE ALL DO.
INTERNET IS JUST ANOTHER TOOL, AND WHATEVER WENT ON BEFORE IT ALL GOT
GOING LATE IN THE NINETIES AND EXPANDED EVEN GREATER IN THIS CENTURY,
IS ALL THE SAME THING, JUST USING THIS TOOL OF COMPUTERS AND
CONNECTIONS, AND YOU NAME IT, IF YOU WERE A FAILURE OR A SUCCESS YEAR
AFTER YEAR AFTER YEAR, BEFORE THE INTERNET; THEN THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT
YOU WILL BE WITH THE INTERNET. IT
IS THEIR PROPERTY, THEY
OWN EVERYTHING,
JUST AS MY SONG TALKED ABOUT IN
ITS 1983 LYRICS;
ABOUT NOT WANTING TO SWEEP THE SAND, BUT RATHER, DESIRING TO OWN THE
LAND.
I CANNOT MAKE A SOUL BELIEVE ANY OF THIS, BUT YOU ARE PATHETIC IF YOU
THINK A VIDEO EVER GOES SELF-VIRAL, IT DOESN'T. IT IS ALL AS FIXED AS
REALITY SHOWS, AND FOR THAT MATTER, REALITY ITSELF. SOMEONE DOES NOT
LIKE THESE WORDS THAT HAS GREAT POWER. I JUST TOOK MY FIRST HACK OF
THIS BLOG, OLD PAL BOB MCDOWELL, OF THE FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS
COMMISSION! DON'T BEAT ME UP, OP.
I
was hacked on the previous chapter, and lots of stuff I blogged, did
not come out on my blog, on the office document, it was just poofed
out and sent to the dead letter stopper box. Merry Christmas Patty
Hollister and Steve Chanter. 'Knee-oh-ho-ren-gay-key-oh', to you too!
Do those lovely Pointer Sisters still want men with slow hands and
touches, or just a lot of frikkin' worthless fairy-tales, now, as
well as 40 years ago, I wonder? Yes I know I forgot to wish you guys
a happy new year, but which one. When Dick Clark was winding down his
late night party on December 31, which fucking party, great peeps?
What am I, psychic????????????? Shut up Mike McNulty!
Governor Jesse
Ventura talks about time travel, in ways that totally connect up with
stuff from my own personal life; including the chance that his own
distant relative, Salvador, was sent to me in 1965, to show me, and
not Miss Wescott; how to tap my fingers in really cool ways, so that
'lightning' will respond to this, up in 1983; on a telephone
receiver.
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 smuggly 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 dam 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.
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW!
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