FINAL BLOG FOR A WHILE. I NEED A REST; AND NO ONE
CARED ABOUT MY DAM BLOGS ANYWAY. ENJOY NOT BEING ABLE TO READ THEM,
WE ALL REAP WHAT WE SOW. That
is simply a biblical principle.
CHAPTER
019, THE MIND DIMENSION
It
is 24 minutes past five in the morning, Wednesday morning, the date
is 5 November, 2014. I do not believe anyone up here other than for a
handful or so, are real and non-agents in the force that is
destroying me for so long. So playing to an audience of hecklers and
teases, no longer appeases me or thrills me in the smallest bit. Hay,
if you're working for the CIA or the NSA or the FBI, you're just
doing your job, and you have a monthly nut to crack just as the rest
of us do, and the banks would foreclose on you just as fast as they
would on me, so I don't hate you or think any ill will of you. I only
hold resentment towards those who have very seriously injured me and
totally wiped out my entire life, and any hope of any kind of normal
life that all people yearn and strive for and have the right to go
after, at least supposedly in America, may I now laugh out real
loudly?
The
same things will be happening to me, one disaster after another, lots
of wild hyperspace travels and their effects on my waking world life,
enemies closing in on me from all sides to keep that evil stock
market racing endlessly up; and all the things you have read over the
past nine years, will be the same things that will keep right on
happening to me, one way or the other, scrambled up a little, but
when all is said an done, it will be the same old ugly yelping dog, I
can promise you all that. I will cry like a baby in Debbie's office
later this afternoon, only you will not get the report of what
results, as for now, this blog has ended. When I feel like coming
back on the grid, I will. I do not owe any of you a dam thing. But I
wish you well as my fellow co-humanity. Do your best, stay out of
trouble, and goddess speed to you and yours. As for loving daughters,
wow, I wish Patty-Paula had never done stuff that led to a famous
1969 hit song, “Under the Boardwalk”, but it's too late now to
cry and scream over lots of dam spilled milk. I am cleaning it up
with bucket and mop, and am moving on.
BYE---------------------------John
Voicemail Crowley!
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