APRIL
25, 2015,
SATURDAY
AFTERNOON AT 12:07
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE 87 DEGREES FNHT.
HUMIDITY
IS 57%, FEELING LIKE 93 DEGREES.
RANGE
TODAY-------(H-87/L-66).
WIND
IS SSE AT 7, GUSTING TO A LUCKY 11.
OH
BOY; THIS IS A HOT WEEKEND, AND WILL PROBABLY GO ON THE RECORD BOOKS,
FOR EARLY INTO THE FOURTH APRIL WEEK. EVEN FOR SOUTH CENTRAL FLORIDA,
THAT IS A 'WEEEEEE'!!
SSSSSSSOOOOOO,
Sir Arthur Crane, if you are out here; sup YO?????????? I am sitting
here thinking about that day, two times ago as far as seeing each
other, not the time at the security certification and licensing
place, but at the Super-Walmart Store in Washington Township,
Gloucester County, in New Jersey, when WAYV Paula Patty King, tried
to run us over on that road behind the large parking area, to the
south of the great BLACK-HORSE-PIKE. Why
am I thinking this? Well, because I had a powerful
hyperspace-interaction. In it, the great Exploratron Patty-Paula told
me that she was going to kill us because of a thickness problem in
what she called, eventized salicauficness.
This is no hack, I am typing the words the way they sounded, when she
spoke them to me earlier this day, while, ''dreaming' as you might
all call it. When I pressed her to tell me more, she laughed, fluffed
her hair the way gorgeous women and girls all do, half with her head
and half with a hand motion, and she said, ''You guys won't get away
next time''. I instinctively remembered the radio show from early in
2009, and said to her, ''Is that a threat, Patty-Paula''. She
replied, ''I don't threaten, I carry shit out, little midget''. Then
she sped off in her sports car, a Trans-Am I am almost sure. Hey, and
why not a Trans-Am car. As in a transdimensional I-AM, hey, cut me a
fucking break here, willya' Margie 1985 Leo? TANKS.
KABOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HALLS
WALLS, CHAPTER 84
Yes
folks, the mother fucking MILI-2-FORCE believes and thinks they are
GODD-ESS almighty!
HOLY
MOTHER FUCKING TOLEDO TECHNO PIX. FOR THE LOVE OF JUPITER, AND
JUPITER INLET!
AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA,
MICHAEL MCNULTY!!!!!
Gee-Wiligars
folks; do things ever change? Will I ever be allowed to get out of
this one? Can HELL ever be escaped from? Well, if Biblical accounts
are anywhere near accurate, it seems, as does the great NASA and
Houston from time to time, and if a word substitution is done with
the words ''we've'' and ''I've''; then the “Got a problem”
quotation, really does seem to apply here; quite freaking eternally.
MY
MOM'S GAP SHIPPING OFFICE IN PHILLY—TOPIC CODE—4H8T
My
mom and her office job, at the great shipping company, is a story in
and of itself, times a few quintillion; as it relates to me and my
life, kind people. Many things are pertinent and many things have
already been told and blogged, but indeed will be revisited, as
things keep moving in my life, and the same things from past times,
most definitely continuously grows a different spin on stuff, YO! In
early 1997, she wanted me to give her a cassette tape to give to this
prick she ran into at her job, a music industry person by the name of
Stanley Bernstein. Forgive me if the name is spelled off, I think I
am right and so does Microsoft Spellchecker. LSS, why they wanted
this I don't know, my mom and him being the ''THEY'' I refer to. I
never heard back and the same old shit was done, stuff used, me
ignored, the entire 1980 and 1975 bullshit. This is why I was so
angry that I shortly thereafter, did some things, that went onto lead
up to the event of meeting mister Paul Pedersen, and forming
something called THE
SONGSHOP.
Sally
Starr, the local area hero,
told me that I probably am going to have my ass handed to me; and she
did not seem to particularly rate his integrity up around the gold
star area. But we went into a business called Studio
Park Records,
and the rest as they say, is history; and has all been blogged about
many times over, needing no rehash right now whatsoever, YO. The tape
being referenced to, is off of these two copyrighted music projects.
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I
happen to know that a lot of people wonder how all the folks connect
up, in this Morianity tale from HELL ITSELF. You know; those that I
call Milituforce enemies, those in this wild TAWF-FAMILY, AKA simply
'That-Family' by me, those in the Millionth-Council (Briggbase human
citizens in a collective unconscious objective), and on we could go,
the super wealthy, individual parts of this great TAWF, and on and
on, beyond even the mindless cluelessness of Listener Theresa on
Jason Forrest's WFMU RADIO, and any and all commenter's on the great
WFMU web-page on me, known as “Meet Crackpots From New Jersey”.
If anything is not cut and dry simple, it is my life and Morianity. I
am not bragging, and if anything I am totally freaking anti-bragging,
kind folks. IPYT!
I
have blogged for nearly ten years, on the advice of a security guard
by the name of Officer Christopher Bennett, while we both worked
weekend guard duty in New Jersey, at a place called, Cifaloglio.
These are the blogs you can go to with a simple click, that all are
posted before this current one, but are really all one blog. Hacking
caused me not to be able to get back into that old blog. If it
happens again, I will have to do the same thing all over again with
this blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My ORIGINAL FIVE blogs, STARTING IN 2006:
Even
as far back as early 1973, I knew that when the Native Americans and
the Wicca Religion with sympathetic magic, was TOTALLTY REAL, because
of my seeing continuous strange effects in reality, when I would
'create' something, or maybe said better, ''mess with reality'' via
small electronic gismos. Even something as tiny as a piece of cut
plastic, off of a small fifty cent pen, and boom; we call him The
Donald now. I did not say I created the body, his parents obviously
did that. Don't play me for a dam fool, BRAH! Thank you. Boy oh boy ©
Office!
Dear
Holy Moley and Ringworm Moley-Scratch; what did I ever do to any of
you Atlantic City mother fuckers, to deserve this bullshit?
These
cunt sniffing mother fuckers are bouncing my dam ass mouse all over
the place and hacking me, Bob McDowell, old pal and kind sir, FCC,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!! Machine hack, mind hack, where will it mother fucking
end, johnny Faster? And
obviously, any mother fucking retard knows I meant to type in MARCH,
and not fucking DECEMBER. LIFE FOR ME AND MANY OTHERS NOW, HAS BECOME
QUITE A WILD DAM MIND HACK!!!!
Only now, is the great Professor Kaku the only one who has a glimmer
as to just why this is all happening!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEEE.
Boy
are these fucking cunt hackers on me, to quote Helen Islandgirl
Zebriski, “GOUUUUUD”.
Not trying to steal your fucking spotlight, sir Elton. Hay you can
have all the guys you want my bratha, all the more women around for
fucking ass me, YO!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAAAAAAA.
My
life is total hell!
On
Blogger since January 2006
Profile
views – 3037
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2015
Are
these Astrally projected,
Callio's
flowers, A&R Person; or,
HALLS
WALLS
CHAPTER
84
SO
WHEN DOES MORIANITY
PLAN TO TAKE ALL OF YOU DOWN INTO SOME REAL NEW DARK PLACES, BEYOND
THE MOTHER FUCKING DEPTHS
OF HELL
ITSELF; YOU ASK ME; GREAT LADS AND LASSIES? VERRY VERRY SOON, LOVELY
LOVELY INGRID-1984; WHOEVER YOU REALLY WERE, AND ''ARE''!!!
Whether
anyone out here knows it or not, I have done a pretty fuckiGN good
job in trying to explain the magical triangle for nearly a decade no
on this blogging project called, 'MORIANITY'. It won't really get a
lot better. A lot of new shit will be added, and new ideas on all of
the old shit as well my friends; BUTTTTT,
if you're looking for Professor Kaku or Professor Einstein, then tune
out this blog, and go visit either NYU or Princeton U. I mean really,
cut me a break here, Mizz Margie Leo!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you. I
can't ever know anything for sure, how could I? I'm not fucking god
almighty. I can't ever know anything for sure, how could I? I'm not
fucking god almighty. I can't ever know anything for sure, how could
I? I'm not fucking god almighty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Is
it Tweety-Bird or Jay Peanut?
Bruce
Pennock seemed to fascinate the great National Broadcasting Company,
as much as I did; ever since the start of the
seventies. We both ended up on Jason Forrest's internet radio
crap web-page, WFMU. We both seemed to peak the interest and
curiosity of the mighty self righteous lady known and loved by all,
as 'Listener Therese. We both ended up on Aquarius Records. We both
seemed to peak the curiosity of the greatest pop diva on planet
Earth. And we both went to a school on Hopkins Lane, in Haddonfield,
New Jersey, and we both hung around with several kids, one being Bob
McDowell, who used to really bust poor Bruce Pennock's stones. He
would ask him over and over again, “Hay Bruce”. He would then
reply with, “Yeah what do you want?” Then Bob McDowell without
any surprise or shock value to it, would repeat the same exact thing
to him time and time again, “You're my little dick in the mouth”.
Now the guy is the Director and Chairman of the entire Federal
Communications Commission. He decides whether to license the great
NBC and all of them, year in and year out. Who in the name of Jesus
Christ and his saving blood, folks; could even begin to make up a
story like all of this? That is all I am asking you right now to
digest.
Now
in this same school, we had Marcucci, Marola, Smith, Mackey, the
Christmas Tree Angel singing a 1994 song only it was 1972, Mister
Kevin Dreamfields Costner, and we had the mighty Sarah Lovely Redhot
Jacobson!
Let
me end this blog with this. I may be dead very soon without waiting
to choke to death or taking any poison flowers up here to ingest. I
am one sick puppy. When I am dead, this blog will be sent
automatically to many authorities round this world. That will happen,
and no one can stop it. All I demand is a full honest unbiased
medical autopsy, and justice for my murderers. Thank you very much,
Pam Bondi, Attorney General of Florida, and Mister President, Barack
Obama, kind sir. I wish you all only the best.
no
one in the world is ready for a bunch of non registered private
journey travelers, skipping across the hyperspace, doing all sorts
of things that the world powers have no power or control over. The
problem I will always have with all of this shit is the
evental-time-warp of 1987.
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Audience
'MORNING
LIGHT'
I
KNOW THAT I TITLED THAT SONG IN 1980 SENT TO THE © OFFICE, “THE
MORNING LIGHT”. FOR REASONS ONLY THEY KNOW, THEY REMOVED THE
WORD 'THE'.
My
distant cousin back in May of 1995, up on L.I.N.Y., had the worst
weekend of his life, or so he told his wife, in his house, before
leaving to see his doctor. Then his son tells me years later, to
go wash my hands, up at the HARVEST place on Orange Avenue and
Twenty-Fifth Street. Only I am not the one with the unclean clans,
gorgeous Judge Judy. W-O-W THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HALLS
WALLS
My blogs |
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Oh precious Jesus,
it has now gone to an oppressive 88 with a humidity of 57, and it
feels like 93, and tomorrow, it may be as high as the middle nineties
and feeling around the old century mark, as the great meteorologists
used to say a lot. Like WOW, to quote the darn kids!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is more for my own files than anything else.
Whenever memories fade or go in-between two possible things, such as
what I discussed on recent blogs about whether I sent my music
copyright project, that included the medical disaster, and my
attempts to reduce a weekly ativan dosage from 28 down to 10
milligrams, and my discussing this with a very mysterious lab
technician that was not normally at a particular throat specialists
office; and the memory began to split in so far as much as I began
pondering, was this right before or right after my train trip down to
Orlando, Florida. The train trip was a major incident that lies
in-between this so-called event-split that would follow some type of
interference in the fifth dimension by the ESS, and even more than
this, is all of the stuff that is around what is being pondered
about, that pertains to parts of that train trip. Now before I go on,
I experienced a major situation early this morning that mirror images
this late 1983 verses early 1984 situation where my memory seems to
drop into two absolute possibilities. What happened is suddenly not
remembering an incident correctly about a night at Cifaloglio up in
Jersey while doing security guard duty on the weekends. It involved
Atlantic City, go figure, and the great all mighty radio station down
there by Ex-Mayor Levy's lifeguard tower. Folks, I was super trumped
without knowing it. I thought in 1988 when Sally Starr called the
Mayor's office on my behalf, that I was pretty cool. I am nothing.
These mother fucking entertainment world scum are all in the ESS,
some do not maintain their conscious memory to it, but I promise you,
this is a fact. They all come from the BRIGGBASE, where my distant
cousin is the head dictator of, so to speak. Someone interfered with
time either within the last few hours, or recently, making me totally
forget that it was WAYW-FM of Atlantic City, that I just happened to
tune into on this particular January night in 2009, close to a year
before I left the state forever, but on a tape I was using in my car,
while maintaining my life journal on cassette tape, I was saying how
I was going to leave in the dead of night, from Cifaloglio, and carry
out the plan that eleven months in the future, was meticulously done
verbatim. Suddenly and magically, I was totally unsure whether it was
this radio station where this Mike and Diane Show came on, right
after Mariah Carey was played, her song called, “Gonna' Get Along
without You”, and that crap with Paula and Regis Philbin, and the
politically correct threat stuff came on; copying exactly what I said
recently on a blog, to M.C. I took real major offense to this, and
know it was no coincidence, and my tuning into the station was not
one either. This same technology that is super high advanced from
anything the greatest computer hackers are aware of as of 2015, is
all part of this shit. Long story made extremely short, it is also
how they get me to see ONES ON COUNTERS AND CLOCKS continually and
relentlessly. It drives me mother fuckiGN crazy as god dam
hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But they indeed do have this horrible
fucking ass advanced super high tech,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Suddenly, it was as if two realities
were in my past. I was fully convinced that this all happened at
work, yes, but before the great family kidnapped me in late August,
sometime in 2008. How do Type-3-Exploratrons do what they do, many
wonder. I have tried my fucking best to explain how it works, and am
not going to fret and sweat if people are simply not willing or able,
to understand or believe these powerful awesome true realities. But I
also know, that when reality gets effected from shit pulled by ESS,
weather gets nuts as shit, too hot, too cold, super storms, totally
rash and unusual national as well as local weather patterns, and then
on top of all of this shit, events begin to clot like blood on a
healing fucking wound. For example, discussing my plans to drive
south into the night without anything but the clothes on my back, and
eleven months later, this exact reality was destined to fucking
occur, no two ways about it, as if it was sealed with cement on
steroids. Other shit is there as well. For the mother fucker who
recently got a wild message through to me through a series of very
clever back doors that I am totally unsafe to further discuss, or
many might be in grave fuckiGN danger, and myself included; that my
latest music project is not by any means a depiction of my daughter's
singing voice, remember that in 1980, I had super shit to work with.
Up in this so called future of great technology, take me at my word
when I tell you this is all garbage up here. Back in time, I could
sample something such as this telephone conversation, and with a few
little bells and whistles, all the talent of my daughter would be
there, and you would not be able to tell the difference between what
I did and what she did, except for an age difference perhaps. Still,
I was not speaking in recent blogs about the music as proof, but the
opening line which is the only thing real on that song. And yes, I
told 'K' about the note you or your friend, whoever you are, left for
me, Mister Van!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You have some very dangerous fucking friends, Regis,
my advice to you is the same advice I have given to many people who I
care for in this world. Watch over your shoulder, YO. These are very
dangerous fuckiGN people, sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I feel like my comrades to the northeast have let me
down. I hoped they would offer me some asylum from all these
nightmare wicked demonic fucking people. You are one lucky mother
fucker, Mister Snowed-IN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Like
WOW, to quote the darn kids!!!!!!!!!!
I
may not the dam mayor, I may not be anything other than victim of
Atlantic City, but I am not as clueless as good old Pool-Roy either,
in or out of wild museums!!!!!!!!
So
bring it on, lovely big DAWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ONE
OF YOU, A MILLION OF YOU; THE DAMAGE WOULD BE THE SAME. CONTAINED OR
UNCONTAINED; IN THE HAMPTONS, OR IN HUNTINGTON; HUH UNCLES HERBERT
AND SON ARTHUR????????????? WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW!
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