HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 97

HALLS WALLS, CHAPTER 97

A while back, I was minding my own business and an evil man walked into a guard house, by the name of Jimmy Stone, and he fired me. I had done nothing to this bastard, and he just fired me. It was straight out of Mickey Walker at Mars of 1977, only this was on the first day of a whole other month, not July of 1977, but September of 2004.

This was not some random event. All things all connect up. Most people do not have a clue because they never stop and look back and see a bigger picture of shit in hindsight. It is there in all of our faces. Any of us can see this truth as plain as the nose on our faces. Yes, 27 years and two months after the nightmare of Mickey firing me at Mars, came Jimmy firing me 'for real' here in this universe while 'awake'. 326 months from that horrible 'nightmare-dream' in 1977, or really maybe about closer to 330 months, as the dream was sort of like a premonition about the coming July first, a few months yet to come. All of this fits into huge shit that time doesn't allow me getting big time into right now.

Firing me is part of all of this, and this story involves a double murder and many other things, but again, I cannot begin to think about getting into it all right now. So I will talk in a quick 'book report' type of way and just relay a few facts for now that can all be tied together much better, later on. Jimmy had to fire me from this job. Jennifer Washburn had to get me into another job about 28 weeks later. This would be the Cifaloglio place. This all had to happen. Not in all universes, but in the one where I type out this blog right now. But there was a character along with some people in his circle, who were all from the former job up in Florence Township, that I can prove a connection to with some folks at this new job. No one who doesn't live in New Jersey can relate, but folks, this is a densely populated state by anyone's terms and definitions. The odds, of so many people in my life, all seemingly connected, no matter how many miles of separation exist in-between these various spots; are astronomical to say the very dam least. One day in 2007, and around the time that I sent the music project to the © Office, on Halloween day of that year, called, “Same Title”; and actually was not called that, but the © Office named it that for complex reasons, that again, time would never begin permitting me to get into the dam ass specifics about with you; but around this date somewhere, was what I called the Cifaloglio Magazine Incident or the CMI for short. Someone at this work site, knew that I, the weekend guard, would pass through an area on clock rounds, and see it opened up to a particular page, unless I was blind as a bat. I sat down and looked at it after hitting my key, and it contained some powerful stuff, that at the time, made some but little sense. Most of it was about Donna Summer the late disco artist, and some of it was about MC, not MCI. But all of this, and a big truck load of Baskin Robins Ice Cream; would not come close to revealing all of the powerful cosmic nuances involved in all of this. Approximately two years later, the same person that arranged for my finding this magazine that weekend night while on my guard duty; learned through the work site grapevine, how I had come into the garage and got talking to a dude named Bill along with a couple of his coworkers, and was telling how I was getting fed up with a truck driver who was always screwing with me, and I showed them what I might have to do to this person should the harassment not be stopped, and I leaped into the air like in a Chuck Norris movie, and gave a double kick to the side, like that dumb new dog flea commercial where the dog kicks the flea from mid air. But this led to the making of a whole other TV commercial, one for the great American Telephone and Telegraph Corporation, or AT&T. Shortly after I started at this place, a brand new run was started, and Atlantic City had been added to the route of various trucks that went places to perform services. The first man hired to do this run, the deer hunter, Anthony, was friends with many of my Atlantic City enemies in the local political system, and also friends of the owner of the place, and was related by marriage I am pretty sure. This family has a lot of roots up near my wonderful Aunt Ruth and Uncle Heinz lived, the great Woodie Guthrie Island of New York. After I copyrighted my music project that I did there one night, called, “Karaoke Lunch-break at the Sorian 18 Guardhouse”, that the Copyright Office removed the number-18 from the title for powerful reasons; again folks no time to get into all of this right now; but this is when the great Delmo Cifaloglio removed the guardhouse, and made the guards work outside in our vehicles again, the way it was at the start of the job, only now, the place being much busier, this was illegally precarious and deadly ass fuckiGN dangerous. Huge trucks rolled around me like I was dog-shit, and it was a very scary place to fucking work. Right before it was removed, I was balled out by the boss while his daughter who was in the car and loved to always stare at me, was doing that again, and it was very embarrassing to say the fucking least. Also, I didn't deserve the man's grief. My reports were detailed unlike Roy Carl Weiler Senior, the other rotation security guard, the two of us would relieve each other all weekend long. All that man ever wrote was the hour and ''all secure''. Let me tell you folks, nothing is ALL SECURE. Any guard worth his or her salt knows that. My reports were detailed and accurate and I was all over that place looking for shit that was out of order. In guard duty, it is always better to catch something early so as to avoid much bigger grief that would result down the line should one not choose to act in such a manner. Long Story Short, or LSS, I have any reason to know even though I do not have court acceptable evidence, that Deer-Hunter-Anthony was the key enemy there, as ever since he came and that Atlantic fuckiGN City run began, the job that was quite nice before that, turned into nothing but shit, grief, and hell. He was behind many spurious and bad shit that I had to deal with and contend with for nearly a half decade that I had to interact with him. But the real story about Cifaloglio is that if you crashed into a tiny quick cat nap, or if I did and I did and will admit to it, boom, the uninduced astral projections were major, and on top of that, even just regular quick hyperspace experiences were major as all shit as well. I saw a lot of shit that all came to pass, here in waking life, just from a quick crash here and there, and 'dreaming' something that came to pass in future times ahead of me, here in 'waking life'.

Now some of you know that when I talk about the old job before Cifaloglio, the dude who was very mysterious and claimed to be an Olympian God, named Psyche Myrathus from the Great Ring River to the Province one away from Province Olympia; and two friends of his, all knew some friends of this driver-Anthony from the new job. But to keep this all going, I had the WAYV crew, and of course their queen, the great PAULA Somnambulist KING. I totally believe that Paula is one and the same person that worked with my mom, because they share some wild things in personal life besides being dead ringers to each other physically. The odds that I am wrong on this huge covered up secret are millions to one, minimum. Fascination with hidden things is just a part of their similarities, believe me folks. I am not buying into about fifteen other things here, from her choice of male suitors and reasons for those wild decisions, to Aunt Shark Ruth Nightmares of Gloucester, to punishments, to ages all being exact, and as I said peeps, I could go on making this list, checking it ten times, and wouldn't even need her wild spurious friend, Santa, to be involved in this mix.

Sarah herself came to me in her wild sports car, while I was in an out of body experience the day after 2006 Christmas at just past five in the morning, at that Cifaloglio place, but shit doesn't stop there. Where did I have interactions of hyperspace, with Darius from the Harvest? You got it folks. Good old Cifaloglio. We were standing where they wanted the guard to park and sit in his car. He suddenly grabbed me and lifted me up, as Darius is almost seven feet tall and built muscularly. He then went onto say to me, “You never liked me”. I was flabbergasted, and didn't know what to say back, in that 'wild dream' from 2011. It happened either shortly before or shortly after he came over here to do that music stuff to my computer, I think it was before but don't want to swear to it. Normally my memories are clear as a dam bell. Here I go again, is someone doing a 1983-1984 hyperspace equation deal with me, again, YO?

Go ahead and tell me that my life isn't so wild, that it literally makes the dam ass African jungles appear tame in comparison! Just go the hell ahead, kind ladies and gents! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

APRIL 29, 2015,

WEDNESDAY MORNING AT 3:55,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 73 DEGREES FNHT.

THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW.