SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 159

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 159
WORLD LABS SBT-DATFILE: 053111.988
TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995
COPYRIGHTED BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

Two Pitsy times ago it was 1980, one month into my first stay at the Voorhees Township, New Jersey Robin Hill Apartment complex. It would be about 4days and nights ticking down from the great interaction with SCYLLA, that my blogs refer to so many times as LOIS FOCA.

You have heard me talk about reality-3 when the Parallel-Event discussion is in progress from time to time, and it is nothing more than saying that something other than either the “A” or the “B” event, is behind some type of OZ CURTAIN, and in front of them with all of us normal peeps, would be the two events that appear to be in some fashion connected to each other cosmically, even though in many instances, it makes no sense to a logical thought process, why indeed they would be connected. I've sited the fist fight bar example and how some things make total sense, yet in cases such as comparing roulette game parameters or whether certain football teams win every time it rains in Johannesburg, South Africa, or a great preponderance, and no matter how you examine it and shake and toss it all up, something huge is indeed behind this curtain, whether or not some young chick with a lot of audaciousness and guts such as Dorothy from Kansas, pulls these curtains back to expose the PARLOR TRICK, 'OR NOT', MISS AT&T BLAKE of '83.

You also have heard my ranting on with the PITSY YEARS, or the PORT-IN-THE-STORM-YEARS. Pitsy, pretty, White Boys, Donna, or Oh-God-
Tracy-Potato-Chips, something is also up with this mathematical system based on the two numbers of eleven and three. For those just tuning in now to the story of the MOUNTAINPEN, 1969 and 1980 are apart by 11 years. Adding eleven as well as a three additional amount with each new movement of this figure, it comes to 1980 + 11 + 3, and then from this it would go to another 11 + 3 + 3. A child can add up this simple deal here, and we are now led to 1969, 1980, 1994, and 2011. Finally, the Pitsy year after this one now would be 11 + 3 + 3 + 3 or 20 and 2011 which comes to the year of 2031. This is the time I have been told, I'll be released from this prison that you call waking physical life. Freed from prison is a total illusion. There is no years, there is no before or after, and there is no start or end, in the real higher reality of things, only in these realms of space-time illusion, and without moving into the full sixth dimension, I cannot use the real terminology here called STM, or SPACE-TIME-MIND.

Every utility has messed with me. I mention Detective Studderreale, in a joking way, and my studder tone voice-mail got messed with. It worked fine when I first moved in here, and then boom, it just stopped working,. For absolutely no discernible reason. AT&T says it will be repaired in 24 hours. We will see folks. My words have power, and I need to be KING CAREFUL just how I decide to use each and every one of them, especially on an electronic medium of any kind. Have I been zapped into a universe in the vast hyperspace where impaired speech or the word studder has vanished, or has Spell Checker reached new lows in intelligence recently, across the hyperspace board all together?

It is only a matter 'ODF' time, before the world will make me vanish. Only World War Two is protected, according to Bruce Goldberg. Read the book. I know only too well, Sir Bruce, ho0w they make me look like a nut,m YO! 'OF/OF/OF/OF', fucking hacker ass, 'NOT ODF', get fucking lost jerk off Lattisaw!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You do not make things happen, or make your own luck, this is a total lie, a fallacy, and bullshit if there ever was a reason for the Henry Fonda invention of this great boat naming word, and not SCYLLA in human form!

Dave Roth talked about the WILLIAMSTOWN CYCLES, long before I was made total privy of his group he loved so much called, NEW SHOES. Also, long before I knew the approximate dimensions of this expansion called a hypersphere. Still, what sick joy mother fuckers do you get out of shit like what you pulled earlier today, jack off ass holes? If I'm so important, what are you cock sucking mother fuckers gonna'; do when I am dead and fucking gone someday and you no longer have me to mother fucking play with, YO?

When the great and beautiful teenager, Roseann Delaney, back in the summer time in 1969 or late spring time there about somewhere, tried to bite my head off, this had nothing to do with me waking up that morning, and think to myself; gee, I hope some tall long haired beauty queen comes along this evening while I'm outside with my cat, and thinks that she is Barnabas Collins' sister or something. I d not claim to have all the answers, not about Dangerfield, not about just how good ice tea can really taste, or anything else such as special education teachers who seem to know the total ass future, and others who know that at the ripe old age of fourteen, I have paternal possibilities. After-all, YO, no sense upsetting the All Mighty millionaire phony hoax Gini and Austin, of www.harvestfoodoutreach.org/ for freaking crissake, YO!

Limiting the reality scope to indeed shit that I do know peeps, 5/12 of this year is over and 7/12 remain, and a child in 2nd grade knows or should know this simple whittle fact. Unlike 69, 80, or 94, this mother fucking year has not in any way proven to be these years, in fact 2011 has been putrid and fucking horrendous times ten to the fucking tenth power. I am speechless, as mathematics normally does not dick fucking out. Things normally work out, mathematically, but them , there's that trusty old HUNTINGTON CURSE, that gets in the way every time.

I do challenge anyone alive with a brain, to take my blog and read it over any length of time, and whether you like me or hate me or feel any way inbefreakingtween, reality still goes 'BING'------ STUDDERREALE TOM CHILD MOLESTOR of the great Atlantic City Water Works and the great CALLIO/MCGETTIGAN/MCGUIRE/MARTINO/KING CLAN OF THE NORTH!

Those guilty of perpetrating the evils that I have had to live and suffer through for literally nearly six fucking decades now, feel tucked away, so nice and cozy and safe on that other side of those great OZ CURTAINS. Well, I must find my Dorothy, and one way or another Perky Cora and Paula Pederpuke, I WILL, and BILL REED, and the entire mother fucking state of New cunt lapping Jersey; can take this any way they want, and they can also feel free to call up the damn State Police on me as well, see if I care, I'[m fucking shaking in my bloody boots, KATE WILLIS. Come on out with a new hit, bitch!!!!!!!!!! BE WARNED, I am working on a super plan to find Dorothy. My finding Sarah days were a long stage, and they have NOW OFFICIALLY TERMINATED, MY BROTHER!Break somebody else's arm Frank Educatorcop Callio, and run up somebody else's telephone bills Allbright, you canoodles. How much did you pay Selena Dada? Are you happy you made me remember all this, Michelle Daniels of RPL? Still wonder about the reasons behind my 'opinions', or can we just leave things at I'm entitled, sheeeeeeeeeeit, girl. Hay, Leticia, wow is it fun not to have to play your car game. Your cousin long ago, was enough baggage to handle, Jesus Christ.

Count Woods, not test pressings. The logic here is invaluable. This was most definitely another 'Giant Haddonwood Fly Stargate' , both on that day in the autumn of 1969 where I saw the 3rd day on my 1970 vacation would begin a lifelong fucking disaster, as well as this very evening. Things merged and I was for an instant, back there, throwing a brick through that stupid door that would not open by itself as it did in the television show. What next, ism my godsdamn response, Roseann?

We'll get seriously into big time shit on SJ-#160, right now I must freaking crash. This was another SUPER BOTBAR DAY, but then folks, WEIN, SOSO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TWANSMISSION, WHAAAAAAAAAAAA. BYE-BYE FOLKS!!!!!