SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0266

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0266
12:33 PM-EST, 11/12/11-SATURDAY
TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995
BLOG SUBTITLE FOUR:
“5 STRAIGHT BACK TO BACK SUPER FUCKED UP SATURDAY'S”

STARTING BLOG:

AT JUST SHY OF NOON, THE SAME NEIGHBOR DIRT BALL SCUM BAG WHO MESSED WITH ME LAST SATURDAY WITH A BLASTING ILLEGAL STEREO, IS DOING IT AGAIN, BACK TO BACK, THIS TIME BEGINNING A COUPLE HOURS EARLIER, AND I AM QUITE SURE IT WILL GO ON ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT LONG. I AM IN ROACHVILLE WITH ROACHES. WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT? STILL, I KNOW WHO AND WHAT IS REALLY BEHIND ALL THIS, AND DOING IT, AS IT NEVER ALTERS OR CHANGES IN ANY WAY, NO MATTER WHAT YEAR, WHAT CENTURY, WHAT CITY, WHAT NEIGHBORHOOD; THAT I AM RESIDING IN, SO THUS; SATAN IS THE AUTHOR OF MISERY, AND I KNOW FULLY WELL THAT THIS DISEASED JEALOUS FUCKING PRICK, IS THE ONE DOING THIS TO ME, USING HIS FAMOUS ASTRAL-PLANE TOOLS, THE PAWM-PIE-ETTOS. SATAN CAN DOUBLE AS THE KING OF LAMBRIGGER. THIS HAS NO CONNECTIONS WHATSOEVER, FOR THE RECORD, WITH LAMBRIGG, ENGLAND, HERE IN THE WAKING WORLD ON THIS PHYSICAL PLANE OF MORTAL EXISTENCE.

I HAVE NO CHOICE NOW, BUT TO TAKE THIS TO THE OFFICE OF MANAGEMENT, AND SHOW THEM MY LEASE OF RULES, AND IF THIS DOES NOT WORK, THEN IT IS OFF TO AN APPOINTMENT WITH THE DIRECTORS OF MY HOUSING AUTHORITY. IF THIS DOES NOT STOP THIS, I MUST MOVE OUT, WEIN, (WHAT ELSE IS NEW)?

I may have no rights to peaceful enjoyment in my paid for legal apartment by day, but all night long must be some type of township violation of ordinances. Somewhere 5 weeks ago, I must have picked up a different neighbor next door. This never was going on there in all of the previous months before since late in May when I moved into this shit hole dump. Florida paradise, the only bigger jokes and laughs may perhaps be in Vegas, at a comedy lounge act that is peeps.

I NEVER REPORTED THIS NEIGHBOR PERSONALLY SO FAR. I ONLY LEFT MESSAGES WITH THE OFFICE ABOUT HIS ALL NIGHT MUSIC VIOLATIONS OF THE LEASE RULES. I AM BEING IGNORED SO FAR, MAYBE HIRING AN ATTORNEY IS THE ANSWER, AND MY JOB SITE HAS JUST THE MAN FOR THE JOB, RIGHT PAUL EVANS PEDERSEN, MY PAL, DOCTOR JACK. HE IS THE SAME DUDE HOWEVER WHO TELLS ME TO MOVE ON AND FORGET MY 1969 RAPE. I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM AND OTHER FOLKS TRY AND MOVE ON AFTER A LIFE OF CONTINUAL NON RELELNTING ATTACK DAY IN AND DAY OUT FOR 57 MOTHER FUCKING YEARS AND COUNTING UNTIL I AM FUCKING DEAD AND BURIED. AS I SPEAK, A NASTY LEFT SIDE DEATH-ANDROID SIGNAL ATTACK IS STRIKING ME AT PRECISELY 48 MINUTES PAST 12 NOON, AND THESE 'DEATH-ANGELS' ARE ON A MOTHER FUCKING SUPER ASS ROLL FOLKS, FOR ME, AND I MEAN ONE HELL OF A SUPER NASTY ROLL.

This will be my counterstrike for this 5 straight SATURDAY DEATH SIEGE, this powerful information, blogged again, as it was years ago, out into the public fucking domain.

In 1970, I stayed with a fagot at the shore. He owned many properties, and he liked little boys a bit too much, I was 15, very small, could pass for 10, and he abused me sexually, his name was Thomas J. Reale, from the Ventnor and Somers Point, New Jersey, area. The first time he hand-job molested me, I talked myself into believing it was just a very vivid dream, after-all, my life has always been filled with powerful dreams that seemed so real that many times it was next to impossible to distinguish them from waking life. They also had a tendency to merge with and into waking life, such as in middle December of 1969 when I dreamed that a special girl took a motorcycle chain out of my hands that rightfully belonged to me, or so I had thought, and insisted that she needed this chain and I quote her, “For Her great city”. She told me when I “wake up” soon, it will be gone in waking reality as well, as SHE needs it. When I awoke almost laughing out loud at the seemingly silliness of the dream, I checked a strong box in my apartment bedroom closet that was padlocked with a strong large combination lock that only I had the number pass to open, and sure enough there was no chain, gone, forever gone and lost to me, making my first of two indelible impressions on me, both from this powerful goddess-girl-Sarah, this one in 1969 and later on in early June of 1980 with another powerful so called DREAM, where she was singing a special song to me on Tennessee Avenue, in Atlantic City, called, “Love Is For Carpenters”, or LOIS FOCA for short. What you do not know is a story about the great ICE CAPADES, and their history-marker on a large municipal water pipe, that crossed a section of the bay near a place called once and now defunct, Ruffo Ford, in Atlantic City on the Black Horse Pike, just past the McDonald's and the air field. There is a 47 year-space-wormhole, or something that in today's world would be described as a wormhole, connected with this pipe, and walking across this pipe at a specific time when the system is hot, will take you 47 years to the day either backward or forward through time, depending on if you are moving east towards Atlantic city and the ocean, or west towards where the pipe goes under the road right where the car dealership used to be for so many years. Only I know the exact hot-time, and the directional control of forward and backward. It is used by many movers. I may soon be using it to return to late 1964, and attempt to correct previous mistakes with Sarah. This is all what led my life into this disaster, as Sarah is no ordinary teenager, she is the All mighty God of this universe. One day while visiting relatives up on Long Island, we were all out walking dogs, as my moms cousin Ruth Huntington Gottwald took me and her two grandchildren, on a road-trip from the south up to the north end of the island, after first stropping in Ammityville on another errand, where they all lived early in the sixties before supposedly a toaster oven caught fire and burned their home to the ground, moving them over to Babylon. During this dog walking, I met a blond teenaged beauty queen who told me some awful things, these things need not be told or blogged. Later I walked up the street to see the house that she was referring to, and a small young child beckoned me to follow her through an open fence of some kind and through a door, where I saw her then go into an area where a powerful strobing light was in her hand and shinning. A man who I came to know from a cigar store during my Stockholm Syndrome kidnapping experience in 2008 and 2009, was there as well, and was her step father but believed himself to be her father. This child was bound and determined to show me this incredible device in this small hallway that accessed a larger living space out beyond it, where her father was standing somewhat agitated. Eventually, he caught her, took it away from her, and gave her one hell of a walloping, leaving me flabbergasted. I had never seen a small child hit in my life. I was so proud of her, as she refused to cry, and just looked sad and angry over at him for what he had done. I was half blinded by the brilliance of this strobing light, and for some unknown reason, this light seemed to cripple his mind from ever knowing that I was standing right there in the house. I ran out the way I came and rejoined my cousins and the blond girl who had taken quite a liking to me, we both were in our late teen years, I did not care at all about girls and had many problems, and even though this blond had written her name and phone number on a piece of paper and folded it up and given it to me, I chucked it out the window of my Aunt Ruth's car, later on when we were all driving away back southward towards Babylon, New york. Thirty-six years later, I relived the exact experience that I had blocked out of my mind as it was horrendous, and actually believed until a year or so ago, that I had merely had a very wild DREAM, early in the afternoon of the 5th of October, in 2008. Now I will tell you how the GAWNUM works, since this man who likes to strike innocent little 2 year old girls was the one who told me how exactly it works, over at the Haddonwood Health Club swimming pool, back in 1995, and telling me he was a cousin of this family, a half truth.

To get a PCN or a PRIVATE COSMICODED NUMBER, as he was the main inventor of a machine that was part of all of this, back in 1983, you need to understand alpha-numeric conversion. All letters have a value in their alphabetical order, as A is the first letter, C is the third, E is the 5th, and so forth, or the way to Z being the 26th letter. One must take the first name and the last name of the legal name that they were officially born with, and use the legal language that represents the legal location of their birth. My first name and last name is MARK MOHR, born in the USA, and forget the old eighties songs, as this is too serious to fuck around with. If you add up all of the value numbers to the letters in my name, you get the sun-total-97. In other words, M+A+R+K+M+O+H+R, substituted with the numerical values based on these letters alphabetical order from 1-26; we add up 13, 1, 18, 11, 13, 15, 8, and 18, and this equals 97. This is why 1997 was so significant in my life, and for those with name-numbers into three digits, one of the years in this century will also equal out to being a very significant year for you. Still, this is one tiny part of the science of the GAWNUM, short for GAWKY GAUKAUK'S NUMEROLOGY. There are two numbers between 1-9 that are called the GAWNUM ROOT, and once known, then the third number is simply the smaller digit subtracted from the larger digit, or in the case of equal digit roots such as 33 or 55, the third and final digit of a PCN is a 0. Only a third digit can be a zero, the first two always must be a digit from 1-9. Let me explain just why this is so peeps. To arrive at the first digit of a GAWNUM-ROOT, we add up the total amount of letters, so in the case of my name for example, MARK MOHR, a runny nosed four year old can see that there are eight letters in my combined Christian and Sir names. This is the simple first digit of a PCN. However, in all numerology, only the digits count, and any digit higher than a 9, must be added up, so digits are added up until finally, only one is remaining, and this final one will always be a digit of between a one and a nine. Now to arrive at the second digit of a GAWNUM-ROOT, we also do this thing at the end, but first as stated earlier, this time we take the total alphanumeric value, so with me digit one is an 8, and needs no slimming down since it is not higher than 9. Now digit two is a 97. This is indeed higher than 9, so we add the digits. 9+7=16, and this still is too high, as it is >9, so again we add these digits, 1+6=7. So my name GAWNUMLY, is the root number of 87. The 8 is the first root-digit, and the 7 is the second root-digit. There are 81 ROOT-DIGITS, from 11-99, and there are no zeros. Then in my case, root number 87 creates the number of (1) for its third PCN-DIGIT, as the smaller number of 7, is subtracted from the larger number of 8, and this is 8-7=1, so my first digit is an (8), my second digit is a (7), and my third digit is a (1). Thus, my very own personal (PCN), PRIVATE COSMICODED NUMBER, GAWNUMLY; is {{{{{((((\\\\\\'871'//////))))}}}}}. Anything and everything has a PCN. There atre and always will be and have been, 81 PCN's. Dates, sentences, questions, answers, names, numbers, it all can be spelled out and converted into one of 81 possible PCN equations, and this is just the beginning, as the next lessens will start to teach how to compare for matching compatibility realities and if things are connected, as well as greater stuff than this such as BRANCHCODES, and much more. Al Jolson said it far better than I ever can, but he is not here with me, nor do I any laser retrace technology available with me here, to bring him back so he can say it, so I will take the liberty of saying it folks, “YOU AIN'T HEARD NOTHING YET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Yes peeps, 5 STRAIGHT SATURDAY SIEGES, AND YES, LOOK OUT FOR THE EARTHQUAKE THAT WILL WIPE CALFORNIA OFF THE MAP, PLEASE COME BACK EAST, MC, PLEASE. For now, what you have done for me is appreciated beyond words, and no words can ever properly thank you, brown eyes. Where is my song? Music helps us forget bad junk in our lives, I know this, my butterfly.

ENDING BLOG: