KINGNEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL CHAPTER 072

KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL CHAPTER 072
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CH-072-021511.799----TUESDAY EVENING
THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL AND ME

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

Yesterday, Monday was a pretty quiet day. Today, Tuesday is back to the freaking usual, HEAVY MILITUFORCE OTAMMIC DEATH SIEGE, skies are loud with planes and choppers, the neighborhood is loud with music and other annoyances. Work was off the scale bad this morning, I suffered another bad as freaking attack there. Still the powerful MILLIONTH-COUNCIL is the force that is really behind the OZ curtains, as choppers roared overhead all day, and could be heard inside the Orange Avenue Harvest Building, www.harvestfoodoutreach.org/ if you wish to click in and look around a little. My photo is continually revolving around, the fellow shown after me, also named Mark, is a story you many know a little about if you have accessed late May of OH-MAROLA-TEN blogs. This was the dude that repaired my car when it mysteriously broke down the very time of my move from White City in the RV, to this 26th Street current residence, YO.

This is going to tell some interesting shit, as when I am p-persecuted by this diseased super scum bags club, I have no other way of exacting my revenge and retaliation but to get online and tell my story and scream out what IS and what HASW been happening to me and going on around me for over a mother fucking half century now, and this is just my current APDD (ASTRAL-PLANE DREAM-DOWN)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You may label this, my current 'lifetime'. It is merely two different descriptions of the very same precise thing, BRO. I know for a fucking total certainty that my enemies absolutely despise my doing this with a passion, as they one by one took away the few peeps in my circle who I used to be able to talk to about my problems and the difficulties of the days and now I am lefty only with blogging on the mother fucking internet, and I'll fucking use whatever means is available to me, the airplanes crashing into buildings terrorism syndrome, is another way of describing my nightmare.

One thing I must admit to is what I will now label as the illusion of my past. Name a stinking rotten decade, and SATAN or Apollo-Lucifer has made it a nightmare hell for me. The 60's, the 70's, the 80's, the 90's, and the twenty-ohs, and now the 20-teens, all of these periods have been horrific and putrid, and if I have ever tried to mislead myself or my blog in any way about this, then I have been totally kidding and deceiving myself at the speed of fucking light squared!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Things have happened to me in each of these decades, and on a totally continual and constant basis, that whether any of my readers like what I now say or not, I am flat out telling you, none of you would have survived one of these 10-year periods, in fact not one single year. This is just one plus one is two truth, sorry if anyone is offended.

Now when looking at the odds for all of the wild shit that played out in my freaking life, what really would they be honestly calculated at? Lightning Goddesses, a dozen recording artists, the Paul's and the Paula's of my nightmare existence, the strange deaths of both my mother and my best fried David Roth, the Atco, New Jersey choking condition, and if you analyze my blog work in full, then you know the list would go right off these pages. Pants not going down to my shoes, strobe light attacks, pulsar star choppers, dreams that see into the future in full quadrophonic high fidelity sound and both technicolor and panoramic view, and not dreams of small things like a crash of a plane that I am on in 5 years, but the Challenger Disaster, the World Series of 2008, medical offices that become future homes where I reside, and not ordinary families involved, but cousins of the very top all time female recording artist of this planet. But this is not the revenge secret, and what is, is coming now. When I opened up the topic of the great all mighty Lenny McKinnon the other day and told you tghat this all led to the gangster rap music and the culture of the entire scene that went with it, there was a reason for all of it happening, just as their was a reason why I found another top artist's demo project, HAIR, by Donna Gaines, in an attic at the RPL Recording Studios of 1100 State Street, in Camden, New Jersey, USAESMWG in the middle of October of the year of 1980, and just shy of that came the powerful dream where SCYLLA, all frown up, sang HER song to me, 'LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS', or LOIS FOCA for short, the run in that I had just shortly after this with the dude that said that he would destroy my car, and sure enough that very night, HE DID, after refusing to let him ride with me, on Browning Road, right past the world famous Edmund Scientific Company, whose catalogs circulate the globe to this very moment and day, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1969 and 1980 were a lot more than mathematical PITSY years and times for me. 1969 is when Paula King raped me on the July holiday under the boardwalk, and what can you expect, despite it being a full 16 years before I ever wrote the lyrics on the song SARAH on the 12th of May of 1996, but did I say 16 years? I believe I sure did, and this of course is the eternal endless and forever age of the All Mighty Scylla, out in Sahasra Dal Kanwal, on the Astral Plane, also known as Lordess Jehovah Neecy of the Krassle family, (SARAH-STACEY KRASSLE).

Forgetting all of this, and “the things I've done”, Copyright Examiners of 1997, and in moving on up here as we make our freaking way along the year of 2011 and the PITSY-#4 for me, let me tell how I have forced myself to see a huge monster size illusion in many ways when looking back through time. I have accused many of seeing things through rose colored glasses while all along, the pair that I've been wearing all along are most likely by far much thicker than the ones worn by the others who I have mentioned so often, beginning with my own damn mother, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes for example the year 1969 was quite wonderful at least by my own life and years of comparisons. I had my pal Ziggy, I went to the seashore every weekend all summer, I was still enjoying having good eyesight, I had my favorite television show to watch every weekday by the name of “Dark Shadows”, I was not under the pressure any longer of attending a regular high school when placed in the special education system around this very time42 years ago to this very date, and so on and so forth I could go. But while all this was happening, I was also, and totally without my knowledge, under total observation by some group of weird human beings, as well as the real behind the OZ curtain force that organized therm all and placed them all around my proximity, for reasons and with goals and motives that would defy 1,000 books ever written all together by the Spielberg and the Patterson peeps of this pathetic puny little ignorant world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If this is not having the quintessential rose colored glasses on, then SOME ONE OUT HERE, PLEASE SHOOT ME A MESSAGE, AND TELL ME WHAT WOULD FREAKING BE, PWEEEEEEEEEZE, BRAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM ALL EARS lads and lassies and Labradors, YO. If the top comedian of all times, RD, had not been involved in the mix by telling me on Brad's telephone that day in late spring of 1969, to be careful and stay away from Atlantic City, it still would be enough to more than peek the interest and curiosity of Jack McCoy on LAW & ORDER, if such a character was not a fictitious one, and had existed back in 1969, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What pisses me off more than words can ever express, is that I have had enough legwork done for me to know that there is a good chance that right here in this world and not some trans-dimensional part of the 5th dimensional hyperspace, that the accident in the taxicab of a maternal and not vehicular nature, was not some stupid dream, but more memory suppression from my favorite somnambulist and DOMINANT-EXPLORATRON known by many in the eastern New Jersey area 40-50 years back, Paula King, as first off I do not believe in a lot of accidents, nor a lot of freaking ass 'coincidences', YO. I would rather make up my own word, and it is called, “INTENTIONALS”. Let's look at accidents, on a machine realm, as I am way too ignorant of computers and the internet to have ever planned all this freaking bullshit and then carried it all out so damn perfectly and meticulously. When Ed 'Himacane' Lynch who built my website called the MORIANITY-FOUNDATION, created it, I gave him 150 dollars, and he put up what I still believe was a very nice little website, that was there to be an attachment of a sort to my blogging work, and the telling of my nightmare life story. I could not afford to keep up the annual dues however, as it was not a free website. It has been down since late 2008, but not too late 20078, and here is the magic involved, Scylla, or no Scylla. If you type into a search engine, and especially the great NSA/CIA-MARY CARTER PAINTS COMPANY OWNED “GOOGLE”, you will get a lot more than just ALEX JONES, one of my great hero's, but you also will get a pop up that leads you to older works of my blogs at another GOOGLE OWNED spot, www.blogger.com/ and on it is the name of the blog project, and the name is actually called, MORIANITY FOUNDATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I no more planned this than I planned 2 have the (mighty teen Nick) take me back to my high school, the Haddon Township High School, in the year of 1968 when he'd be about minus age twelve, or have him take me as a grown man to a strange hotel up in Boston, and then back to Philly on Halloween day, the same day that I had copyrighted my past three prior works down in Washington, DC-13, to view the big World Series Parade when the Philadelphia Phillies won the 2000 game, 6 weeks before it happened, and by the way this is all verifiable, just archive my old blogs, it is all there and nobody dares to try and take it down.

When I discuss my 4 PITSY years, 1969, 1980, 1994, and 2011 or this year, I am not saying that these were not far better years than any of my other years, that claim remains valid and true, it is not in any way in dispute. When I say rose colored glasses, it would take half an eternity to really try and explain in any meaningful way, that things never really alter for me and that I am totally aware and always have been totally aware, that a sinister and hideous and very mysterious covert invisible force is behind all of the sum total of all events that played out in my life. I find it more difficult on a day to day basis to believe in ANY coincidences. Christians call them GOD-incidences, which shows me that at least they are onto the reality that shit far beyond this puny planet is involved with all of us poor awake ass mortals, YO!!!!!!!!!!!

Way more will be talked about and expanded on from where this all opened yup, especially how wonderful 1969 seemed to be, only all along, a duality was existing, always the great duality, a seemingly inescapable paralleling with the life of MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN OR 'Mark Wayne Mohr of Hammonton, New Jersey', ONLY NOW IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, but still in the good old USAESMWG, BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The 2nd part of the blog in chronological-order will be very short tonight, I am tired and need to eat, bathe, and crash. When all of the shit that was unfolding during the first 3-6 years of my life that I mentioned so far was all happening, so was my insatiable desire to learn and know the unknowable. Even at 3 years of age my mom would remind me of how I would never stop asking questions, what comes after a million, where does the sky end, and so forth. Not too many toddlers make the leap that I did once I learned a few of these facts however. I was not the only child prodigy, there have been a numerous bunch of these pathetic and usually miserable people. But I doubt that any of the others from Mozart to Whiz-kid-Charlie went running down the street at age 3 from a neighboring home back to where my mother was at the home of her parents, owned solely by granny as my grandfather had passed on and woke up from this bullshit quite a while back, the man who owned and ran the famous New Jersey Camp Miquon at Brant Beach on Long Beach Island, and what was said by me was a little bit strange for any child to come to realize, or adult for that matter. It went and I quote, “Mommy now I know where the sky ends, it's where my grand daddy is”.

END TRANSMISSION: