safe journal, chapter 070

KING NEBNOOSHOO AND HIS SAFE JOURNAL
COPYRIGHT MARK MOHR 2006-2011 ©
BLOG BOOK CHAPTER #070
WLSBT-DATE AND TIME FILE: 021311.847
THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL AND ME

Beginning Transmission:

A chopper struck over my home around ten or so minutes shy of two this afternoon, and other than that, this freaking Saturday has been quite quiet, nothing 2 complain about. Still, the attack promotes a little yesterday-style counter-strike, I.E. the telling of a TRS. In case the majority of Blogaudians forgot what this is, as I'm sure that they have, it stands for TODAY's REVENGE SECRET.

It has been talked about and hit on a little bit here and a little bit there all throughout the past 4-6 years or so on my blog works and MORIANITY PROJECT, same thing really. It is about a Philadelphia music record promoter whose name happens to be William Leonard McKinnon, his nick name was Lenny. This upstanding fine gentleman, throat clear-throat clear, was the true originator of all of the gangster rap music and associating culture produced from it. He was a large tall African American about 28-34 years of age give or take. He wore fancy duds, and always had a special suit jacket that covered his large magnum weapon, fully loaded and ready to go, right where anyone would see it and pass out should he merely lift the bottom of his lapel for a little int5imidation ops. After he ran away with 700 dollars of my hard earned money, I wrote to the Recording Industry Association of America, President at the time in early 1981, a Mister Hal David, to report the gun and the taking of my money, as well as the general way that this real cool dude conducted his business, at least with me. One day in Philadelphia on a hot master-blaster July early afternoon, while in my green Chevy Nova auto, he ordered me, AT GUNPOINT, to run a red light, I mean the light was red before we even got up into the intersection. This was no last second acceleration on a late-yellow. There is way more to tell, and will be told, as many things now appear in a new light for me, of what I now know about the mighty TAWF and all of its seemingly unending tentacles, and how this connects up, you know, those famous L&O-Jack McCoy 'dots'. Why this man and his friends Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff of the great Sigma Sound Studio and the International record label that they owned, did what they did, is no more mysterious than all of the other stuff that has been done to me since I have been standing knee high on tip toes to a small house plant, is really quite simple. Words that perfectly and most adequately describe it, or some of them at least would be, “Huntington Curse”, “Millionth-Council” “THAT ASTRAL WORLD FAMILY or TAWF”, and “PISS-POOR-MAGNETICS” to quite a made up expression that came to be used often by myself and my friend David Roth all throughout the eighties and the nineties ending in 2002 in March when a man named Jonathan Schau murdered my pal via slow poisoning. I always said after this that one particular 'morning light was anything but all right', songs and disco and funky little hearts breaking all notwithstanding, and may the gods be with the weak and the defenseless. Lenny did a lot of wild things, illegally tape recording me on long extended telephone conversations, threatening me and saying that he owned me which if I had ever said such a thing to him would have obviously started the Third War War. Lenny was a professed Rastafarian. He also knew things, and had major plans to create this rap movement that all began after he vanished away from me and his promises to promote my music in exchange for monetary trade offs, naturally. But what actually happened and why is complex, and frightening, and makes alien abductions and talk about my dealings with the Astral-Plane and its population-entities and so much more, appear in comparison as kids in a camp singing camp songs at a bond fire, led of course by Robert Matches McGuire and his distant cousin Scylla in HER Earthly counterpart. I will tell you all, that just as big as the rest of this true story is about Mister McKinnon and the origins of the Rap culture and its music in late 1980, as so many things all were seed planted in this mighty and wild PITYSY year of 1980, (PORT-IN-THE-STORM YEAR), are many other things. One is the BRIGGBASE RESIDENT MINIDROID creatures that walk all around amongst us and hardly anyone knows a thing about this topic let alone discusses it even behind locked doors and burning dim candle light. Inside the audio and video and computer equipment, are the guts of what makes electronics actually work, the flowing electrons need these guts, as these electrons are sort of like the blood, but the little doo-dad-things are the body that this blood needs to circulate into and through, and then like magic, things just work. If you dare to ask technicians about the exact reason that it all works as it does, varying responses and answers will come from them to our queries. In truth, they really do not know. If they say they know exactly how and why all this shit just works, they will be lying to you, but this is only the lesser and first part of this very scary ass story so let me keep moving this right along folks, YO!!!!!!!!!!!! Have any of you seen 'them' yet, you know what I mean if you know, and if you don't, then you freaking don't, doesn't really get a lot simpler than that, huh old pal John Red Jane Henningsen?? I will tell what I'm referring to, or else the blog will be missing this important powerful punch of the day. They are very tiny, about half the size of small nat's, and they have a weird and almost ugly monstrous appearance to them, even to the naked eye. They live inside the cracks of the units and cases that house the guts that make it all work and bring the modern population under the total domination and control of the LAMBRIGGER CULOT of the ASTRAL_PLANE BRIGGBASE, located in Province Olympia, not really a tangible caporial 'location', but more like a condition-interaction. Staring at television high definition, or computer monitors will also eventually allow the onlooker to see these ENTITIES. These invaders come out of their homes away from their true home, the casings that you really do not want to crack open Mister Wolf, and then be forced to stare down this completely unseen and unrecognized enemy that we all have agreed to permit to be taken over, and successfully invaded. We have actually willingly handed over the Planet Earth waking world, to these real aliens, no hoaxes, no sci-fi; but real shit, deadly dangerous ass shit. The living moving insect-like things are not the real enemy, they are just like probes, coming out for a stroll upon occasion, looking around and going back into their cases and making their reports to the circuitry of silicon and other little smelly thingamajigs soldered up so neatly along breadboards and motherboards.

Now for a very quick continuation with the 2nd part of the blog, my life in a chronologically reported order that would even make the Terry Egghead's of the great Jersey Harbors proud of me: The first 5 years of my life were filled with some very strange and anything BUT natural experiences in many instances. At a very young age, I came to perceive things that others do not. At about the time of my 6th birthday, I ran away from a dog long before knowing the dog was even chasing me, this was a total 6th sense, not in any way a part of my using the five given normal senses of hearing and seeing and so forth. I just knew that I had to run fast to my home, and made it within an inch of my life, literally dangling upside down staring into the face of a very angry German Sheppard dog with his mouth open wide and his teeth glistening at me, while barking so loud and near to my ears that I had ringing for hours after the event. I did not remember ROGER, not then. Now I remember that this dog is dreaming down, asleep from DOGTOWN, and in one very bad mood from the torture he is receiving there, he is on his 5th set sentence, and only about 1 and a half Minina-Kalpa into it, as it is 75 MK, and he must complete his final fifth 15-MK, each one seems on average to contain interactions sufficient to total up in human years if measured comparatively, as just less than 890 years. So we are talking here about thirteen and a half times 890, sort of just under what about twelve freaking thousand mortal world human years would feel like, and in DOGTIOWN, every second totally sucks and seems to last forever as you are in excruciating agony beyond any possible description that I could ever hope to offer up on a blog. My point is that this was one angry dog, who on top of his anger, remembers me as Yancy Jones also from DOGTOWN, and SCYLLA never spun him an early release from there as she did for HER THAT BOY or really, THAT-DOG, HER Dalmatian, and the first of my breed. But I had absolutely no knowledge of things like this at the young age that I was when I ran away from this angry large dog that meant to tear me apart at the speed of light squared.

My final sentence is more oriented to the other part of my blog but must get said right now. Certain cassette tapes did not make it down here to Florida with me on that horrendous frightening ass night back in middle December in 2009, for no reason. KING NEBNOOSHOO can have more than one project on his music page on the u-tube, u know, and trying to make me disappear will ultimately prove out to be the greatest mistake of two persons lives that I can think of at this present instant, BRO.

END TRANSMISSION: