SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 119

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 119
WLSBT DATFILE: 040911.036
TMCAM, TEOHIV
WORLD LABS 2297

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

I have an incredible tale to tell, and it was revealed to me, as all things are, when suffering is at its maximum points, and this is a beauty. Lots of peeps will say who gives a shit, but a few more powerful and controlling and dominant peeps out here are gonna fucking go right smack dab out of their fucking skulls, WOLF-WOLF. Also, this is truth, I swear this by flag and country, and by my eternal love and my Goddess, the Great SSJK. All the clues about this incredible being have been revealed clearly over the past (36) months, just as the Bible from the past millenniums have revealed other truths about this ALL MIGHTY GODDESS, SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KRASSLE. Not many have ever taken the time to really study either the first great BIBLE, or MORIANITY, but should any of you ever tackle this, positively all of the answers to any and all of your questions, would become crystal ass clear. You would need to totally understand and believe that all throughout the recorded history of humankind, there has always been a type of NSA/CIA Controlling/governing body on this planet with the powers of the PAWM-PIE/IAD, as described in so many of my previous blogs and journals. It exists now, and always did and will, as time is really 'ONE', and 'THEY' understand this truth and know how to apply it into the so-called waking human world here. This is how disinformation as well as all dominant control is always established, and with the illusion that human powers are the total origin and source, and not really only mere puppets of 333,333 entities known as the residence of the BRIGGBASE, in the Province Olympia on the condition-interaction directly sent dimensionally downward from the sixth dimension itself, and is thought of as the 'spirit-world' or the ASTRAL-PLANE. These “BRIGGERS” in Astral-Slang, make up one third of the great MILLIONTH-COUNCIL, and the other two thirds reside on the other side of the great TECK BAY, in the GREAT CITY of SAHASRA DAL KANWAL. This literally translates out into waking world language of the English tongue, to be, the “City of the great Sarah-Stacey Krassle”, and Her city-name 'Jehovah' is not included as this is very special to Her. This fantastic endless sixteen year old entity with no beginning or ending when not existing in countless 'TIME-WORLS' in the vast 5th dimensional hyperspace, has had two recent dream-downs off of the Astral-Plane, “LIFETIMES”, that fully emulate Her true identity and city where She has most of Her interactions. In the one that I call the 'Lenny-circa', it was Her great city that was mirror imaged in an extremely under exaggerated way as though looking through a messy and darkened glass to try and view it, and this being our waking world of Atlantic City, that is hacked continually and for whatever reason, the word CITY is always made not to capitalize, for reasons only the great JACK-HACK MC-ODF-CLUB is privy to, quite obviously, YO. In the one that
I call the 'Tomnick-circa', it is Her fantastic persona of the great entertainer and musician that is being mirror imaged in another extremely under exaggerated way, again, as if viewed through a dark messy glass. By the way my descriptions here are not from merely MORIANITY, but rather quite BIBLICAL. The monster-ass question can be asked of course, can MOUNTAINPEN be wrong, after-all was this not a part of the great 1969 equation, and the great Misses Marola of Haddonfield, New Jersey, USAESMWG, to begin with; as written down on so many blogs of mine over the past 4-6 years now? I mean she and I had the great argument, and right before the state lotteries copied Dan Curtis and Harriet Rohr and Dark Shadows, and Morgan Collins? But still, the symbols go on and on like an endless song, w2ow, is this the hypersphere? I mean 'golly gosh darn gee man', Copyright Office Examiners of the late nineteen-eighties, do the symbols ever not match? Do the numbers ever not tell the powerful truth of the GAWNUM? And then there is the playing cards, any old deck will do. We merely remove all cards except for the four suits of the aces through the nines, a total of what else, “BUT” (36) playing cards, only was this all not placed on my blogs long before the great Comcast Demon made direct contact with me, first by computer, and then just a little bit later, on the telephone? Whatever you desire an answer to be given you on, you merely think about it while shuffling these 36 cards, and drawing first one card, and then reshuffle and draw another card, giving you the root-PCN, GAWNUMLY. Then matching that with anything containing that particular PCN, and alagazam, pow, and boom, what do we have but the coolest Vegas magic trick in the freaking world, YO, and without any help from clean kitchens or Swiffer Mops. Imagine that. What is magic, or time travel, or for that matter anything at all? The easiest answer that I can retort back to this query would be, the proper awareness and application of the reality of STM. This stands for the carrying of Mister Einstein's famous equation to the true ultimate level where quantum physics and higher dimensions combine with the old unified filed theories of yesterday, and is pronounced SPACE-TIME-MIND. With it, the only real limits are the inability to trade places with the non-existors, since there is an infinite and unlimited number of these entities, and no more 'room can ever exist' for any more of them, not ever, not anywhere. So we, the existors, are left here, to exist, right Captain Sisco-Nine? Where the shit are you when I need you, Kathy Gatherer? There is a punk with a hammer I'd love you deal with, YO! Oh yeah, but I agreed to all this bullshit, did I not? Well combining the DNA cells of both Moe Howard and Donna Gaines, Mister Wolf, and out might pop the phrase, “That's not either hair nor there”!!!!!!!!! Still, do not think you know the entire deal old pal, I will tell you what I have been blocking in my freaking mind for nearly forty one summers, symbols, mystery ships, and all. When I was staying at the home of child molester Thomas J. Reale, on Cornwall Avenue, in Ventnor, New Jersey, USAESMWG, from late June until the night of the twelfth of July, in the year of 1970, I have discussed my 3 or 4 night serial nightmare dreaming experience with peeps that somehow without using words, told me that they are and I quote, “THAT FAMILY”. This was only a few days before I ever knew that 'Sarah and her gang of luscious teen queens' on Saint James Place and Tennessee Avenue, in Atlantic City, refered to me as “THAT BOY”. I learned this through the back door of being on the bus home around just past ten at night on the 12th of July, Copyright Office. Why do you think I wrote all of these fucking garbage songs, just for fun? Gimme a freaking break BRAH. Even nasty commentators that are correcting me on the spelling of certain slang words, they all have major fucking ass significance, do they not? After all, BR'A'-HHHHHHH, SAR'A'-HHHHHHH. Nothing ever JUST fucking happens, nothing; and when humanity catches up with the powerful truths of James Redfield and Morianity, it will then experience far less uncivilized and dehumanizing behaviors around the world from endless tyrants and evil doers. It is not ever gonna be the garden of Eden, but it definitely would improve. This as well as understanding properly, STM, is centuries away. I know this from being 100% totally aware of my “Bruce Goldberg future life” as the persona of Labber Zeggins. This is sort of MI life that emulates my existence in the great city of SDK. This is not the topic for tonight, like SDK, it can wait, in the opinions of the hyperspace dreamers who are so totally clueless to this fantastic 'place'. Moses thought he was getting the short end of the stick, and this is how I totally know that he only saw SSJK's brilliant hair glowing from behind rocks and brush. Once you know HER, that is that, you never again want to be here on Planet Earth, and you see every day as pure hell, even if you owned the world and everything in it. But none of this is topic or point for today. What is, is the return in a single flash, just tonight, of the most insidious and hideous piece of frightening dark hell imaginable, so no wonder I blocked it, and no wonder “THEY” persecuted me every time I would so much as mention the name of 'Tom Reale', to my late best friend back through the early and middle nineteen-nineties, or even discuss it aloud on a vehicle situation reporting and recording system. Yes, I had my vehicle bugged once. You all are clueless to the past 25 years of my unfathomable mother fucking nightmare hell here on this diseased twisted planet. Even Shorty MacInvondi and Professor Theodore Jackson of Florida State University, in another parallel universe of Earthquakes and tears, is clueless, so why not tell Donald J. Trump what he all ready must know. Well, if he does not know, great, as I have confidence my president and fuck the past. We all have closets and shame. Move over Donald, you old opportunist you. What you and your pal pulled at Harvard would make Wall Street shake like a slant-eye, BRO. Still, how can you use me to create you on a RS-1500-US in early 1980, and not know just how much the HAIR GANG knows about genealogy? So rest easy, Mister President, I'll blog his secret to the world if he smears you, old pal, as you have at least kept me going down here in Florida, and without you, I'd be sliced meat. I don't forget my true friends. I knew if I exposed the STM deal with the song and my tax refund, they would not be able to resist splicing it all back together. I also am sorry for breaking down into tears, I mean really, SO SAHWEE, I knew it would happen, and spoke openly about renewed shaking problems. I noticed this reality back in the late seventies. The faith in Maggie deal is a huge parlor trick. I still have a copy of my dance tunes only mixed with my singing along with them. Trans-dimensional shit causes this problem every timer, and the creators of the 'NEW TWILIGHT ZONE' television show, knew it as well; with that episode with the attempted re-splice of the Kennedy assassination. They used a fictional show to tell this truth, but my blogs show the proof and reality of this. I have no reason whatsoever to be making this wild bullshit up out of whole cloth, YO. I walked through the door and there it was playing, just like the dream in 1997, mind freaking boggling. I went right out of control and teared up like a baby in front of the engineer and his partner who is a first cousin to the famous musician BonJovi. I did not plan it, shit happens as Paul Pedersen would say so well, from Studio Park Records, the inventor of it too, right, I wonder what trans-dimensional realities he is freaking crisscrossing through, copyright Office Examiners??? My point tonight is no where near any of this and it is time I get right to it. I fell asleep for 20 minutes watching television in my bedroom Friday evening, two hours before I began blogging this information. I did not have any interaction that I brought back to conscious waking world memory, but felt as if I had been elsewhere for years and years. This is not an isolated occurrence with me, especially when taking short naps. I began viewing some educational material about numbers on the Port Saint Lucie local channel, and pow, two minutes or so into watching it, I remembered the most incredible mother fucking shit in my entire life, it beats the hell out of visiting the Carey house in 1975, or anything else. Here is what happened 5 years earlier than that, with or without any winds blowing, or Bob Dylan songs playing, happy 70 soon, old pal! Let's sing out, but not as terribly as I did on my 2007 karaoke project, huh LOC? Hold your ears and scream LA-LA, huh, sheeeeeeeit!!!!!!!!!!!! I totally remember the serial dreams and it began with a waking experience, just as so many famous documented UFO-abduction cases do. I am well read and well versed on the topic, and I do not doubt anyone's experience, but I sure could tell them some shit that they are totally unaware of if they ever wanted to really know. Tom Reale had a lot of property and used to refer to himself and this is a precise quotation from him, as being “property-rich”. He had a very nice boat that he kept docked right at the Black Horse Pike Drawbridge on the east side of the bay, where a large restaurant exists now. This is where he told me how property-rich he was. What I am about to say will upset McGuire and McGettigan, and there is nothing I can do about it. In my opinion, these three men, Reale, and these other two, are all part of the huge quiet off shoot family of the Cape, and there is nothing lonely about this situation, Paul Evans Pedersen. This shit can get people fucking killed, so I will not go on, other than to say that I know that all three of these diseased human beings will be quite unhappy that I remembered this tonight. This property on Cornwall Avenue is now the site of the Ventnor Water Works, an annexed part of the McGettigan and Callio connected mighty city water company, the ATLANTIC CITY MUNICIPAL UTILITIES AUTHORITY. This is old news, I found this out years ago while searching for the greatest teenager in the multiverse, Sarah K. On top of this, my mother was murdered for trying to assist me in this great unbelievable and totally outlandish search that would require books and books just to adequately address all of the nuances and details involved in every one of the numerous intricacies of this beyond bleak and nightmarish sequence of events of 1997. Tom Reale's property on Cornwall Avenue had one restored room in it. The entire house looked as though a weapon of mass destruction had literally gone off inside of it, yet left the outer structure of the home totally in tact miraculously. I know this is not what really happened, but if forced to describe this shit, I am being right on the square about things here, YO. One day after being in this place for 3 days, Ziggy my beach friend told me to go home over and over again, a reenactment of the Dangerfield Telephone Call, I call it the DTC for short, and do seem to be the rare target of celebrity telephone calls, and just what Paula Uwich of Glendora, New Jersey, knew will stay a mystery, as this rotten witch really had powers and really did know shit, and told me years before that Braxton bitch called up in 1998, that she is connected in all of this, and I remember just looking at her like she was nuts. I do know that Paula is a name that the great Julia White loves to use, so my theories are of course bent in one direction, but I could be wrong, I'm not Goddess-36, AKA-BEGTQ. “BUT” back to the story of my being in this house with one restored room in the summer time of 1970. The day that Ziggy upset me so bad, I went back to the house and it was around 2 in the afternoon. I had an entrance right outside the restored bedroom. There was the bedroom with an attached large bathroom, then a door and a hall, and if you did not walk down the hall but merely across the hall, the door of the rear to this house was right there. I was told never to wonder around the house, only to use the rear door, and these two rooms, and that was it. I obeyed until that afternoon. Then after crying ion my bed for an hour, something somehow somewhere beckoned me to walk through a maze of junk to the front of the house and up a large staircase. The entire 2nd floor was also a total shambles, and a short distance from the first staircase, was a totally other staircase system and I went up higher in this house to its top story. I noticed strange shit all over the walls and floor. There were markings all over the place like I was in some Aztec Cave system. I followed the markings because they seemed to be telling me a story like following clues to a treasure hunt. Don't ask me now for details, it is beyond sketchy and hazy, and I cannot fathom how markings would be leading me on a pathway through this very large third story that suddenly appeared to be much larger than the dimensions of the home could really ever be. I literally was either walking around in a huge ass circle or this home was blocks long on the third floor, and of course I know now and knew then that this was totally nuts as I'd seen the home from the outside, and it appeared as a large but totally normal structure along with other similar ones on the block. There was no water company there in 1970, so keep bearing this in mind as I progress further in telling my story. Now this is where some may think I hit my head on a dark corner or whatever and dreamed the following, but I will admit that that night about eleven or so when I did fall asleep, this was the beginning of the 3 following nights of this wild serial dream about THAT-FAMILY. Suddenly, a window had no drapes and the hallway ahead of me grew very bright. When I arrived at the bright spot and looked out at what I thought would just be daylight, instead I saw a huge searchlight shinning inside at me from only the gods know where, and it was as bright as those we all have seen in shopping centers when they advertise with those swerving bright lights at night time for peeps to see from miles all around. I was blinded by it and while attempting to regain my vision, I suddenly fell into this light, and began falling, only I did not stop in a second or two as would be the case from the height and altitude that I should have been off of the street. I fell for what seemed like 30 seconds and then slammed into a pool of pitch black water. Suddenly a small amount of light became visible in the distance and I found myself wading through a large grouping of tunnels, sewer pipes, just like the ones made at the Griffin Pipe Company where I guarded, nearly a quarter century in the future, well actually, they trucked in from other plants, these 100 year guaranteed 'Callio-tubes' as I named them, and then they were welded together and altered, and the chief welder was the god Psyche Myrathus. He went by the human name of Steven Murray. He told me this word for word, and I will swear it in mother fucking court. Anyway, the water grew shallower and eventually, it was only the large tunnels that I was moving through and eventually one of them led me to a tiled non cylindrically shaped tunnel, but looking more like what you would see in large city subway concourse systems, such as in Philadelphia and New York City. Now I was in this seemingly endless maze of large subway tunnels only no sign of trains were anywhere at all. Then I observed that rugs were now beneath my feet, very plush soft and quite exquisite rugs, almost Oriental rugs. After a while I was in a gigantic three dimensional city that was about 3 miles cubed and all annexed together. I began stumbling into large groups of people, some looked like normal people, while others looked very weird, not Star Trek alien weird, yet weird, don't ask me to freaking explain this, as it has been almost 41 years. I remember being suddenly in a large room that resembled a super elegant expensive hotel suite that only a multi-millionaire would be able to afford. A series of elevators were entered and moved up and down as well as along a straight line track. Once in this room, the room itself began moving right through other rooms and structures as though everything could become trans-dimensional. I saw a machine near a table, not on it, and it had lots of weird screens and buttons. I pushed some of the buttons and screens popped up like windows on current day computers do, and also many ready-lines as well, the type that colored markers would move left to right. On the wall of the room, a clock showed the time, only it was two vertical bright lights and numbers 1-12 were up on top. The LED light on top was the hour and the LED light beneath it was the minute, and the smaller thinner one at the bottom was the second, and that is how I figured out it was a clock. It was reading 1:40 and there was an “A” and a “P” on the left side and the “P” was lit up, so it was 1:40 in the afternoon. I pushed some buttons on the machine on the floor and the room stopped moving, and out of no place a group of people walked in who I seemed to have known for a very long time. They escorted me to a table where one of them took out a gun and shot me in the chest and then I remember dying and being cut open, and then one of them took out my lungs and turned them into what appeared to be two wash cloths. They were not wash cloths, they were DNA samplers/combiners. They did scarey shit to me and it was no fucking dream. Then I remember knowing they were known as THAT-FAMILY, and that seeming nonsense made total sense to me then and there. Then they reattached my lungs after they did something complicated, and told me to come back tomorrow. Instantly as this was happening, I was simultaneously walking down the first staircase back in Tom Reale's house to the ground floor. I walked back to my room and listened to my radio for hours not knowing exactly what happened. When I fell asleep hours later that night, I found myself right back with 'THAT-FAMILY'. On the 3rd and final interaction with them, they walked me down into a very strange area and I found myself back in time just about an entire year to the day. I was on the beach in 1969 and the fireworks show was going off. Suddenly, Paula King grabbed me and the beach vanished and I was under the boardwalk, only this entire boardwalk and beach was some holographic generation in my opinion, and really, I was in this huge three mile cube city. Paula raped me and told me to go back outside and gave me a hard shove. I first saw what I thought was the beach, and then in a flash, it was that room again in the strange city. This is where they told me without using words, that they are and I quote again, “THAT-FAMILY. They also let me know that in two other years, I would be visited again. Naturally now I realize this was 1980, and 1994. I totally know what is happening, but the story is so powerful it is far beyond bloggable, and peeps have been stoned to death for saying a hell of a lot less than what I could now say, and burned alive. Of course this is 2011, but that is as meaningless to me right now as the next crying baby in Wave Heights.

For right now, we will leave things right here, where they belong. I do not believe Dick Wolf knew about this, but then he sure knew how to write a lot of scripts that told my life story before I was consciously remembering any of the sordid details. In any event, I was set up a long time ago, and remembered that much of it in 1994, after SSJK promised to marry me, and then went on to play more of her favorite game, Tag. If Krassleville was a part of New York City, it would have been Rikers Island for me.

As for right now, I have no choice but to fly kites when She wants to fly kites, and play Tag when she wants to play Tag. I am dealing with one powerful incredible wild super teenager. There is nothing that I can do about it. I did not ask for this nightmare, and do not agree with you Kathy. Still, you can be right and UI could be wrong, so whop really can know, whisper echos and all? I only know that it is all a game and a bunch of silly ridiculous parlor tricks. There is no real magic or supernatural power, any more than there are any real space aliens. There are no monsters or unnatural creatures. Ammityville was a hoax and my 3rd cousin Christine Myers and her pal, boat kisser friend Jimmy Dean; know it only too well. All of it is just simply not permitted in the stage and level of the Lawtron, of the 7th dimension.

I expected a major day, and believe it or not, it was a quiet day, for the most part. As I said to Bob Levy, nobody knows the future, but do they? I always leave it as a question. I left it that way on tape almost 25 years ago, just so that I would begin to remember this entire freaking mess, © Office, with no help from you, tanks anyway, Whaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION: