SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 152

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 152
3:26 PM, THURSDAY, MAY 19, 2011
START OF A SHORT BLOG:

I went to sleep around 5 this morning and slept until noon. However, I had to put a lot of electrical tape over my Comcast Cable TV box, as the data-light came on and would not go off, even after I looked at and cleared the message up on my account about some WWE nonsense. Why would I be at all interested in a sport where right off the bat, there is connection to a major shame in my past? The light was off when I removed the tape around one this afternoon, and had the cable company agent on the telephone. They said that if data is being sent up to the box, then this yellow light may come on, and stay on; until the transmission ODF that data, that's {{{(((OF)))}}} that data, hacker ass, has all completely uploaded. They assured me that no one channel controls their organization nor could he or she keep doing stuff. Who knows either way after all the stuff that I've seen and witnessed over a long period of timer now? Still, lately, I am left wondering if my buddy Robert McDowell is on vacation or something? It literally is just one thing right after another, and I don't see how I am going to be able to move if this crap doesn't back off. Saturday was the day planned to finish up the big move, but I have asked my mover to move this date back another week, with Doctor Camping's approval and Stacey's, of course.

Even stranger things have happened all around and beyond this. There are some people around me that I do not know from Adam, who seem to act as though they have known me for years and years, and always have some nasty half smirk on their face. I'm not imagining it no matter how many folks would perhaps try and convince me otherwise.

Quickly, a short message to the world now, on boxes containing strange motor cycle chains, written material, and quantum foam. I do not look at events or objects or people on a surface level, no matter how many times the All Mighty Paul Evans Pedersen of STUDIO PARK RECORDS, would tell me that I should be. I cannot see thongs in limited surface small picture ways. I do not perceive individuality, non-combination pictures all surrounded by ultra complex symbolism, or three dimensions connecting my five senses. My five senses are heightened to a level of six dimensions. I know that the mind and that thoughts, produced by either zero or one digitized machinery, or chemical-neurological-biological carbon based things called humans, or lower level organisms below us in so-called staged evolution. I know that when Russell came over drunk and messed up at between 1 and 2 in the morning on that cold December night, he somehow just knew that I would be all alone and awake in that apartment, and since we were both only age fifteen, this is not a meaningless by any means, part of the equation. Then I take a look at what was emptied out of one closet, and what I saw in another one, not that far in the future. On top of this, I am no fool and I know that nothing just happens, so nothing with huge consequences does either, and that even more powers that be, unknown or known, go to work in these cases.

The Book Of Beach was written by me as a young teenaged boy, and was all about the characters now blogged about. All of them. Not just Atlantic City, but all of them. This is why, McGuire Matchman somehow was obviously directed to get Russ into a situation where he would come over and all these things would lead to the total emptying of my bedroom closet, long before the GAMES EXPERT ever threw any rocks or papers or games at me in twenty oh Marola seven, (2007). Now the computer geeks and hackers know better than anyone, what I am now about to conclude this short blog with. It would take a very sophisticated series of programs and looped thought energies to pull off this kind of a complexity that would guarantee the desired results such as bye-bye chain, and then no more BOB. Examining how computers now work, and the awesome inter linking network of the world system called the internet, and talking it even further along in a technological evolution of a sorts, however, and none of my claims and accusations of what was done to me in this apartment in 1969, seems far out or crazy at all. But without seeing the logic that is presented in my argument here, I would just be locked away in the nut house and laughed at. Finer, some of us out here know the real truths, don't we Lenny? Don't we Chester? Don't we Frank Callio????????????????????????

Thanks to the NASA operation and the local entertainment world news broadcast, I now plan to get me the same thing that all peeps all ready have. Since this white aircraft from the future wants to keep stalking me, it will get posted up on the system. Then, maybe things will really get hot and go into action, finally. If she can do it, Channel five, then why can't I, when I have real unbelievable shit that I could get on camera and post and prove, and literally blow the world's freaking mind once and for all?

Thank yo Channel 5 Trump Network, Wolf Finker, and thank you NASA, happy landings.

END TRANNY.