March 16, 2013

JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 4:53 PM Monday, February 20, 2012


That's what it is. They have grown something evil at UW and I still have some kind of mind control over it.





They have certainly lost control over it, though, whatever it is the evil created by Corbis Microsoft Bill Gates and University of Washington. Those monkeys at UW never had control over it.

The only thing stopping their evil creation from utter holocaust is my mind control over it and I can mostly subdue their evil creation, mostly.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html


Stephen King

The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


Rage struck him with all the unexpectedness of a sweet surprise. He was up, and then he had hold of Deitz’s lapels, and he was shaking him back and forth. From the corner of his eye he saw startled movement behind the double-paned glass. Dimly, muffled by distance and soundproofed walls, he heard a hooter go off.

“What did you people do?” he shouted. “What did you do? What in Christ’s name did you do?”

“Mr. Redman—”

“Huh? What the fuck did you people do?”

The door hissed open. Three large men in olive-drab uniforms stepped in. They were all wearing nose-filters.

Deitz looked over at them and snapped, “Get the hell out of here!”

The three men looked uncertain.

“Our orders—”

“Get out of here and that’s an order!”

They retreated. Deitz sat calmly on the bed. His lapels were rumpled and his hair had tumbled over his forehead. That was all. He was looking at Stu calmly, even compassionately. For a wild moment Stu considered ripping his nose-filter out, and then he remembered Geraldo, what a stupid name for a guinea pig. Dull despair struck him like cold water. He sat down.

“Christ in a sidecar,” he muttered.

“Listen to me,” Deitz said. “I’m not responsible for you being here. Neither is Denninger, or the nurses who come in to take your blood pressure. If there was a responsible party it was Campion, but you can’t lay it all on him, either. He ran, but under the circumstances, you or I might have run, too. It was a technical slipup that allowed him to run. The situation exists. We are trying to cope with it, all of us. But that doesn’t make us responsible.”

“Then who is?”

“Nobody,” Deitz said, and smiled. “On this one the responsibility spreads in so many directions that it’s invisible. It was an accident. It could have happened in any number of other ways.”

“Some accident,” Stu said, his voice nearly a whisper. “What about the others? Hap and Hank Carmichael and Lila Bruett? Their boy Luke? Monty Sullivan—”

“Classified,” Deitz said. “Going to shake me some more? If it will make you feel better, shake away.”

Stu said nothing, but the way he was looking at Deitz made Deitz suddenly look down and begin to fiddle with the creases of his pants.

“They’re alive,” he said, “and you may see them in time.”

“What about Arnette?”

“Quarantined.”

“Who’s dead there?”

“Nobody.”

“You’re lying.”

“Sorry you think so.”

“When do I get out of here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Classified?” Stu asked bitterly.

“No, just unknown. You don’t seem to have this disease. We want to know why you don’t have it. Then we’re home free.”

“Can I get a shave? I itch.”

Deitz smiled. “If you’ll allow Denninger to start running his tests again, I’ll get an orderly in to shave you right now.”

“I can handle it. I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen.”

Deitz shook his head firmly. “I think not.”

Stu smiled dryly at him. “Afraid I might cut my own throat?”

“Let’s just say—”

Stu interrupted him with a series of harsh, dry coughs. He bent over with the force of them.

The effect on Deitz was galvanic. He was up off the bed like a shot and across to the airlock with his feet seeming not to touch the floor at all. Then he was fumbling in his pocket for the square key and ramming it into the slot.

“Don’t bother,” Stu said mildly. “I was faking.”

Deitz turned to him slowly. Now his face had changed. His lips were thinned with anger, his eyes staring. “You were what?”

“Faking,” Stu said. His smile broadened.

Deitz took two uncertain steps toward him. His fists closed, opened, then closed again. “But why? Why would you want to do something like that?”

“Sorry,” Stu said, smiling. “That’s classified.”

“You shit sonofabitch,” Deitz said with soft wonder.

“Go on. Go on out and tell them they can do their tests.”

He slept better that night than he had since they had brought him here. And he had an extremely vivid dream. He had always dreamed a great deal—his wife had complained about him thrashing and muttering in his sleep—but he had never had a dream like this.

He was standing on a country road, at the precise place where the black hottop gave up to bone-white dirt. A blazing summer sun shone down. On both sides of the road there was green corn, and it stretched away endlessly. There was a sign, but it was dusty and he couldn’t read it. There was the sound of crows, harsh and far away. Closer by, someone was playing an acoustic guitar, fingerpicking it. Vic Palfrey had been a picker, and it was a fine sound.

This is where I ought to get to, Stu thought dimly. Yeah, this is the place, all right.

What was that tune? “Beautiful Zion”? “The Fields of My Father’s Home”? “Sweet Bye and Bye”? Some hymn he remembered from his childhood, something he associated with full immersion and picnic lunches. But he couldn’t remember which one.

Then the music stopped. A cloud came over the sun. He began to be afraid. He began to feel that there was something terrible, something worse than plague, fire, or earthquake. Something was in the corn and it was watching him. Something dark was in the corn.

He looked, and saw two burning red eyes far back in the shadows, far back in the corn. Those eyes filled him with the paralyzed, hopeless horror that the hen feels for the weasel. Him, he thought. The man with no face. Oh dear God. Oh dear God no.

Then the dream was fading and he awoke with feelings of disquiet, dislocation, and relief. He went to the bathroom and then to his window. He looked out at the moon. He went back to bed but it was an hour before he got back to sleep. All that corn, he thought sleepily. Must have been Iowa or Nebraska, maybe northern Kansas. But he had never been in any of those places in his life.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 20 February 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: - posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 8:51 PM Pacific Time USA Monday 20 August 2012 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2012/08/greetings-fellow-simcitians.html


Greetings fellow SimCitians.





http://www.king5.com/on-tv/tv-schedule


TV Schedule


Monday - 08/20 8:30 PM


KMYQ-DT MYNET 22.1


The Simpsons Bart Sells His Soul (TV-14) Bart decides to sell his soul to Milhouse in an effort to prove that souls don't exist, but soon strange occurrences have him rethinking his beliefs.





http://www.snpp.com/episodes/3F02.html


Bart Sells His Soul


Original airdate in N.A.: 8-Oct-95


Marge gives Bart a hug as she tucks him in.

Marge: Hmm. Bart, what's wrong? There's something a little off about your hug.

Bart: Mom, I need to tell you something. I kind of --

Marge: [interrupts] Let me guess. A mother can always tell. [hugs him a bit] Hmm. It's not fear of nuclear war. [hugs him more] It's not swim-test anxiety. It almost feels like you're missing something...something important.

Bart: [eager] Like I don't have a soul?

Marge: [chuckles] Aw, honey, you're not a monster.

-- If only she knew, "Bart Sells His Soul"

Bart falls asleep and begins dreaming. In his dream, he walks alone a long a path. All around him, kids are accompanied by translucent blue versions of themselves. Richard's soul and the girl with green glasses' soul push their real bodies on swings. "My soul's my best friend," says one child. "My soul's like a toy that never breaks," says another. Lewis and his soul, and another girl and her soul, ride tandem bikes. Jimbo rides his soul's shoulders into Dolph on _his_ soul's shoulders, laughing and cajoling. Sherri and Terri's souls turn a skipping rope as the quartet chant, "Bart sold his soul, and that's just swell/Now he's going straight to/Hello operator, give me number nine..." Ralph seesaws with his soul. Nelson walks up and asks, "No soul, huh? Don't worry, I'm still behind you." He pushes Bart, who trips backward over Nelson's soul squatting on all fours behind him. The two point and laugh, "Ha ha!"

Martin, in a sailor suit, runs hand-in-hand with his soul down to the edge of a lake where some rowboats are parked. "Ahoy there, friends! Everybody find a first mate," he calls. His soul claps gleefully. "Oh! I choose Martin." Everyone and their souls grab an oar in a boat and row off toward a glowing green castle on an island. Bart jumps in and starts rowing a bit by himself, only to watch unhappily as his soul and Milhouse's soul ferrying Milhouse off to the island. Bart, meanwhile, can only go in circles. "Wait! Wait for me," he calls to no avail. Sherri and her soul (and Terri and her soul) row by chanting, "Bart, it's time to end this dream/And don't forget the standard scream." He doesn't.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 20 August 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2012 10:13 AM

To: 'Bobby Walraven'


I stopped publishing observations on my blog


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 24 October 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Wednesday, November 28, 2012 4:22 PM

To: 'Chad Trammell'

Subject: The Boy from Oklahoma

Prometea. What a massive load of crap. It's Julia Roberts and "The Man from Nowhere" she said "this was yours when you got back."


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 28 November 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Sunday, December 2, 2012 4:51 AM

To: 'Chad Trammell'

Subject: Get it? Outed. Brad Pitt's in the closet. China knows that about George Bush too.

After I decrypted this morning another message that I picked instinctively (and without influence by the activity of the date and only because I wondered about the 1955 title) on my offline computer I have to wonder what is even the point of getting up from bed any morning between now and the fabled D-Day.

My future seems quite clear at this point.

All I have to do is to show up at the right time.

Nothing else I do at this point matters.

I think I might send you that message as well sometime later. Now I really don't see any point to any of this.

The precise date of D-Day is probably encoded in that message but I don't have any way of knowing that.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 02 December 2012 except ends]










From 8/20/2012 to 12/2/2012 is 104 days

From 12/2/2012 to 3/16/2013 is 104 days













https://www.google.com/maps/@47.4885782,-122.1746448,3a,75y,231.68h,101.04t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1sW5Jgo9fukDpvj8enUqS3Ig!2e0!7i13312!8i6656

Google Maps


NE 4th St

Renton, Washington










http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0884328/quotes

IMDb


The Mist (2007)

Quotes


David Drayton: [screaming into the mist] Come on!










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Friday, December 14, 2012 3:52 PM

To: 'Chad Trammell'

Subject: RE: The George Walker Bush War On Heroism

Now, just imagine for a moment if I was making all these reports in private and in public and I was RECOGNIZED.

Imagine that I was *recognized* as the person I say that I am.

That adds a whole new dimension to the Microsoft al Qaida terrorist activities such as we see today.

There is an additional malicious quality to it that would give them the upper hand if I had been publicly recognized.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 14 December 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Monday, June 08, 2009 2:37 AM

To: THEDA DRAPER

Subject: Re: JUNE 6 2009 DEAR KERRY

In other words, I am trapped in this identity until some point in the future that I am not consciously aware of that I have no real direct control over.

All we can do now is to look forward and that means we all have to accept that I am not who I say I am.

All I can do for you now is to speculate about what happened to your son and I have no real information that I can share with you at this time.

Do you really want me to talk about what I think happened to him?

I have several theories. Would that be helpful to you for me to speculate without any conscious knowledge of the truth?

One theory that has been present in my mind for a while is that he died along with the rest of the passengers on 6/27/1994 when the jet aircraft I was the pilot of crashed due to sabotage to a space satellite we were launching into Earth orbit. The line of thought continues that I did not know he was onboard until shortly before the accident. What was I supposed to do at that point? We had met formally some time in the years before that but none of those details are available to my conscious awareness. So anyway, why was he sent there as a passenger in that flight that was doomed? I have found information suggesting strongly that the crash had been planned and it was planned by NASA because they had control over my schedule and they scheduled me to pilot that doomed aircraft. They expected us both to die in that crash. They are destroying evidence.

Do you really want to hear all this stuff. This is the extent we could interact at this point. We have to accept that the past is over and the future is very much different that what we might want it to be.

I am exhausted. I want you to get the answers to what happened to your son. I am trapped in that identity and I have no control over when I get out. I am working so that all of you will know the truth about what happened to the people you care about.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 08 June 2009 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Thursday, December 20, 2012 1:41 PM

To: 'Kerry Burgess'

Subject: RE: The Time Machine

That’s what happened. After that plane crash in 1989 I was freed from the proverbial “Companion.” After that I was free to use my natural gifts of intelligence. The “Companion” left because of the plane crash.

I was free from then on.

I did something in 1998 that brought me back into that captivity. I became a slave again to that proverbial “Companion.”

I am still afflicted with “The Companion” but it has changed.

It won’t leave me now because it thinks I am only bluffing it.

And every human being on this planet is afflicted by something similar.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 20 December 2012 except ends]










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Friday, November 30, 2012 3:07 PM

To: 'Kerry Burgess'

Subject: Possibilities

My world has become so limited, so narrow, I have trouble anymore believing that possibilities could exist.

I cannot imagine the possibility anymore of something new coming into my existence and changing my world.

Also, that reminds me of recent thoughts about why I would want to use my powers for personal advantage.

Why would I want to win some mega-jackpot lottery? What would be the point of that.

Mostly I just want to get out of this goddamned carbon monoxide trap that is this goddamned sunken-level apartment. This place sucks in the carbon monoxide because it lingers at ground level and since I am below ground level it concentrates in here.

But anyway, what would be the point of winning the lottery. Nothing would change. My living conditions might improve but I will never be free.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 30 November 2012 except ends]










From 2/20/2012 to 8/20/2012 is 182 days

From 8/20/2012 to 2/18/2013 is 182 days










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: - posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 02:07 AM Pacific Time USA Monday 18 February 2013 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2013/02/if-anything-then-i-need-to-keep-posting.html


If anything then I need to keep posting here for as long as I can.




They feed better off human beings who don't believe in the existence of the evil beings.

The more you understand about them then the less savory meal you are to them.


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 18 February 2013 except ends]










http://www.tv.com/shows/preacher/pilot-3381384/trivia/

tv.com


Preacher Season 1 Episode 1

Pilot

Aired Sunday 10:00 PM May 22, 2016 on AMC

Quotes


Emily: You were never really here in the first place, Jesse, so... what difference should your leaving make?










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess

Sent: Wednesday, October 24, 2012 10:13 AM

To: 'Bobby Walraven'


The weird part is that a few minutes after I sent that last email to you that “NCIS: Los Angeles” television series episode broadcast nationwide revealed the villain was a woman named “Lisa Tran.” She was embezzling from the campaign of a US Senator candidate for an amount I infer to be half of forty four million dollars and then the episode closes with “Agent Kensi” telling “Lisa” to put down the gun because otherwise it all would end badly for her


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 24 October 2012 except ends]










http://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=preacher-2016&episode=s01e01

Springfield! Springfield!


Preacher

Pilot


What is news and, uh, what I've decided is I can't I can't I can't quit.
[Sighs] I've been quitting on you for too long.
I've been quitting on this church.
[Sniffles] You deserve better.
You [Clears throat] You deserve You deserve a good preacher.
You deserve a good preacher, and and that's what you're gonna get.










JOURNAL ARCHIVE: - posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 4:45 PM Pacific Time USA Monday 20 August 2012 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2012/08/surrogates.html


Remember the thunder?


[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 24 October 2012 except ends]



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 4:49 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Monday 06 June 2016