Janis Nelson, Pulitzer Psychic, Palm Beach Soothsayer Janis Nelson, Pulitzer Psychic, Palm Beach Soothsayer

Vol. 1, No. 1

Janis Nelson, Pulitzer Psychic, Palm Beach Soothsayer

Sunday, December 17, 2017

About Janis

Miami Herald: ‘Time Retracts Its Statement about Psychic,’ February 20, 1987Jasnis Nelson

Time Magazine spends millions of dollars on its research department to ensure accuracy. Corrections are rare; corrections after 4-1/2 years are almost unheard of. But that’s exactly what happened on Feb. 16 issue, when Time retracted a statement about psychic Janis Nelson, who testified at the Peter and Roxanne Pulitzer sex and drugs divorce trial—but remained the same, Janis Nelson’s name. Leaping a flyby-night long-black-cape out of incommunicado, blowing a big sex-trumpet.

Missing Psychic, 1982

Asking Janis, her motivations, other then being subpoenaed, for testifying in the Pulitzer Divorce she answered, “Roxanne Pulitzer’s Lawyer had advised Roxanne that it would be a most humiliating embarrassment to both him and Mrs. Pulitzer to appear in court with a Fortune Teller, so after all the help, off-the-clock, I had given her. Roxanne sided with the Lawyer I had several times warned her to ditch and I left Palm Beach at my own expense and hid out in the New Jersey mountains.”

“Roxanne was still calling me for advice on the eve of the trial,” said, Janis. “Peter Pulitzer’s Attorney’s discovered where I was and through a very threatening messenger ordered me to come back if I valued my own good name, Pulitzer’s Attorney slapped me with a subpoena and the rest is illegal history.”
 

‘STRANGE BIRDS’

‘Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Before.’ —T. Campbell

HIGH NOON: Gavels pounded, Judge Carl Harper, court-adjourned. Final Judgment time under the headline, ‘Palm Beach Shocker, Occult-Sex, Drugs and Rock and Rolling Pulitzer Divorce Trial,’ smoked the Roosevelt-styled cigarette holder. Bobbed out of the headline, ‘Palm Beach Stunned, Pulitzer Mansion, Sexual Mass Gathering Séances,’ Hunter S. Thompson reported, “Peter Pulitzer, jealous of the trumpet,” puckered up, Roxanne Pulitzer, smooched, the Gonzo Journalist on his cheek. Groaned, Thompson, it would mess up his clean-living objective if that got out into the public cheering on the professed to be held in human bondage, debonair, Peter Pulitzer.

“Not the same man’s man of his use to be,” ruled, Judge Carl Harper.

The blazing sun was frying reporters to the left of him, reporters to the right of him, out of [Palm Beaches County Court House] shuffled, ‘The Gambler,’ Roxanne Pulitzer's former Attorney eyed Roxanne Pulitzer’s former psychic and shot a raspy drawl, “I’d be obliged to know from what crack pot nest that flyby-night Swami, over yonder, cracked out of her sing-like-a-canary egg,” and there I stood. Subpoena, in my hand, swinging on the Media’s noose, the Witch.

“Janis, Janis, Janis,” I heard them calling. Or was it the sea gulls squawking, the crows cawing, I closed my eyes. Spread my wings and flew homeward bound, flocked around, Salem’s Strange Birds.

Holding my five-year-old hand, Ella, wobbling up the cobbled stoned, Gallows Hill, the hunch back down at ‘The Willows’ could stop the spinning (Wheel of Fortune) dead its tracks, a house full of teddy bears to prove when Ella’s eye darted that Strange Bird twinkle. Shivered, the barkers in their britches, my other hand was holding, Annie, my grandmother. The brim of her black straw-hat, grew a crescent moon of forget-me-nots sprouted around her white curls beamed out her Emerald Isle eyes shining for hitting the nail square on the head when she shuffled out the cards and fanned them out on the kitchen table. Sat down the rhinestone cupid wings clasped the rose petal turban wrapped around the head of the Madam, bowed over. The whispering famous all-the-way down to Boston (crystal) ball waving jeweled fingers at the stripped socks held up Sadie. Bustling in the door to foretell what the midnight stars had to predict over Gallows Hill, there I played in the sea oats swayed around the Witch hanging tree, hanging memories of irrevocable sorrows blowing in the wind.

The feared fate of those who had been born with the gift, where I first cracked out of my nest flapped around, Salem’s Strange Birds - hiding their amazing abilities back in 1950, visited the famed play-write, Arthur Miller, wrote, ‘The Crucible.’ Hope. Of those born who can see what some say is not, the first four oracles who foretold my future and hid their gift in the shrouded cracks of a society that mocked them for the miracles they brought to those who in the dark shadows knocked on their back doors for help, even the police man sneaked in from time to time for a clue from Nana's cards.

“Annie, Annie,” said, the Madam. “I am behooved to reveal, it is by no coincidence Janis was born around the corner from where Nathaniel Hawthorn wrote the ‘Scarlet Letter,’ mark my words, right here inside my crystal ball. The wicked unseen pen writes the pages of the same story, I can see no more.”

Whirled, Ella’s, left eye, shot its twinkle, “Buzzards, buzzards, buzzards,” she hollered. “Blowing out a big trumpet, aw’ Annie, Annie, grieves me’ aching-heart for your wee bit o’ grand daughter when comes that evil day, the great white hunter sets his snare. She must beware of castles in the air where the wayward wind blows money, money, money on the streets lined of gold,” shouted, Ella. Shaking my shoulders, “Now Janis, Janis,” she ordered. “Blue-eyes hands you a big trumpet hands you a big trumpet you tell them it’s Michael the Arch Angels trumpet, you hear, Child? Listen well, do not forget what I foretell, for we four here, the best of chums all know what it means when Michael blows that trumpet,” pounded Ella’s fist on the table, shook the Madams crystal (ball), bugged out the eyes of Sadie, “Apocalypse,” she shouted, Annie fainted, not another look did she dare.

(PLAYBOY) 1984, Roxanne Pulitzer, said, “My spiritual adviser told me the trumpet belonged to Michael the Arch Angel.”

Slapped, her heart, The Madam, “Shameless,” grunted, Sadie, “Aye, be gory, we must teach the child to be like us, hide the gift, never show it, unless liking us good chums she finds her own kind, not so easy,” warned Sadie to my grandmother. Clasping the mother of pearl rosary beads draped through her fingers, her beloved immigrant from Ireland mothers’ memory, praying for the answer, how could she a widow who raised two children on her own, now working at the poor house while scrubbing the courthouse floors protect my inherited gift while teaching me at very young age how to read the palm.

Pointing out dangerous-thumbs, conniving forefingers to scoot from while showing me how to read what Nana called, “The talking poker cards,” when she printed large words on the tops of the edges, repeating their meanings as I cut them. Warning me over and over again, “Do not ye’ be forgetting the smoking jack of spades, keeps a snake in a box, where he gathers around him a troop o’ no-good hooligans to block your way in a far away land after that big trumpet sounds, now cut another card and let us see what happens next?”

Madams’ eyes hazed over the all-seeing glaze peered into the (crystal) ball, Annie demanding a clue, deep from Madams shiny purple diaphragm, “TRUTH,” she boomed. Grabbed my hand, “See, see, see, Child,” commanded, The Madam. “See the visions in thin air and hold on to them, never ever veer from what you see, rely on a crystal ball and the sneaking jack of spades will steal it away.”

“Aye, be gory,” Annie wailed at Sadie to the rescue whipping- up the window shade, pointing, out the stars. “The child,” she assured. “Deep inside her little soul when the time comes be-knowing the meanings of the constellations before, she, even can read a book,” memories in 1982, winked, ‘The Gambler.’ “Step aside,” said he to the scribbling notebooks. “Let pass through that betraying Swami crawled her switching sides act out from under a big red palm pick pocketing on the side of some desperado highway for a free ticket to ride.”

Inside the court room one would wonder what I really testified to for two ½ days about the rich and famous, still held in secret since Judge Carl Harper ruled, I , a very credible witness and sealed the 120-page statement, Peter Pulitzer’s Attorney took on September 11, 1982, proving. I was under a subpoena and not kicking in the courthouse door publicity seeking to reap more clients for my palm reading business as shined the Baltimore Sun. Worse then Roxanne Pulitzer, if that’s possible, agreed, the media and I spread my wings and flew homeward bound to scurrying down Gallows Hill, my grandmother. On the way to early morning every day Catholic Mass, firmly always warning, “Do not be forgetting, after we are parted, you lose the gift, ye fail to tell the truth.”

I squeezed her hand, never wanting to let go, but that sad time finally arrived at eight years old I was whisked away in the middle of the night, rarely ever to see my grandmother again, but still I heard Salem’s Strange Birds calling, “Janis, Janis, Janis,” calling through the x-rated rancorous scrambled the reporters into [Palm Beaches County Courthouse] stepped out Peter Pulitzer’s Attorney. Announcing, to the mind bungled, “Folks, rest assured, beyond any reasonable doubt in that court room today. I proved saints did not come marching out of the unprecedented three-foot-long black-draped trumpet,” surrounded, Roxanne Pulitzer, the worldwide media. A star was born, “STRUMPET WITH A TRUMPET,” shouted the headlines. Over, I watched Hunter S. Thompson and Peter Pulitzer’s Attorney cutting the cards. Two silhouettes disappeared into the blazing sun shined on ‘The Gambler said he knew how to fold ‘em and when to hold ‘em under the headline, ‘Peter Pulitzer Wins, Gets Twins, Harper, Kicks Foxy Roxy out of Pulitzer Mansion,’ but then Roxanne did not heed my warnings and gone with the wind was the flyby-night long-black-cape. The Media reported could not be downed for comment, the psychic who said the séances did not occur, Roxanne Pulitzer was not a Lesbian, never saw her abuse the children and had tried the best she knew, though she was mixed up. To please her much older demanding husband and even though I stipulated that she continually lied, which was proven, I said it was because I felt she had lost her direction in how to fight for herself leading her and myself into the foe. I even blamed her Lawyer in the open court room for misguiding her and I’m crowned Time magazines most damning witness against Roxanne Pulitzer?

Colonel Joe Tucker, “BIG BIRD,” 1983

West Palm Beach. I was led into a dim lit room by an astounding seer named Colonel Joe Tucker. United States Air Force second-world war hero went into trance and told me that I would be called, “Judas,” but none the less, he ordered. I must choose to tell the truth even after I lost the second round, ‘Pulitzer Psychic Sues 11-Newspapers,’ hit the nail square on the head and inspired the book I am writing, ‘Lord of Pulitzer Mansion.’

“After all,” said Colonel Joe Tucker, “Bear in mind, when all is gone and you lose again, a half story told is only a half story known and you will have to fight to exorcize your ‘First Amendment Rights’ which will be stolen unjustly away from you because of the gift,” and here I am today, twenty-seven years later. Still just as amazed, Colonel Joe Tucker knew exactly how I would lose the coming battle with the found guilty-as-sin 11-newspapers relied on their sources and didn’t check out the Pulitzer trial transcript.

Mrs. Ore, 1972

Kingston, New York: A psychic named Mrs. Ore also saw Janis Nelson’s future many, many years ago, at one point during the reading, Mrs. Ore’s eyes filled with tears at what she saw. “You will go through the trials of Job for your gift,” Mrs. Ore told her. “You will lose everything but will have victory in the city of the young where the devil on his way home drilled a hole into Hell, the River Styx flows and palm trees grow, blocks your way, the jack of spades runs his renegades with a broken guitar.”

Janis was reduced from waltzing with the likes of Pavarotti in Palm Beach to living barefoot and eating out of the dumpsters and it was to Gainesville, Florida—a university town, ‘City of the Young,’ where her Lawyers sent Janis after the Pulitzer divorce. To the northeast of Gainesville is Devils Millhopper, a large sink hole; to the southeast, near Cross Creek, is the River Styx. Palm trees are scattered among the areas oaks and pines, it is here Janis waits for her victory-foretold, reading for those who seek out Roxanne Pulitzer’s former psychic.

Clairvoyance

Anonymous speaks from a lost scrap blowing in the wind from 1885, a withered page of long forgotten.

“True clairvoyants do not count themselves as altogether of this world, for they are in connection with, and do the work below of the ethereal peoples of the starry skies. By means of this royal road, the true seer is enabled to read the varied scrolls of human life; frequently to explain the real significance of dreams and visions; examine and prescribe for those who are sick or ailing in body, soul, mind, heart, affections, hope, ambition, love, aspiration, losses, gains, fears and troubles of every character, healing bodies, minds, souls; scanning for real positive mental vision, not merely the secrets of a man’s or woman’s lives and loves, and keeping them as wisdom seeds, to grow into a good fruit presently, - but also reaching the prefect comprehension of the sublime fact that organization determines destinies, - which of course begets charity to the neighbor and love to all mankind; hence it is possible to foretell events that inevitably come to pass, either in the general or special plane of an individual’s life and experience. There are ever two roads and three choices before every intelligent human being, and clairvoyance alone is competent to decide to decide which is best, for only this magnificent science and power can enable us to reach the height of enlightenment.”

“We know that the sick are healed by its strength; that homes are made happy by its power; that itself comes to man through its divine agency; that woman can realize her hopes, in many directions, through its resistless force;’ that GOD is WILL, and whoso hath it fullest and finest; most resembleth God! Steady willing will bring lucidity of vision and soul! By it, also, those who love or would love may find. Especially is this true of that large class who seek the occult, and strongly desire to reach the cryptic light beneath the floors of the waking world, - I mean the sons and daughters of Sorrow, Anguish, and the Light; the loving unloved ones of the earth; the lonely pilgrims over desert sands; the heartfelt mariners now sails and surging over the stormy waters and the bitter sea of Circumstance, - for these are the God-sent, and they travel ever the roughest paths. To all such, Will, and especially Clairvoyance, is a boon, a true friend, saying, ‘Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden and I will point the road to rest!”

Clairvoyance

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