Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Male Banter Noise Continues

For the past three hours the male jocularity, banter and generalized voice-over noise has continued outside my door, in the hallway. A painting job has erupted, a good enough cover story, and there have been plenty of those in my proximity in the past four years of overt harassment. And plenty of "painters", usually men, who appear to be employed as commercial painters. The thing is, they uniformly have the same paint fleck size and coloration on their garments. Usually one to two inch long vertical flecks ("overpaint") densifying in the center of their garments in white and light brown. Most often they are wearing white, but have now graduated to black for some reason.

The perps gave me another two hours extra sleep, 10 hours total, and with at least one awakening in the night. Never in my life have I overslept so often, and for no organic reason. Each morning, my hair is always lying the exact same way each time I get up; combed forward, vertical at the sides. This too has gone on for most of the overt harassment duration (four years), and naturally no one else adds this into the considerable number of unusal events that "occurs" around me or to me, never mind the cummulative improbability.

The Open Letter to Clinicians got no comment from the doctor of course, and I get to see him again next week, maybe for more patient denigration. I wonder what the agenda is for that session; it could be as simple as "Asian exposure", or it could be another foray into medications I don't need under the guise of "overall brain lubrication", as it was last time. Patently absurd and insulting. Worse yet, I wasn't permitted the opportunity of verbally roasting him on that pathetic metaphor at the next appointment. However, he is the big wheel about which all the rest of the benefits spin; caseworker, who in turn is the prequisite for subsidized housing, and subsidized Rx coverage. Like that Holly Cole song, "just take my hand, it is all been planned", without the romance. But he has left me alone for 6 weeks, and I can be thankful for that extended duration between doctor visits.

The male banter continues, right through lunch, such as it was. The perps have me off of fruit these days, though I do eat guacamole in my tortillas most times. As it turns out, it is a hallway trim painting job in progress, and the color that is being painted is... brown! Plus too, they are overly prone to mention that very word for some reason, and I have no choice but to hear it.

I did note that when I was outside and returning from a grocery store visitation, that the perps put on a tractor-trailer unit with a pup, turning the corner, tight as it was, with a full load of cedar lumber. That spells dark brown, and it was 200' away. No doubt it was connected to this sadistic venality in some way, and it does seem that the perps have been making "progress" toward whatever obsesses them about this color, vis a vis me. More brown vehicles are parked and passing by me when outside, and within the first minute without the usual >20 minute lead-in time. And bizarre U-turn behaviors too; minivans backing out without looking onto a busy street from a driveway so to complete their encirclement of me as I walked on the sidewalk.

The above tractor-trailer and pup unit making a turn from a residential street onto a busy two lane bidirectional artery was quite the feat, never mind that it was leaving the retail lumber yard with a full load. But it does serve to underscore the perp's preoccupation with placing objects of considerable mass about me, when they have the need. Most often these are loaded dump trucks with a pup, garbage trucks of varied livery/colors, excavators, farm tractors (downtown even) and other heavy duty equipment. On one occasion, when waiting for my brother on a slow section of a downtown street, outside the storage lockers, an ambulatory operative "arrived" towing a palette jack (plenty of steel mass), with a 4' tall box containing a fire-proof safe (considerably more mass). He was towing it on the sidewalk right past me, and he travelled some 80' before disappearing out of view. It does serve to illustrate that they need to get mass positioned around me as well as the designated colors and lighting games (headlights in the face) if they have a semblance of cover story.

Another stunt is placing a higher density vehicle (made of thick steel plate) types in the bus stop zones. The perps placed a city garbage truck in the bus stop I was to disembark; as the bus approached the stop, the garbage truck moved on. I had never seen a municipality garbage truck working on a Sunday before, but there it was, gangstalking the location at which I alighted from the bus. As mentioned before, the cover story requirement is getting less attention than before.

The banter dropped off for the past hour, presumably the painting job was completed, and that included my door trim only 2' away on the other side of my door as I type this. And then the house went totally silent while I backed up these blogs on my own PC, likely in the prescribed mind-controlled way. That is, I copy the contents to a Wordpad file, then make another copying/pasting pass to supply the title as the filename, and then adding a date prefix to enable a date sort in the wretched Windows Explorer. All that copying, pasting, and action between two windows is the stuff for which the perps dream about. Don't ask me why, don't ask why they all go quiet over this, but clearly it is the highlight of the day. Other "all quiet" events include eating chocolate with the same prequisite of noise, building up, or diminishing.

The making of dinner, tortillas from scratch is the usual non-stop hell; they have taken to flicking onions around, having them stick to my fingers and then when I try and remove it, the onion piece magically flies to another finger. No onions ever behaved like that before. As "usual", some cut onions just "appear", having "missed" cooking, presumably to serve as a reference to the cooked onions. The perps like their food flicking to appear on adjacent surfaces, under the fry pan, the wall, the floor, on the stone trivet so the fry pan sits on it, on and on, relentlessly sick games of food flicking. And then they slid the plate on which the onions were placed post-cooking; that is correct, the plate just "chose" to move unbidden by any conventional forces or causal agents. All the while at each round of cursing at the assholes, my voice changes in tone and pitch, aka voice-morphing. The perps like to start me out with the gravelly version first. Just another slew of outrage in the land of the venal sickos; this entire fucking city that I have attempted to put behind me until they ran me out of a job and began this clinical nonsense, courtesy of paid-for physicians. Some were keen enough to participate in gangstalking me in public as well. Scratch a democracy to expose a tyranny, this one being technologically driven.

As mentioned before, the plasma and emanations can be seen almost anywhere; even tall buildings a block away will have some kind of greyish-black emanations and energy waves.

This is the third time that my version of blogspot has gone down today, and each time I am allowed to save my blog to a Wordpad file, a continuation of the backup game noted above. Time to call it a posting and hope that this gets saved.

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