Saturday, April 12, 2008

Creamy Peanut Butter Not Allowed

My long standing choice in peanut butter, an every morning staple, is creamy peanut butter. I don't know why, and it may well be a planted notion that has some degree of concordance with my own predilections, assuming those are my own. In this situation of controlled crumbs and corn flakes, one cannot be sure of anything, save this depraved harassment.

Yesterday, at the supermarket, they fucked me out of recalling that I needed to get peanut butter, and only reminded me when I reached the checkout. So, back again, and this time, I wasn't allowed to recall the fact that I have been screwed in the past over getting the wrong kind of peanut butter, or that my preference is creamy, or that the perps use the crunchy kind as an excuse to make extra noise in my mouth while eating it; no such recall allowed. They had me buy crunchy peanut butter and "somehow" i missed the different packaging, the label, and the rest of the usual differences, and found that "my choice" was crunchy peanut butter just this morning. This only serves as an example to the degree that I am managed and am being controlled to do things that are not my preference or my choice. It is utterly bizarre as it is depraved that I cannot be let alone to purchase whatever groceries that I want.

The pounding and thumping noise from this apartment building has started up as I write the above, and is again uniquely timed when repairing the forced typos (sabotage) that are going on, and hopefully you won't see.

I had a tea and chocolate break folllowed by a read of the national newspaper, the latter with a near serial background of loud mufflereed vehicle noise. Each noise event decays over five to ten seconds, and when two hands are free, I plug my ears with my fingers, as I am scripted to find these noises highly perturbing. So, with both hands busy with the newspaper, when does this spell of noise start up, why exactly then with the newspaper in hand. And various images and/or words are also singled out for more coincident transient noise; hallway clatter, faux percussive contruction noise, air pressure release noise, faux transiting buses and on it goes. The perps also add plasma games to modify the lighting coming off the page, and also create more contrast in page brightness across the fold. Reading newspapers is a big deal for the perps, and I cannot count how many times the operatives us it as a prop in their gangstalking act. That I delivered newspapers for two years in my teens was likely a setup, though that wasn't enough of that medium in the context of total life trashing as they declared their overt intrusions to me in 2002, but not directly of course, only indirectly through harassment and mind-control actions and all the family quislings that reared their sick heads.

And even maser beams are emanating off the newspaper, often from a picture or a name of a person. This does make me wonder about all these confidential personnel data files that go missing in some way, could this be to be able to psychically access these people, once they are through trashing my life around? Who knows.

I made an earlier trip to the LD store to get more dental floss and hand soap, and had my usual gangstalking posse around me, especiall at the front door where they had two air cadets on some kind of charity bullshit act. This allowed for more gangstalkers to linger at the front doors, and as soon as I arrive, they file through the doors ahead of me. Funny how that repeats, and that the same act was later put on me when shopping in the aisles of LD, newly constrained at the entrance with egress obstructing displays, often fabricated from steel mesh. Why don't they set up their equipment in the store instead of playing games with retail store displays, surely a less efficient bioenergetics assay device?

On the way back from the LD store I had my usual gangstalker posse, and then when attempting to get out of the elevator at my floor, some asshole, staring at me was blocking my egress. And I am not allowed to yell at these assholes, but the arrangement is for me to take a differing route out of the elevator, one foot removed from the usual path I take. What I cannot get over is the number of "individuals" who seemingly wait for the elevator 2" from the door, and "happen" to know which of the two is going to arrive, and are pre-readied to be staring at me. And I would not doubt that it was a morph-over of my father; the same eyes and color, height and build, save a gut up front which could of been prosthetic, as I have seen this before. My father has stared at me before, at his place, as if I was some freak he didn't know, and perhaps this was a replay of that bizarre behavior. The real test will be if I am allowed to ask him tomorrow when I visit, but no doubt that is planned for. The useless fucking asshole, assigning his children to EM attack and captivity from birth; I could never figure him out, so detached, but now I know why- I wasn't under his direction, it was the perps who took the front seat.

And more blatant typo sabotage in coming on, I'm ceasing posting for now.

More forced coughing for any authentic reason, save that someone wants to know more about my mouth contents at that particular moment. Regular readers will know that the perps are obsessed with my mouth contents, and nearly always place their proximate gangstalkers with their mouths hanging open, eating food, moving their tongue about, storing food in their mouth, chewing gum, smoking cigarettes, and countless more stunts to have their mouths open in my presence.

The ongoing serial loud mufflered vehicle noise train is continuing after having dinner; it is the major rape method today, aka neural diagnostic assay method. Now the sirens have been added to the mix to get some high frequency noise added at the same time. One would think this was an intersection of multiple freeways in this neighborhood going by the noise, but in fact, there is no such road within 30 miles. It is all part of this tiresome fuckery, now running for close to six year's worth; April 15 is the anniversary date, and as much as the perps pump this, it has no bearing whatsoever as to the harassment script.

I just got hammered with a fucking big zap with a simultaneous pounding noise overhead. And the sickos didn't waste anytime by having me scream at them, all per script of course. I have never been so unthinkingly reactive in all my life, especially with these assaults, but there is always a first time for anything "out of character". This happened at the instant of clicking on a button on the site to save a book to my wishlist. Fucking outrageous.

Now some kind of whine has started up, and this is the "silly time" for the perps, as it is dusk onset, and I don't yet have my apartment lighting on, something that adds to the problem they have it seems. Now pounding has started up, never mind asking how anyone can pound that thickness of concrete between floors, some 10" to 12" going by my observations of the many concrete buildings under construction in this city. I got up to put the lights on, and the perps have planted four vehicles outside on the street, one a silver colored van camper, about as aburd as one can get for downtown parking on a Saturday evening. Also part of this file of parked vehicles were two more white sedans and a red vehicle. And now, on with the "performance" muffler noise that has been keeping me all afternoon, and now into the evening, and very likely when I go to bed before sleep is allowed.

Now the "thoughtstalking" is coming on; an overhead pounding should a thought come to mind they the assholes didn't put there. Or, if they planted the thought, there is some kind of bioenergetic connection the seem to be looking for by way of deep neural responses to this noise campaign.

A deliberate sabotage to my web page caused me to cease browsing, and when swearing at the asshole, they put on the overhead clunking noise. It is "clunk stalking tonight, it seems.

More overhead noise thought or mouseclick stalking me, and another yelling at the assholes. And while doing so, a zinger maser, the fuzzy grey ball type, floated down from the smoke alarm that is nearly overhead while I am sitting at my desk. Maybe this is the newest escalation of harassment methods, making me yell, but thats been done from 2003 to 2006. Time to give that a rest and show up in person is what the perps need to consider.

Time to bail on another forced dull day, and ponder a new weekly harassment cycle that seems to begin on Sundays with a visit to my parent's place, Ground Zero for Remotely Applied Abuse and Harassment. And to think, I once thought it was just plain old physical abuse.

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