Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Digging for Plastic

There are various obsessions of the perps, and two came into play today while attempting to create a raised garden bed at my parent's place. The perps just love me to dig soil at their chosen site and timing, and they are also consumed over my governed exposures to plastics in all their many types. What they tell me in the latter case is that I have many plastic pollutants in me and it makes it very difficult for them to remotely determine my bioenergetics for their mind control research purposes. I likely have what an average citizen has, and even polar bears have PFOA's in their bloodstream. Which makes it clear why so many gangstalkers are packing plastic bags, the large black colored full sized garbage bags, my so called "plastic bag people". And it explains why almost every outing has one gangstalking irrigation services vehicle with a bundle of PVC pipe on its roof, and perhaps why they laid some 400' of twinned 30" PVC down the neighboring street recently. Not my problem, so why am I getting hounded over it all the time?

The perps rarely answer that question for me, but like me to keep asking it for some reason. The arrangement was that I spent nearly two hours digging this soil at my parent's place to remove large quantities of sheet plastic that "happened" to be 14" underneath and where my mother wanted this raised bed located. And around me, on the surface were many other vintages of the same kind of plastic; garbage bags, sheet (ground covering) plastic, with varying histories. But this deep buried plastic had to be removed, and so this little project became a big one, especially if one paid attention to the noisescape and the timing it had with respect to my actions of touching or pulling on the plastic. I probably dug out a half cubic yard of soil in the process, and scraped the shovel on the plastic many times to remove soil that was holding it down. There was even a landscape bush that was rooted into a mound of soil, also over top of this plastic sheet. That had to be removed, but more like, it "fell apart" in my hands so much less of it was replanted. In the interim, since I worked on this project three days ago, their entire lawn, front and back had been given aeration treatment, pulling 5" plugs of soil out. It would seem that someone needed to sample the soil between my digging activities. And, I am sure the soil immediately above and below the plastic was of great interest to the perps, especially as so many roots were running in parallel, guided by its impervious nature.

When digging, the noisescape build up over time; a neighboring chainsaw, many aircraft, furious bird chirping, hotrods "happening" to be driving the neighborhood one after the other, Harley-like motorcycle noise that went on for at least 8 minutes over which it seemingly arrived, circled, departed, and returned, and finally departed. And there are no motorcycle owning neighbors in this suburban street, so why was it there for so long? Because it is the most loathed noise in my current Unfavored list, perhaps? Also added into the mix were diesel truck owning neighbors who fired it up for a few minutes and then turned it off, repeating their past pattern of senseless vehicle idling. And too there was the phenomenon fucking, as I call it; a constant runny nose, the masers flitting around in my field of vision, wobbling my balance, faked touches from things I did not bump into, soil up my glove from no apparent cause, hopping gravity defying stones, endless squeaking of my gloves on the shovel handle, vision interfering drips of "sweat" on my glasses, and countless "arrivals" of extra plastic in varying colors and kinds to the locations I had just dug. The majority of the buried plastic was black, and lo, if some white colored plastic didn't "arrive" by some unknown means to provide a full grey scale measurement opportunity.

Then my father returned from his supposed adult day care, my mother being out at a luncheon, and I was holding the fort for his return. This usually spells trouble and lo, if he wasn't copying me in my actions in packing up the tools, and later when in the house, he put on his agitated act at tea time, walking back and forth in the dining room and kitchen, rustling plastic bags for no reason (by "finding" them in the storage closet), playing unstated peekaboo by standing behind a wall and partially obscuring himself (at least 40 times), and inexplicably going outside three times to revisit the dug over area and then come back and gangstalk me again while at the table. It was so fucking obvious what he was doing, and clearly out of character to get agitated while having tea, that it meant only one thing; he was acting as a perp shill, a go-between the dugover site and the plastic that I pulled from the soil and all the extra "arrivals", and me. After an hour of this fucking outrage my mother came home to relieve from this blatant fuckery. Then, my father immediately settled down and resumed having tea for chrissakes. Talk about heavy family gangstalking, it was finally over. Which is why I collectively call them the First Feral Family, though it is very likely that the perps gave me that moniker as they so like me use alliterative syntax.

And if that wasn't enough of a blatant fuckover game, then my mother said it was too busy for her to drive me back downtown, so I was driven to a bus stop where there was a greater chance of getting a downtown bus. And, as regular readers will know, the bus is another public freakshow event all for my benefit, and this was no exception. There were at least 30 on the bus which is totally absurd for downtown bound at 1700h, when all the traffic is going the other direction. And so I had my "pals" around me, the hooded thuggy buddies, at least one brown skinned individual twisted in his seat to have his back facing me in his grey patterned black hoodie and his headphones on underneath the hood, and of course, swaying to his music most of the time. There was the usual Unfavored; white hair, grey hair, shade wearing dudes, red clothed, and all the strangely short trips they embark upon. Only a 5/10 for freakshow content today, partly aided as I was sitting in the very rearmost seat, and not watching as much as I usually do. There was the usual posse of white, silver grey, and black vehicles with interspersions of reds, greens, browns and navy blues. And while waiting for the bus for 15 minutes, these same color and vehicle type configured formations of vehicles were in constant flux in front of me, as well as making corners near the bus stop. It was unbelievable as to the numbers of vehicles, but I reckon it was at least 1,500 today for the extra time I spent on the road.

I am now back at my place, and the perps have decided to mess with my visionm driving some kind of plasmic phenomenon at me, as if it were emanating from the LCD display, which it usually does. I recall that this occured in 2005-06 when I returned from hiking for some hours; this seemed to be their method of re-irratiating me to get my level topped up, as it was impossible to measure me to the resolution they had availible when in my apartment. It is my experience that exercise causes this irradiation to dissapate, which is why they plant gangstalkers nearly up my asshole while at the gym (As an example, see yesterday's blog).

Onto other diversions as this seems to be the trend, per mind-fuck script. Here is the lead in;
On June 10th, 1999 a 16-inch diameter steel pipeline operated by the now-defunct Olympic Pipeline Co. ruptured near Bellingham, Washington, flooding two local creeks with 237,000 gallons of gasoline. The gas ignited into a mile-and-a-half river of fire that claimed the lives of two 10-year-old boys and an 18-year-old man, and injured eight others.
The perps have an obsession over petroleum and all its derivative products, and I have no idea if they were involving in this conflagration, but it made the news here for a time as it is nearly local, even if it happened in Washington State. This the first time I have found an explanation to some extent as to what happened in and around the time, as much of the inquiry seemed to dwell on Olympic Pipeline's ineptitude, which was surely a contributing factor. The perps are so fixated on petroleum products that they had a fuel station rebuilt (IMHO) on my twice per week walking beat; the tanks were pulled out, the rock was blasted to permit new plastic tanks and the building and the entire site was demolished and rebuilt. I have mentioned it in past blogs, and the above story reminded me about how petroleum is a significant part of the perp agenda, though largely unreported. It does make me wonder about how these oil spills happen, and if there isn't another ulterior connection to these events. I also thought it was interesting that Rudolph Diesel of the diesel invention fame, died mysteriously when making a visitation to England to promote the production of vegetation pressing sourced oils on which diesels could run. He was not a proponent of the crude petroleum oil, only a nascent industry at the time. This conspiratorial musing is just that, and it may be a planted notion the perps like me to air for whatever reason. There are no coincidences in my life, and perhaps this historical chapter wasn't one either.

More interviews from this site, Project Camelot, and then the feed was frozen after 14 minutes, not unlike yesterday's fuckery. The video interview with Marcia Schafer is here, and the woman was speaking to her experiences and knowledge of extraterrestrials' activities, and then her white haired husband arrived at about the 12 minute mark, and after some brief comments, the camera went back to her, and then the feed was frozen. Could this be another leveraging of the Favored (attractive woman) with the Unfavored (white haired bearded male), and then the perps selecting a cut-off moment shortly after both of them appeared together in the same video frame? It seems that way, as it is such a common perp model, mixing the Unfavored in on the heels of the Favored.

Time to call this one done and post this for the typo sabotage is getting annoying.

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