The first overhead rumble of the day came with a simultaneous zapping, for which my "reaction" was to yell at the assholes. I don't know why they are increasing this mode of torture of late, all I do know is that I was reading the word "silicon" and that is when I got it. This kind of fuckery is not new, and comes in waves.
I expected some extra harassment today as the perps had me scheduled for a shopping trip to the nearby supermarket later, as I had run out of cooked chicken, my primary source of protein. As part of it, they had me riled up from the get-go with the usual provocations; extra noise added to everything I do, extra outside noise, pulling items from my grasp, flying partially digested food out of my mouth and back into the cereal bowl, dropping food in front of me and between my legs while seated, a near impossible trajectory in conventional gravitic terms, and a few others that I cannot recall.
After breakfast and the moring shower, shave and dental hygeine routine, I began my laundry, one of the perps all time harassment subjects. There were the usual oddities of the clothes flipping about from an unseen force, but when I got my clothes back from the dryer, the perps added at least 10 instances of white thread that "somehow" stuck to my just laundered clothes. They have me remove this lint and place all of it on the corner of the bed, where I am folding and sorting. In this way they build a lint "profile" of each garment, and all the lint is gathered over the course of folding and putting away. Then the lint was tossed in the just-arranged garbage can with a new plastic bag inserted in it. Call it "lint profile in plastic", but it is clear that they use added lint as some kind of surrogate for the garments themselves, and have them merged together as I throw them into the garbage.
After completing the laundry folding and putting away, I normally have lunch, as this has been the routine for over three months. But as I was out of chicken, I had to buy cooked chicken from the grocery store. It seems, that whatever I do with respect to laundry is a huge deal. I had my in-elevatore MIB (Man in Black), now in black fleece and white wire and a headset adorning him and his head. Then when outside the apartment doors, it was the Red Bag act, an elderly woman in a crimson anorak and a same red cloth shopping bag, who cut in front of me to visit the adjacent pharmacy for whatever reason. I had my vagrants doing huggies, then a browner (brown color pantsuit) change her orientation by 90 degrees at the intersection, and then when crossing the street, a red vehicle with 2" of snow on the hood. As there was no snow here, and that very little of it had melted off, that took some doing to arrange. Another parked vehicle with 1" of snow on it was parked nearby.
Anyhow, shopping at the supermarket was interesting, as I had my usual posse of lookers around me; and in a new move, they had at least three stocking carts with brown boxes stacked on them, the upping the ante to increase the incidence of this color in my presence. And I noted there was a full aisle-end display of the same laundry detergent that I had used earlier, obviously something that I was meant to pass by. This time, I was allowed to buy half chickens, a more sensible arrangement with the accelerated degree of food spoilage that has been going on, even if I reset the fridge to be colder. I got skunked on getting more tapenade though; at least six "shoppers" converged on the location where I planned to acquire it, so forget it, it wasn't worth it as I still have some in the fridge. Then onto the checkout to get out of there, and lo, if a woman in a mid-brown full length coat didn't arrive behind me, and lo, if she didn't have the same brown colored brown sugar in a clear plastic bag as her first "food" item. Anyhow, I was glad to be done, as the perps always like to have me is a agitated state while I notice all their operative loitering about. But, I wasn't allowed to exit the store, but no, the automatic doors closed in on me as I was stepping through them, and I was banged once on each side. I have seen their operative dash through elevator doors more than once, making contact with the operative, but not opening up. This was a first, having the doors pinch in on me. Funny how it never happened before, and how no other operative was egressing like there usually is. Then back to dulldom, save the noise from outside, which is in fits and starts, and seems especially timed while swearing at the assholes when foiled in repairing their forced typo sabotage.
I am still being contained in my email drought; one substantive email in over a week is nowhere near the usual pace, and I can only assume it is one more managed event, part of the social exclusion fuckery that goes on. And now, I am getting these LCD display jittering all the time. Now, the siren and the hallway coughing has erupted, so this looks to be the "big event" before I make dinner.
The battle with the perps over making dinner is over; they went out of their way to disrupt all my routines. First they forced a "forget" in putting on the stovetop element, and that screwed the order of doing everything following. Making dinner was a three-fer event; new cooked chicken, a new tub of tapenade and finishing up of the tortillas. That makes for three samplings of packaging in the garbage, combined together, and for them, it is indeed exciting. Regular readers will know that the perps assiduously manage the contents of my garbage, how things get placed and the entire juxtaposition of the contents and respective colors and materials. They usually noisestalk me when I put packaging in my garbage, and may even flash a maser or plasma beam at the same time. They also create crumbs from "nowhere" that land on my fingertips and are then rubbed off over the top of the garbage. In this way, they have me making extra hand movements, and this too is of some apparent value to the perps.
I am getting the knee torquing torture tonight; this is where they rotate my foot and apply torsional stress to my knee, which can be relieved by lifting my foot up. They continue again as soon as I put my foot down, twisting it yet again in a series of cycles that will last for an hour or more. I suspect there are some deep neural connections to knee torquing stress/pain, and the perps are using this to look deeper into my neural processing in realtime.
All these pain or sensitivity impositions seem to add up to creating some kind of neural signature they want to use as way to investigate other neural responses they are seeking, possibly in the same brain region. Their pain and skin sensitivity games include;
- placement of crumbs from nowhere on my fingers or fingertips
- placement of crumbs or like food debris on my lips, tongue and/or inside my mouth
- placement of debris underfoot, usually when barefooted
- torquing my knee to create a twist, and then pain (per above)
- shooting a pain into my knee from no seeming source or forced knee movement
- applying some kind of generalized force field over my kidney area
- jabbing my fingertips with box corners, packaging corners or a facsimilie thereof (force fields from nowhere)
- jabbing me in the ass or crotch, as if my loose jeans could create such a frequent faux binding sensation
- faked burps; muscular action but without any internal digestive initiation
I did some more reading about "free energy" motors, and was roundly noisestalked for it. I assume that most of these are legitimate, but curiously, they have gone nowhere. The economical breakdown of water into its constitent elements of hydrogen and oxygen in gas form seems like a no brainer, the so named Brown's Gas, and yet it hasn't gone forward. This isn't even a "free energy" application, and yet here we are, burning petroleum products for some kind of perp obsession over determining the Earth's energetics IMHO. At least that is my take on it, and I do get plenty of noisestalking around gasoline stations, as well as having one rebuilt down to the placement of new plastic tanks on my twice per week walking beat to the gym.
Now the hallway chatting has started outside my door; I have never had so much of this in any apartment building ever. Only the last residence, the putative rooming house, had so much human voice outside my door.
I found a paper, Concerning The Scientific Study Of The Human Aura by Charles T. Tart and it explains why my father, and others, hide, or partially hide behind walls, doorways, closed doors and the like. Their energetic auras, the paper explains there are many auras, can be physically blocked to some degree, and by assessing the target (me) in relation to the harasser (my father) one can determine the energetic interaction. He does exactly what this paper describes; he stands in doorways, but without being visible, and thereby creates an auric interaction without a physical one. And a low desk lamp is ususally turned on behind him to cast a shadow before he is visible, or else he does this backing and forthing from the darkened adjacent room. He does this in a E.-W. orientation, and then again in a N. S. orientation, stopping, then moving, again, putting on this dotty bullshit as if he had Alzheimers. He does this consistently, every Sunday I visit, so it is too consistent to be from a debilitating conditon.
More red plasma flashes are erupting, and I find them highly annoying. Per yesterday's telepathically planted thoughts from the perps, they claim the light and plasma flashing is to emulate traumatizations of a forced LSD experience before I was 6 y.o. Again, nothing can be believed from that source, all to often the objective is for me to have the wrong belief, and then monitor me closer when it gets revealed that it was altogether wrong. They just love to force errors and mistakes as part of this obsession of theirs.
I force play for me to put on a sweater, shut the PC down, and have some tea to warm up. The baseboard heater in this apartment has somehow "failed", as it simply isn't as warm as the thermostat indicates. All the heating problems of the many 10's of past apartments are now explained; remote and covert control of the room temperature. The hallway coughing act started up, and it seems that this is another big moment for whatever reason. It would be the first eveningtime tea and chocolate I have had in some years, and with a sweater on no less. And more red and orange flashes as I type that, which is more annoyance.
And while drinking tea, the perps pulled some kind of perceptual fuckover stunt; disengaging my prorioception such that my legs didn't feel like they belonged to me unless I wiggled around in my chair to ameliorate this never-before sensation.
Enough; more reading from a travelogue in Australia. The plasma projections and masers are still coming off the LCD display, and it is still jittering as I type, so time to blog off.