Monday, May 26, 2008

Buzzy Mondays

I am being rendered into a spaced-out state today, a situation I don't care for one bit. It seems that Mondays, the day I return from a night at my perp-abetting parents' place, is the day they like to apply all what they "learned", harassment and mind control energetics, to me at my place.

That is the simplest explanation, as I sleep in the room that was normally mine, and it "so happens" my mother sleeps there most other days of the week. Some early morning thumping was going on, but I was too sleepy to know if it was the extra-active crows or an operative who can teleport into the atic. Yes, this has happened more than once in the mid-2003 days before I found my own suite and became the biggest activity magnet this city has ever known. And today, the perps upped the vehicular traffic outside in this non-thoroughfare residential (subdivision) street; they put on a constant stream of traffic as if a new commuting route had been discovered by many hundreds of seemingly disparate drivers.

And it was no surprise that my morning gardening maintenance activities took me to the front of the house where they put on the usual retinue of gangstalkers; the Plastic Bag Man, the pitlamping vehicles "pondering" their route in mid-street, the walkers and then the group with both a wheelchair and a halfwit act. Just like downtown, except delivered here to this sleepy subdivision house in a residential area while I was in the front yard to see all this transpire. Regular readers will know how much I loathe the sight of wheelchairs, and also know that the perps constantly stoke this by placing them around me wherever they can, including last week's stunning display of the operative sunning himself in the horizontal 3' off the ground in a public shopping area with the aid of controlled surfaces of the supposed wheelchair.

The masers and the plasma beams were flipping around the living room last night, and they also were especially strong when the very attractive blonde meteorologist was speaking about the weather. I can never get enough of watching her, and invariably the perps plan the dinner activities around disrupting me during her part of the news broadcast. They have me cut the roast then while overhearing her from the kitchen, they have me arrive in the living room partway through her broadcast, and a whole range of other variations. Yesterday, they arranged the game for me to see her last minute of the weather report, and then again at the news wrap up, just when the fuzzy maser ball came off the TV and toward me. The maser ball took at least a second or two to cover the 10' from the CRT TV, but it was decidedly aimed at me from the image of her. Anyhow, more TV schedule games came on later, and even my mother BS-ing about a certain show, only to find she "got it wrong", and it was the US Memorial Day ceremony at the Whitehouse on PBS. And of course the perps went and emo-trashed me, planting excessive and uncharacteristic emotional reaction to the ceremony that wouldn't cause me any duress whatsoever, if left alone.

Then more TV shows while at my parents' last night; British series, New Tricks, with an attractive blonde woman as the supervisor of retired dectectives brought back to look at cold cases. Regular readers will know that the perps like me to be exposed to UK accents and often top it with a Scottish accent. And they did; one of the characters in the show had a Scottish accent. The perps tell me this is to stimulate an adverse subconscious reaction to one of the Unfavored demographic group members. Their rationale is that I once met the infamous Dr. Ewen Cameron when he was at McGill and we stayed in Montreal in 1956-7. I have no recollection of this, and there are many other disturbing lapses of recall in my developmental years that the perps must of deleted. The damage was done, and the fuckers cannot remove them, or at least until recently, as they chase me all over with the Unfavored, and insert the odd Favored, often an attractive blonde woman, in the picture. Yesterday's swarm around me in the elevator lobby of this apartment building was an example; some 8 dudes and one attractive woman in a crimson dress with black hair. All too strange for a mid-Sunday afternoon to get my mailbox cleaned out.

I am getting beamed in the nuts currently, and am pissed off that this torture is going on. The perps have been upping the harassment of late, possibly because they see some benefits around the corner.

Now the tapping noise has started up, and it is time I stopped journalling to get something to eat.

The dusk onset focussed "reflections" are coming into my apartment; these are the faux reflections (plasma beams) of the setting sun off the opposite residential towers that "somehow" find their unerring way to my apartment at this time of day. There have been photographs in the postings of the last two weeks, and apart from troving through them, I will pass on supplying a link. There are three contributing residential towers in fact; the closet one is about 120' away, and has differing windows as the putative source, and today, has the outside lighting on in joining in the fray of casting illumination at this time. There is plenty of light here at this time of day and no reason for any streetlights or like. The other two towers also contribute; the Mosaic building usually about 1700h with the shutttered reflective venetian blinds has also been shown in recent past bloggings. See below for a exposition of the three beaming residential towers.

Regular readers will know that I live in a world where the color, quality, quantity and source of all lighting is highly managed, and that the responsible omnipotent party has an abiding need to perform their research at dusk time more than any other. My understanding is that there is a biological shift from the use of certain eye cell types, the rods and the cones, and the assholes cannot yet figure this out after 53 years of surrepticious research. Yet another case of their problem being made mine without any agreement on my part. This problem might relate to their ongoing research objectives of 100% mind control, or it may relate to their other objectives such as zapping and clunking from overhead when I "happened" to read the very name of this city in a web page about shipping container houses.

The entire shipping container as housing modules craze seems to be highly featured in the web pages I regularly view. I suppose this is only a variation on the inordinate amount of time my mind-keepers have me look at stereo components, also very box like in their shape. There is no genuine reason to view stereo components as I cannot afford them and I am constantly harassed as to what I am allowed to hear, see or read. I have had three CD players go kaput, one of which was repaired even. It was a NAD player, and they are very reliable. Which suggests some asshole can remotely and dynamically disrupt the circuitry any time they like. This has also been my experience with headphones (down four pairs) and gauss meters (down three).

I am getting more plastic bag stalking today, even as I type this. I see an operative was dragging one across the courtyard of the opposite building, and my mother was also in on this gig at her place in a number of capacities. She brought out a plastic garbage bag for the plants I dug up earlier this morning. She also had a number of nested plastic plant pots on the kitchen counter for no seeming reason, and she also helped out by sitting on a plastic plant pot when I was digging up another weed for her. The faux vagrants and street scum were on duty when I drove into downtown with her today; a green plastic tote was at the corner I turned, and a extra-loitering (faux) vagrant with his green plastic backpack wrappings (garbage bags), was close to the vehicle when I got out of the vehicle outside my apartment building. The seeming apartment manager was also on a rare street sweeping exercise when I pulled in, with plastic scoop bucket and broom. (But he somehow "missed" the brown colored cigarette butt at the front door). In all, the perps put on close to 40 ambulatory gangstalkers for my arrival when I got out of my parent's vehicle, and a 20' walk to the apartment doors. I have been inundated with ambulatory gangstalkers in other locations after exiting a vehicle after driving, so this flush of fuckers at this juncture is nothing new. The apparent scenario is that their obsessions over colors (red, brown, yellow predominantly), plastics, the Unfavored, and whatever else are all intertwined, and so having combinations and permutations of these is all part of the ongoing harassment/nonconsensual human experimentation. Regular readers will recall that I sometimes get an an attractive blonde woman gangstalker wearing brown as a "starter" color and specimen when first setting out or arriving at a locale. Then more of the Unfavored colors and human specimens are trotted out for me to see, and presumably energetically interact with for the benefit of the remote mind-keepers.

Taken 05-19-2008, 1744h. This is taken to demonstrate yet more parking orchestrations; the two silver-grey vehicles, one each side of the tree that has finally flushed out in leaf. And to the leftmost on the street parking, the ridiculous, but often used, tractor unit parked on the street at this time of day. It is likely placed there for a large mass of navy blue color, both in fiberglas (the air dam) and the cab, in steel.

Taken 05-19-2008, 1744h. This is the source of the beam as the camera conveys it; a blanked out looking sliding glass door, and the adjacent smaller window. This came from higher up than the photograph above.

A close-up of above. A rather strange bronzing color of the window mullions is also visible.

Taken 05-26-2008, 1842h, today, a short time ago. This must be all about feeding the story; I blog about it (above), and then I get the opportunity to photograph what I was blogging about. This is the N. most tower of the three, and is last in the rotation of "reflective" windows to beam into my apartment. As best as I can tell, the "reflection" isn't even coming off a window, the plasma source is located independently.

The original shot of the above, showing the dark clouds to increase the greyness and the contrast.

This has been posted before. This is tower number one with the supposed contiguous residents combining to have their venetian blinds down and at the same setting for blocking, aka faux reflecting, the later afternoon sun. Taken 05-16-2008, 1513h. All these "reflections" end up in my apartment, because how else would it be arranged?

An extended cascade of loud sirens erupted as I was looking at a web page about Mars, relating to its geology, and not today's landing of the Phoenix. But as Mars is topical, the perps feel they must "sample me" with other stories, separating the content into various decompostion topics; Mars, story, story provenance etc. Then, as if that wasn't enough, they planted the sensation of an insect crawling on my right neck, not once, but twice, all to incur more right hand (mouse hand) contact with me. The number of operatives scratching their heads or necks at any given time has increased of late, and the assholes are using the imposed "creepy crawlie" sensations to exact more remotely conducted measurement possibilities.

My regular Monday crap finally came due. I will spare the details, but the worst of it is the perps planting these strange anal sensations afterward. And lo, if it isn't simultaneous with this strange rash sensations on my right thigh; only sensation though, no actual rash. This faux rash has been on and off for months, but as Mondays are high harassment days, it would seem that the perps are likely mapping these two sensations together in bioenergetic terms. There are no coincidences in my life as I have come to know it. And no one has even come close to explaining this model in any other way. Now the overhead pounding has started up, likely for post-crap neural mapping. Regular readers will know of the perps obsession with all things brown, and that it culminates when taking a crap. I will leave it at that.

More insect games; arrivals of two insects tonight on my arm after the above mentioned creepy crawlie sensations. All to force me to get up and deal with it as well as have me wash my hands in the kitchen using blue colored dish detergent. The most arcane and infinitesimal of activities is highly scrutinized and arranged, especially if it falls outside the habitual.

Time to call this day done and ponder what nightime games are going to unfold; keeping me awake on Monday nights is now "routine", and the insect harassment sensations are gathering importance.

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