Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Chicken Run With Lead-Me Gangstalker

It was a setup from the getgo, as I was at the local supermarket yesterday, on a chocolate run, and "forgot" the one item I was out of, chicken. Back again, to get more chocolate of the same brand and type, and chicken. Would I be considered too suspicious if the chocolate was to serve as a brown color reference, all because they cannot get enough brown colors in front of my face, and won't let me purchase brown colored clothing to replace the same items that suffered accelerated wear? Not in this life, where every crumb and dust bunny is managed for timing, color, location, disposition (what I am going to do with it), and its interaction with its substrate (what it is on). A navy blue dust bunny arrived in advance of taking a post-shit shower yesterday, my regular Monday crap that is now running nearly six months in this weekday arrangement.

As the total turnaround time at the supermarket from my apartment is under ten minutes, save the odd checkout obstruction stunt, this is a relatively compact time for the perps to put me through a full-on freakshow, but they did try. Apart from two same navy blue metallic finish vehicles parked outside the apartment when I got out, in file with one vehicle space between them, and some ambulatory gangstalkers whose particular act cannot be recalled, the first "over the top" stunt was a faux drunk lying on the sidewalk, concrete surface note, some 40' from the intersection, top of his head facing me. Some "concerned citizens" were in attendance, and the perps have long drained me of having an empathy for this kind of show.

The outside-to-inside gangatalker dude was in hospital colors, a white shirt and pastel green extra baggy shorts to his knees, and he did the now customary stop-in-his-tracks stunt, looking down at his tatooed leg, likely to draw attention to it for me to observe. He was walking in front of the supermarket, and for once didn't lead ahead of me, but walked by the sentries, the faux canvassers in disgusting yellow fleece vests holding their plastic covered binders with a paper insert on the cover. So... I go in the E. door, the closest one, get my shopping basket after the stack was gangstlked by this dude in a red shirt, and head to the hot cookedchicken display. And lo, if my outside-to-inside gangstalker wasn't there ahead of me, picking up his chicken after exhibiting no particular evaluation as to which kind that he wanted. And as it "so happened" there was no half chickens, what I normally purchase, and no free range chickens, also my usual choice. I had to settle for two heavily herbed breast pieces they dinged me $10 for when whole chickens go for less. Then onto the chocolate to increase the supply, and then onto get tapenade where a female gangstalker in a deep red coat was doing hangaround duty, and as it turned out, where they "happened" to be out of tapenade, both kinds.

Then onto the checkout, where the cheerful once-blonde cashier was on duty. I know her from at least four years ago in my vehicle ownership days where I shopped some two miles away. She was blonde then and as far as I could tell, it was her natural color. Well now, she works at this local supermarket (it seems), though she isn't the only "staff member" to follow me to this local store. Anyhow, she is in a fugly red-brown dyed hair job, and as regular readers will know, red tinged dyed hair is one of the Unfavored attributes the perps like to present to me in varying ways. And it "so happens" that yesterday's cashier was one checkout away, and her hair color is near identical to this cashier's, but is a natural color as far as I can tell. This red-brown color represents the thin edge of the wedge it seems; the perps attempt to detect the neural energetic correlates for why I loathe the sight of red hair. (Which may be a consequence of long ago events for which they applied recall deletion, though the subconscious recall is still extant, and they cannot yet fuck with it). In essence, with the aid of these two cashiers and other orchestrated gangstalkers, they have changed the color tone to near acceptable bronze color (red-brown), and are also comparing the real thing to a dye job emulation. If I don't like red hair, why do I have a billion dollar project hounding my ass covertly (to the unknowing observer, overt harassment to me), playing fucking games with hair color for over six years, never mind what transpired before? And yes, I did have more that a few red-haired seatmates in highschool.

I got my gangstalking posse on my way out the door, and and on the street, and they even put on a crimson red coated male to walk straight at me and then avert his path some 6' from me, the long noted walk-straight-at-me stunt that is getting so tired. All to raise some kind of angst in me as to what the fucker is going to do. I never had so many of this kind of near-threatening public walking behavior until the perps went into overt harassment beginning in 2002.

And when I got to the street corner again, the faux drunk was doing some rolling around on the sidewalk this time, with his "attendants" still standing over him. The perps even added an ambulance noise into the mix, though it never arrived locally. Then more games with dudes in red, then when in the sunlight, and then in the shade, and then having a same red colored vehicle crossing the sidewalk at a driveway some 40' ahead, all to provide more deep red color "action" for the endless orchestration games.

And I see that they have put a deep brown colored ceramic tile in one of the two elevators, but haven't finished the job yet. These part finished projects can go on for weeks, and it seems that they want to expose me to the base of the elevator, the tile, and they even left a 2" square section of the old grotty carpet behind as well, a three surface/color game that will doubtless be completed when the perps are finished their color/substance interaction assay games. (A color energetics interaction with me, or more precisely, with my feet and footwear).

And I notice that the church bells are ringing, a tad early for the usual Tuesday night practice, but I am much used to these routines changing up, except for when they fuck with my own.

I had a unanticipated four hour shutdown of this here PC, and as a consequence, not all of today's outing will be detailed. Not that there was anything too remarkable, but the perps did put the scare on me that I need to fix the front panel switch, as it has been erratic, all for the perp agenda mind you, for over a year. "Take away the excuses" was some pre-emptive advice I heard that covers the TI experience. Translated, that means avoid any situations that could be used as a cover story. I have been "thinking" of getting a quiet case for years, but the perps make sure I am too broke for that. Still, I must do something, perhaps just fixing the switch can be accomplished.

And what did the perps allow me to do while shutout from my PC? Reading, and re-reading Dark Mission by Richard Hoagland, a good book on how good science isn't appreciated by NASA, aka, Never A Straight Answer. I had no idea they reported to a military commander until Hogland pointed this out, believing the bull that it was a civilian agency. But, they would only let me read it for at most, 20 minutes at a time, and would then scramble me to make cognition untenable. Then I would write up my written journal, and then back to reading again. There were some other interesting timings too, dinner, another crap and shower to clean up, dusk onset, a horrific amount of faux traffic noise, earmuff use (dark green plastic), and other like coordination. They also had me sit 90 degrees from the normal reading position after pissing me off with stroboscopic flashes on the page. Another trick to force the end of reading is to put a fuzzy maser ball in my vision and place it exactly where I am to read, and it tracks my vision precisely, even without head movement. And how could that be without realtime neural access to my vision?

It all goes to show that I am not allowed to read a book for very long, and I have at least 1,000 books on my Amazon.com wish list. It won't be attainable anytime soon.

I went to gym this afternoon, and I had my posse of ambulatory gangstalkers around me, there and back, and the usual freaks and wierds at the gym, many of them sitting around doing nothing, unlike any gym I have ever been to. The freak I call Ethnic Gut has returned again, "featuring" himself to look extra obvious that he was doing nothing but posing for me to see. That he was in his disgusting bright yellow shirt did not help, and made it all the easier to spot the fucker in my peripherial vision, something the perps have been working hard on. They want to know what energetics occur the instant that I see someone I know, especially if an operative or their shill.

And the Grotesque Granny was also at the gym again, loitering not far from me like last week, and then hanging around in the auric penumbra of a blonde who mysteriously traded places with another woman who regularly "shows up" as some kind of bait. Attractive and fit; a diversion to be sure, and in being so, some kind of Favored demographic group member, even if not blonde. But "somehow", always when I am not looking, she was swapped out and then a blonde woman, also meeting those exact specifications "ended up" in her place. The the Granny took five minutes to hang an exercise mat, loitering in the blonde's auric penumbra all the time. Then the blonde moved 10' away to do some more stretches, and lo, if the Granny didn't end up behind the blonde again, loitering in her auric penumbra. I am hung up on the word, penumbra, so it must be planted, and is likely one the perps use. They like me to use their vocabulary at the specified time; they kept me from the word gangstalker for the first year of being harassed, as I used the term "cluster fuckers", though it didn't quite convey the same meaning.
a. the partial or imperfect shadow outside the complete shadow of an opaque body, as a planet, where the light from the source of illumination is only partly cut off.
b. the grayish marginal portion of a sunspot.
I had some highly irregular ambulatory gangstalkers, one was some 6' ahead of me, he then makes a 12' turn off the sidewalk to go to this neighborhood pub, and then swings around at the entrance and takes another path to resume walking on the sidewalk. And in doing so, he stares at me looking at this bizarre walking pattern. I passed by him, which was what I was intending to do, as he was irritating to look at with his goofy extra wide arm swing. Then the fucker tails me for another five minutes, and then starts singing and grunting while walking some 20' behind me.

I had at least four negros on gangstalking duty, one staring at me as she was revealed standing behind this ditzing large dude in black clothing. How she got from 10' away, to standing exactly behind this fucker must have been a teleport job, as I expected to see her walking at some point. Again, this fits the pattern of peekaboo games, one the perps routine exercise with vehicular gangstalking. Typically, they hide the red colored vehicles in a train of white and silver-grey vehicles and then have it swing wide at the chosen moment to play peekaboo. Anyhow, she was looking right at me as she revealed herself, which was most odd. This seems to be the latest in the perps games to get negroes in close to me, but for me not to see them. Fucking weird to say the least.

And the routine is that the perps put on certain gangstalkers when I am in the gym, have me later go on the treadmill looking outside through the window glass, and then parade the chosen gangstalkers outside, as if departing the premises. And this is what they did for the two female negro gangstalkers, about five minutes apart when they seemed to be mother daughter related. Another instance of making sure I got it wrong, something that plays out at least a dozen times per day.

And another incident that pissed me off today was the perps causing me to behave in a way that was totally foreign to what I would do. This regular Tuesday/Thursday post-gym class cycling ganstalker dude in white hair, who gangstalked me at my last place with his activity in "working" for the adjacent clothing charity, was 4' away from me on his bicycle, one of the few in the cycling lane. He stares at me for no reason, and then the perps had me yell at this asshole. I have seen this fucker many times in his yellow lensed glasses, and have never, ever been compelled to say anything to him, and out of me comes this pointless yell, (he was past me by then), totally planted, and I couldn't do anything about it. I was fucking pissed off, and still am.

Nearly every outing the perps put on at least one gangstalker with yellow or orange lenses goggles or glasses. They even had me by a particular pair in the 2002 days of attempting to use countermeasures, and they had me pay over $100 for a special pair of laser goggles. I used them a few times, but it became clear that I was extra bait with these on. And still, every outing of significance, over 10 minutes, they put on an orange or yellow lensed operative.

I am listening to Jill Barber again, as I cannot get enough of her. While doing so I am looking at stereo gear, stoking my ever vain lust for expensive equipment. No doubt all this looking at box shaped objects fits into the grande plan, but it suits us both, my mind-keepers as my constant unwanted companions.

Time to call this one done and posting this abbreviated blog.

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