Another day of toil in the daffodil fields today, picking the bulbs up and putting them in the boxes; at least 800' per row. Thankfully the regular foreman was there today. When I first started this morning the usual vexacious nutters weren't there, and I thought I would be less harassed and cranked up (read, made irritable by remote means). But at 0900h the Redshirt Freak arrives with an Indian woman in dayglo orange and fuschia. What a sight, with the first mentioned nutter buzzing around me, and making sure that I knew about it. Not only is he a vapid chatterer making no sense, but he has the fugliest dreadlock hair for a Caucasian. He wears a blood red colored shirt he takes off, puts on, and leaves unbuttoned, and circulates around me in varying states of shirtwear. In the crew bus he makes sure to hang around me, and lies flat on the seat. After lunch break, he was lying flat on the field, red shirt on. As I see it, his shirt color is one big red color energetics test, and he makes sure that it happens around me, or especially, when I am in the bus on a break.
Other crazy stuff is the quasi-military dude in a wide brimmed green bush hat, a matching green army shirt, and then has a green bandana to cover his face under his sunglasses. Totally absurd, as there isn't too much dust in any event. He too, circulated around me, making it obvious at one point, and then proceeded to kick up dust for me to breathe while he was walking past. Unbelievable; the dust-proofing fanatic intentionally kicks up dust for others to breathe.
This "bandana thing" has also another member, she wearing a red one over her face and under a wide brimmed white hat with sunglasses on. I assume this is yet more red color testing, not unlike the excessive hoodie acts that loiter in my proximity. This woman bulb picker seems to have the height and build of my daughter, though she speaks Portugese as her first language. Past experience has taught me that the perps can dynamically modify speech to have an accent or even another language if need be. As she seems to get "featured" as a gangstalker, it would seem that this person is indeed a morphover of someone I know well. I just don't know who, and I am sure that the perps enjoy making me guess, if not dropping the suggestion in the first place. And, it almost goes without saying, they like it very much when I am dead wrong.
And I noticed the foreman mentioned another dude by name, as this crew member's absence left a crew that was much quieter without his incessant chatter. This same dude picked up his paycheck at the office the same day I did last week, and has also "featured" himself too. The perps tell me this is my out-of-town brother, but again, who knows or cares; it is just another gangstalking and harassment abetting asshole as I see it. Or, I try to, as the perps have this guessing agenda for me to go through, but if left alone, I wouldn't bother to play this totally bullshit game of guessing who the morphover shill/operative is for real. I don't fucking care.
After a day of dealing with the nutters and bulb picking, and one less reprobate/nutter than weekdays (a Saturday today), I step off the bus at the usual downtown location, and besides the regular freaks, this reprobate bulb picker was "hanging around" in his red hoodie close to his face, (no hair showing). This is the guy that almost got canned last week, and who is dropped off and picked up by his foster parents esach working day, and seems to work only weekdays, and wasn't bulb picking today, and there he is downtown as a "greeting gangstalker" when I got off the bus. All I got was the stare-at-me fuck from him, not even the decency of "hello". It is more fucking unbelievable gangstalking as I see it, all to get the agitating reprobate some more "face time"; staring and loitering by name.
This won't be a detailed post today as I am still knackered (tired) after today's bulb picking, and don't have a whole lot of energy to deal with all the gory details of the harassment games. The perps fucked me out of taking water today, though they did "turn down" the weather, creating plenty of cooling cloud cover and a short spell of "fairy rain" that soaked my back for 20 minutes, and thankfully, without any wind that would of chilled me down. No one was prepared for rain today, and me especially.
Among the bulb picking crew there is a mysterious unwritten code as to who does what when, and it seems to involve selected "laborers"/wackos who get the specialized jobs elsewhere and not the grind of picking bulbs all day. And it is not like that they have senioirity, as two of these four dudes started later than I did, July 11. And when we get out of the bus, and are directed to get picking buckets for a walk through daffodil bulb pick after a churning by the plow, only me actually responds while everyone else stands there for some reason. And magically, they seem to get the buckets without having made any effort to walk the 20' to get them. It is most strange this unsaid command level that everyone else is plugged into, save me.
No more pictures today, the last upload is done. And severe typo sabotage; enough blogging for now.
2225h
One last picture as it "happens"; a view from my parent's place, looking down the street that is normally devoid of street parked vehicles, and here are 6 of 9 vehicles (plus flatbed truck on right side of the street) either a white or silver grey color. And there was even an additonal white vehicle that I cropped out. Taken 078-13-2008, 1441h. And by way of demonstration, their normally quiet street has now become a cyclist's throughfare for "some reason".
The above uploading, cutting and pasting and viewing of this one picture has got me at least three loud motorcycle moments, aka noisestaling with the most loathed noise of all (to me).
I am done for today, and will not be doing hard labor with the wackos; perhaps a more reflective blog will "arise" tomorrow, though I am getting plenty of perturbing detail deletions from my recall when ordinarily, pre-invasive remote recall access, this would not happen.
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