Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Daffodil Bulb Sorting

I got to stand in one place, on concrete, for most of the day, sorting out daffodil bulbs. These have been picked in the field, transported to the warehouse and then washed and reboxed for a first sort before grading. These bulbs were flipping past quickly as I was the first sorter, the others being four women on the next (and slower) conveyor belt.

There were all manner of perp arrangements, the most significant was that the conveyor belt was brown colored with plenty of white bird shit spots on it. Sound familiar?

I got all kinds of noise stalking as I read this blog posting on Amy Alkon's site. It is outrageous what Bank of America did, wilfully handing out her money to fraudulent parties that look nothing like her. And to note, as I once banked at Bank of America when I lived in Seattle 1999 to 2002, the bank takes a photo of you and puts it on your bank card. In this case, it wouldn't of helped at the thieves didn't have a fake bank card, but used a bad fake of her driver's licence.

The perps have a ceaseless interest in noisestalking me anytime I read these kind of stories, and it does make me wonder why there is so much identity theft and identity data "mistakes" in making a rash of identities publically availible. I cannot rightfully suggest why the perps might be interested in these kinds of events, but their prevalence must be orchestrated to some extent. They routinely noisestalk me, and augment with other phenomenon such as plasma and maser beams whenever I log into my PC or email (using my ID, and no secret to them). It is all rather odd in a life where there are no coincidences whatsoever, as my life is totally scripted for me, right down to blinks and glances.

And the noise started up again as I finished the above paragraph; was it the act of concluding the paragraph or was it the contents, likely fed by them to me to write.

And too, Petite Anglaise got tagged with fraudulent use of her ID here. Two blogs I check daily get their personal bank accounts plundered with fake ID artists within a month of each other. Coincidence? Possibly. Then, if you concur that nothing in my life is a coincidence as it is highly managed down to every last dust bunny and lint ball, then there must be a perp objective behind this, though beyond the general statement of "psychic research", I don't really know any fact supported reason.

Enough of these unprovable ponderable associations, no matter how much "phenomenon stalking" erupts as I read the blog postings of the unfortuneate authors.

There were a number of perp scripted games today while sling daffodil bulbs, and each time I attempt to recount them, I have a demotivated spell. That might be dynamically applied censoring perhaps, directly to the mind of the blogger in this case.

There was the red earplug event, whereby the conveyor belt started to make a lot of noise, and we were all offered red earplugs to deal with the noise. Then two dudes in red shirts fussed with the belt and pretended to adjust it while it was running. (And note, they were not wearing any kind of company supplied uniform/shirts; theoretically, the two dudes each made an independent decision to wear the same red colored shirt today). And as I wrote the word "dudes", the perps shutdown the blogger and put up the Windows default wallpaper, not even bothering to force me to make key blunders as the cover story.

So, the red earplug event didn't last too long, and I didn't need them for more than 10 minutes. What was clear was that they were testing this color out on me and at least four women in my proximity, and were attempting to detect some kind of energetic difference. One of the women is a negro, and is friendly to talk to, as we have a bit each working day of last week or so. She now wears a red kerchief under her black ballcap, possibly in support of the perps quest in convertly studying the energetics of clothing color. Another woman of the four was wearing the red bandana over her face last week when it was hot, and only a little dusty. It is all very curious as to the perp's conumdrums over their problems related to the color red, vis a vis me. Like I have said many times, if I don't like the color red, and even if I don't know how this came about, why do I have a legion of louts chasing me all over the world in an attempt to bring on incremental exposure to this color in infinite combinations and permutations with materials/substances?

As always, there will be no answer from an outfit that spends 54 years of surveilling and neurally damaging someone while engaged in unauthorized nonconsensual human experimentation, from birth, or even before. And it seems that their excesses of my "lost years", ages 3 to 5, left subconscious recollections that they could not erase, and seem to want to.That is bad enough, but why are they so intent on determining the neural correlates of my predispositions and preferences? Some days, I don't want to know, and it would seem that the assholes won't let me contemplate this for long either. My thoughts on this topic get re-directed in short order. And while typing that, I got at least four stings in my right foot, now five, and I don't know how these are applied as I cannot see any physical traces of their usual tools, masers and plasma beams. I must get at least 50 foot stings a day, always at selected moments when unbidden thoughts occur, or else my acceptance or rejection of their planted thoughts.

I had the usual 3,000 to 5,000 vehicle gangstalking cavalcade around the crew bus when inbound after the day's work. The perps also brought out the operative with this stretched ear lobe which has a 2" diameter black plastic disc inserted into it for the bus ride home. The dude didn't come for work as it "so happened", he came to gangstalk me at the crew marshalling area at the end of work and then again on the bus, the closest person to me. For all of the trip inbound his ear and this embedded plastic disc wiggled with the bus' motion, and no doubt that was of huge interest to the perps. Givent the perp's intense interest in placing plastics of many kinds around me nearly all the time, I can only assume that this fugly freakish earlobe modification to insert a 2" plastic disc in it was part of the plan to do more research of ones's body energetics interactions with plastics. Not my problem, so why do I have such freaks and clowns around me all the time, strutting their plastic?
Every day I go out for more than 30 minutes I see at least four vans or trucks packing PVC pipe on the roof rack. Yesterday at the farm field, they put on a red pickup truck to cruise by as the crew was walking toward the road with a single black ABS pipe projecting from the tailgate to the cab roof. And to complete the scenario, the farm fields are full of plastic scraps and litter of varying kinds and colors, and are routinely dug up in the course of daffodil bulb picking.

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