Friday, July 25, 2008

What Is My Favorite Color?

The title refers to the question the doctor asked me while I was being controlled to prattle on about harassment activities. Never did he challenge anything I said, which is par for the course, and as far as I knew, I argued my case "articulately". In fact, he went on to suggest that I write creatively, though I had to disabuse him of that notion as I failed miserably at that activity in highschool, the only mandated situation that I was forced me into creative writing. I have no concept of it, and now with buckets of time, I never attempt it. I simply cannot get my head around fictional character development, let alone creating scenarios of their interaction. Hopefully, all that convinced the doctor some more that I am not making up a single word about this ongoing harassment. Of course he did not make any such a connection, that paucity of creative writing equates to an unlikelihood of harassment concoction.

I also gave him my take on drawing and artwork; that I have more affinity for visual art more than any other creative endeavors, and yet have done nothing, again, while having untold hours to do so. The perps do not want me to be competent in any creative endeavor, and as far as I can tell, they work assiduously to ensure that I don't go too deep on any technical, vocational or avocational endeavor. Competence is not allowed, per harassment operating procedures.

The more interesting timing of events today was to have me eat a Chicken Run lunch at 1100h, then have a nap at 1230h to 1330h, just ahead of walking 30 minutes to the doctor's office. Needless to say, the perps were all over me when headed out the door, and I am sure all that time lying on top of my bed was a big event for them. And to some degree, it seems that the perps have me still asleep in some way, as I haven't felt totally awake since the nap, even after a 30 minute walk in each direction. This simulates the pre-overt harassment life (BOH, before 04-15-2002) when I had these days where it felt like I never woke up properly the entire day, yawning and stretching all too often with a kind of cognitive haze that set in on me. Only by engaging in vigorous swimming could I dispell these strange allways-tired experiences. And of course, I am not allowed to swim either these days, after swimming for over 14 years with organized Master Swim clubs.

For the uninitiated, the Chicken Run is the much gangstalked event where I go to purchase hot cooked chicken to have on hand for the following weeks as my main protein source for the tortillas I make up to eat. And part of the arrangement is when I bring the chicken home, I remove all the skin and fat that I can, eat a meal's worth off the bone, and put the remainder in the fridge for later use. Regular readers will know that the act of chopping up the cold cooked chicken meat is also noisestalked each time.

And today, the perps put on a special jerkaround, as they had only whole chickens out, no partial cuts. With the reduced dietary intake of one tortilla slice per meal, though no wieght loss, a half chicken will last three weeks. Hence, I will be tossing the meat down the garbage chute in a few weeks, which is probably the real plan. I noticed yesterday that the garbage chute room has many cardboard boxes in it, likely as a brown color reference, and the perps might keep that garbage there until I toss the meat out.

The doctor asked me about my sleep, and I told him it was good, perhaps even an hour extra a night for some reason. The notion of telling him that my napping habits "somehow" didn't cross my mind, possibly because that my mind isn't my own. The perps didn't want to open this one up and have him learn of yet another never-before behavior.

I told the doctor about the chocolate "habit" the assholes have planted on me and how it begets extra noisestalking as I place the brown substance in my mouth. I also added in some experiences of a week in 2002 when I couldn't stand the smell of it and didn't want to eat it at all, and how that radically changed to this current situation where it costs as much as all the rest of my food in a given month. And in being as neutral as he could be, he didn't tie in the chocolate "habit" with what I had conveyed to him about the gangstalking and the deployment of colors, especially brown as the last most introduced color usually, and in small progressive increments. In other words, I cannot get any professional to pull the story together; they won't go there, not even within a single consult. Naturally, each time I go to the doctor the session is like there is no prior history, he won't draw from past appointments to add any analytical observations or to augment what I have mentioned in the past. It is only me who is putting this all together, and it is a highly anomalous situation, where no one is aiding my cause among supposed clinical professionals, family or once-friends who get occasionally injected into the script. It seems like orchestrated behavior to me.

An ongoing parade of noise for the last two hours while reading online news. Typically these are long sound decay noises; buses, motorcycles and other loud mufflered vehicles noise trailing off into the distance. All fake, or projected noise of course; there is nowhere around here that a bus can travel at some 50 mph, which is what it sounds like with the final addition of the whine from the bus tires. And too, I get ongoing background noise from the street, as if next to a freeway for all the swishing noise and sustained noise levels.

The perps are continuing with the vision impairments tonight, and I am constantly blinking or moving my head to rid me of them.

It is picture time, as I am getting the forced tiredness in addition to vision assaults; it is "filler" time.

Taken 07-18-2008, 1708h. This is what "happens" at commute time; parking tractor units on the street, taking up two parking stalls. When you own the town, this is no problem.

Taken 07-20-2008, 1729h. This is the "Flake Force", sending fuckwits in pairs on skateboards down the street. This is not uncommon to have these skateboard using, or toting, individuals in excessive numbers in my proximity. Sometimes they will squat down, placing their ass closer to the road surface as this seems to be a distance critical parameter; ass height from earth's surface. Or should I say, brown shit contents, which is really what it is about given the relentless harassment games over excrement that I have related in these blog postings.

The skateboarding hoodie boy boy has an interesting color juxtaposition; the street wires crossing his lower leg ar rendered into a red color for some strange reason, unlike any other spatial justapositions with the wires.

Taken 07-21-2008, 1506h 33sec. All five of the vehicles at this intersection are silver-grey or white, two exceedingly common colors of vehicles that get arranged around me. Four are silver-grey and one is white colored, a highly anomalous event IMHO.

Taken 07-21-2008, 1506h 39sec. And six seconds later, why another silver-grey colored vehicle, this being one of the Smart Cars that are the "rage" (read, harassment dictated and supported acquisition) in this city. This photo shows more of the surrounding parked vehicles than above, and not all the additional vehicles depicted are silver-grey or white, only 2 of the 5 are, with a mid-grey vehicle added in.

And while shopping on the Chicken Run earlier I was allowed to troll through the produce section, but not without four gangstalkers on my ass, one weird in a long coat with a toque (this is a hot day in the summer), who reversed direction and led me over to the blueberries, and then the asshole touches two of the plastic cases with his hands before I was allowed to pick up my case. Both of the cases he seemingly pointlessly touched were adjacent to the case I picked up. Fucking strange to say the least, but nothing unusual in the daily fuckery that I experience. No doubt there were other operatives who followed up later and purchased more blueberries from the stack. And oddly, these were no-name blueberries; no label on them at all, though they are tasty.

I eat blueberries when fresh at least twice per day, and I don't stop until the last of the expensive ones have been acquired in mid-September. And it seems that the perps like me to have this habit, as it must aid their games in color testing me. But last year, they cut me off from nearly all fruit, and never let me near a blueberry. They tell me that the reverse spin of the fructose molecule was giving them problems, hence the fruit dietary constriction. So here we are in 2008, back at the fruit fucking games again. It remains to be seen as to how much they will let me have for summertime fruit consumption, as they might just stop it all together again. There is a predictability about the perp diet constraints that goes decades back on reflection.

I am being made to feel totally demotivated tonight, and reluctant to take on any hard labor tomorrow. This, after viewing my line of credit (negative balance) tonight, that should be sufficient reason to do time with the daffodil bulbs. Nothing is ever straightforward; I cannot be allowed to even like what I am doing and consider the value of what I am doing. More relentless oppressive mind-think, as dished out by my mind-keepers.

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