I have commented previously on the bizarre elevator etiquette that erupts around me since the harassment began in 2002. This has largely been in the form of a fuckwit attempting to barge in before I get out, and I let them know it by coming at them. I get temporarily "spaced out" to miss the all-important instant at which they enter, and am allowed to cognitively process the rudeness only after it has begun, usually when they are at the threshold of entering the door before it has fully opened.
Today, a fuckwit operative took this to new heights and entered the elevator BEFORE either of us, me and another "tenant" had exited. It is fucking outrageous to say the least. In other words, the gangstalking operative who barged into the elevator with the two of us yet to get out, had no idea as to whether the elevator was headed up or down (to the basement), as one of us could of stayed in it and continued on the elevator's intended journey. Maybe I am missing something, but I have taken elevators to work everyday for years in some big city locations, and I have never seen this orchestrated public rudeness around elevators before. Never mind the infrequent flakes that skip into the elevator as the door is closing on them with impeccable timing, contacting the rubber on each side of the door without it being triggered to re-open.
Other elevator follies today was a duffer placed in front of the door as it opened, asking me in sign language by pointing his finger down, as to whether that was the next direction it was to headed. How in the fuck am I supposed to know when that fact is readable from the elevator button lights (when they haven't been fucked with, which they weren't).
The first mentioned elevator rushing stunt was also augmented with a move-in scenario; furniture outside and in the lobby; more "wood stalking" as I see it. Earlier this week, when coming back from a ride in the yellow crew bus from farm work, they had the lobby filled with furniture, and the only route to the stairway, in lieu of riding the elevator with them, was taken by a reddish haired woman standing as part of the seeming moving party. I asked her if I could get through and she was fine with that, and it was no problem to slip through this narrow passage to take the six flights of stairs. Obviously it was some kind of constriction with a known quantity, a gangstalker who had been in place for who knows how long, over top of that very spot I was to pass through. A decidedly more calculated test it would seem. And when in the stairway, lo, if the dim lit area with the sticky floor and newspapers stuck to it of six weeks ago was't still there. Some kind of "walking on newspapers glued with red stain to a grey concrete painted floor" test. A likely elaboration and calibration with the prior "walking over the location of where a red haired woman was standing" test. All too clever.
A second siren cascade has just erupted as I add to the above paragraph, and begin this. The above elevator stunt occured on my way out to yoga, the first class in three weeks. These resumptions of routines after a hiatus are prime gangstalking moments, and the freakshow that circulates around me was out in abundance. And too, the vehicular gangstalking; "my" most frequent regular gangstalking vehicle, the Coca Cola delivery truck in red and white with unpainted aluminum surfaces was outside, adjacent to the exit to this apartment building, parked to make a "delivery" at the convenience store. I cannot count the number of bogus street parking arrangements I have seen this particular vehicle participating, but it is nothing but persistent. And as the perps have reminded me about this vehicle, think of all that brown colored liquid inside bottles and cans, behind the red, white and metallic finished livery of the vehicle. Need I add that t he perps are constantly putting reds in front of browns, vice versa and all manner of combinations and permutations of fabric, color variants, skin tone of the wearer (gangstalker), and then with vehicles as well.
Then onto yoga, and even with being five minutes early I was the last one to arrive, and the new instructor had arranged herself to be in my old spot. And to no surprise, she was backlit by the stained glass windows, this being a chapel. For the session her face and skin wasn't well lit, and I am sure there was some subtle extra plasmic fuckery going on as well, as the perps have been messing with so many of my online and reallife situations to ensure certain skintones and gangstalkers are presented in dim or backlit situations. (And some obvious plasma beams around her at the beginning of the class). I suspect this is to impair my cognitive ability to take in the person's look in one glance, or perhaps, to de-emphasize the person's features momentarily.
But that didn't stop me from admiring her exquisite form and sensual elegance; she is a dancer, and is about 5'9", about 30 or so, and has not a stitch of extra weight on her. And no tattoos, something the perps have been chasing me with for the past three weeks, and I get some relief thankfully. And also, she is taking us back to Ashtenga yoga, one that is more active and challenging. I lamented in this blog about the past instructor taking us on a Pranayama (breathing) focus as I wanted more activity, and less talking about my breathing for chrissakes.
Well anyway, she is a bright light when all around is dark (or dimmed down), to quote from Monty Python. And it is once per week, and it seems that this will be a regular Thursday session for the forseeable future.
And I swear I saw someone very much like the above yoga instructor when I was walking back from gym today, earlier than usual as I will explain below. I had just crossed the street of one way traffic at the crosswalk, and a woman of the same height, build, comportment and age was walking toward me after I turned 90 degrees to head to the sidewalk after the crosswalk at this Y junction of a two-way street splitting into two one way streets in opposite directions. She was wearing black and under a black umbrella, and again, her face was in a dim light, and it wasn't the same as the above yoga instructor. And in true gangstalker style, she was making some kind of mouth movements, her tongue licking her lips at the moment I looked at her, and she looked at me at the same time. It was all over in less than a second, and I would not count this as staring in any way. It was an odd place for a person to be walking at that time of day, about 1545h, as most downtown commuters take the bus to head the suburbs, where this location was in-between, in an neighborhood of apartments and condos. I would not be surprised if she was a morph-over of the yoga instructor, and I have no idea who the person was. The perps like to plant the notion that it is a morph-over at the moment of seeing the person, but in this netherworld that I live in, nothing is what it seems.
And I finally had it with the gym class, and it may have been my last one. I mentioned in past blogs how this class was an hour long, the first 30 min.in a free-format on the gym equipment, and the latter in a floor exercise room altogether. Then about two months ago they changed it such that selected classmembers were to spend the last 30 minutes doing exercises by themselves in the public area for warming up or down. This worked for a time as the number of individuals (read, gangstalkers) coursing around me was relatively few. Then today, two days before a long weekend in the summer, the put on plenty of extra gangstalkers, one component being The Men In Red Shirts, of increasing prevelance of late. There were five of them, all seemingly independent, as well as another six or so who were also working out. To make a long story short, I hate working out as if I am in a railway station or other busy public concourse. And I reckon the perps had this denouement long arranged, as the seed of not tolerating this new arrangement was planted from the begining.
denouement –nounThere were some other oddities going on in the above circumstances, like the red fleece coated male who came to sit there, and then departed while I was changing to leave, only to re-appear downstairs in the lobby area when I was on my way out. In other words, this weird, came to loiter around me in the public workout area and then departed to loiter around me when I had my coat on and was leaving.
1.the final resolution of the intricacies of a plot, as of a drama or novel.
2.the place in the plot at which this occurs.
3.the outcome or resolution of a doubtful series of occurrences.
Prior to the above, I was also being deliberately followed by dudes from one piece of equipment to the other; from mid-building to the glassed perimeter, and then another pair tag teamed me on the equipment. The entire gym class gangstalking has been getting more odious and brazen. Though I am not sure if the perps are done with me yet at that venue, as they had the gym built just for me as I read the timing of events. I started working out in public gyms since about 1994, and in the prior years to BOH, Before Overt Harassment (04-15-2002). This seems to be a preferred activity to aid the perps' objectives of remotely applied nonconsensual experimentation and study. And since the OB Rec. Center had a big re-build in 2003-4 to create a new gym wing attatched to the extant swimming pool when the assholes forced me back to Victoria, I am sure they are not done yet. But then again, the perps installed a 80' cell phone tower, (read, electromagnetic and other energies) close to my regular hiking route just for my last day of hiking when I had my vehicle. So who knows; spreading cash around isn't a problem. That they plan all this out years in advance is undeniable.
I did explain in a later phone call to the gym class coordinator's voice mail that I was not going to continue with the latter half public area workouts. Anyhow, this maybe the end of gym class, or perhaps there will be some kind of rearrangements to come. And no one ever told me as to why I was selected for this "transition group", or what that term really meant. And to add to the nonsense, at least one of the more ridiculous gangstalkers at the gym, the woman in a red sweater and red shoes in street clothing, just "happened" to be at the LD store when I stopped there on my return. But not in red this time, but in a puke brown outfit. Hilarious, as it is improbable.
It is bottle bashing time in the hallway; I don't know what the perp interest is exactly, but I was reading blog postings at the time, one about Arnold Schwartzneger's recent governmental stunts, none of which I have read about in the news. As always, my view of the world is highly sculpted along several parameter themes, and being kept clueless is one of them. I also call this FUD fucked, (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt). I would give you the link, but my Windows cut and paste functionality is getting messed with, along with the Firefox right click command of copy link location. Try here, and go to the Schwartzneger posting. Its one of those blog postings that is plain confusing with a needed prerequisite of "you had to be there" to comprehend the entirety of it.
Another siren show while the earmuffs were on, "heard" through them no less, and my cue to take them off. This is at least the fourth siren cascade today. When walking to the gym earlier they put on two ambulances about three minutes apart, travelling in opposite directions when I was near the hospital. Totally ludicrous.
More fake insect creepy crawly sensations, this time on my right ear and earlobe. After the earlobe freak described in yesterday's blog posting, it makes me wonder if the perps aren't up to some kind of remote detection games that are focussed on earlobes. Dangling earings and studs in the earlobes just might be more useful to them in some way, much how they like to have metal studded garments on me (Levi jeans) or in my proximity (e.g. studded leather handbags). My daughter had a earstud backing that "somehow" got sucked into her earlobe and had to have it surgically removed. They found it there with an X-ray, and for some reason, my then wife wanted me to see the X-ray print that was borrowed from the doctor. I might of been out of town at the time it happened, and I didn't know about it until it was all over. This vignette has more questions than answers in light of what has followed since, that being the harassment onset and my ex's involvement from the get-go.
And another motorcycle noise tonight, as if the biker's bar had opened up a block away when there isn't one for at least five miles. Its not that kind of town, or at least, until the perps decided that total (unpleasant) noise management of my environs was to be applied. Translate the term "management" in this context to mean constant provision of vexing noises in both volume and frequency above any level of expectable normality or plausibility. And of note, the streets are still wet from the rain they brought on after my early departure from gym today. It is not an evening for a real biker to be out, though the perps did once set up a daytime motorcyclist in the rain, gingerly making a corner, to tell me in their bizarre demonstrative and covert way that there really are motorcyclists out in such inclement weather conditions. More bullshit.
The perps let me in on the fact that they do extensive gangstalking, or more accurately, post-event populating, of my walking and vehicle activities and routes. I only get to see the oncoming ambulatory gangstalkers in passing, but there is a good chance they follow my route from both directions for at least an hour or more afterward. The above speculation that my yoga instructor was in a facial-only morph-over may have been for much more than a few seconds of sight and eye-contact time; she may have been dispatched to take my walking route for some distance afterward. I know my vehicle path is extensively followed for a long time afterward with a long train of vehicles in varying configurations and formations based on vehicle color and type.
That I "figured this out" now, the above pondering of what the perps do after I pass by, now six years after BOH suggests this "realization" is entirely planted, and was likely even blocked from any kind of analytical consideration all this time. They never gave me the opportunity to think through all the research angles of the harassment that would make sense from their perspective. More FUD fucking. And more overhead concrete floor pounding as I re-read this.
It was the post-outing rain that came on that prompted this "speculation" that the perps were attempting to get a better remote read on my bioenergetics interactions with the concrete and asphalt of the sidewalks and road surfaces when I walked back from the gym. That they like to change up the weather, usually to bring on rain, after concluding an activity hasn't gone unnoticed. Hopefully I have conveyed these in past blog postings, or more like, long past postings as there has only been wet July weather this week only. Which suggests more of a wet summer if their current games persist. Noting that brought on more outside motorcycle noise, and as always, likely faked by some means of remotely projecting sounds to another location, something they have long done, but not always effectively. Until about 2005 I could tell that many of these projected noises were fake as they had a metallic ringing harmonic with them. Since then, they were able to defeat my noise authentication abilities, and that small realtime detection capability was forever lost.
Time to call this one done for the day; I have made many corrections and alterations to the above, replete with plenty of situational noisestalking. (Especially when I break a long paragraph into two, or insert a sentance by first dropping the latter portions to a new line temporarily to remove the visual clutter.) It is payday at the farm tomorrow, at the end of the day of course, and from the chat I have been meant to overhear, it is a very looney time. No end of weirds come out othe woodwork to pick up their pay, or at least to complain. It will be interesting, and too, that they did not arrange this the first payday, but had me miss it and get the check the next week.