Insane Abuse

1415h
The perps are on a major sick streak today, and cancelling yoga without advance notice was the least of it. They seem to have a confluence of laundry sabotage, temporarily wearing yoga clothes while attending to laundry, and many other related provocations to keep me in a near constant rage state. Just the usual unusual provocations; dithering my speech syntax, preventing me from pressing buttons on the phone and LCD monitor, arranging past phone calls to list on my call display when the party never phoned, arranging things to drop out of my hands, flicking crumbs around so that they "come back" after sending them down the drain of the sink, typo sabotage, flicking grated cheese around the kitchen when making lunch, spraying my left hand, 2.5' from the frypan and shielded behind me, with hot olive oil while my right hand, holding the frypan, didn't get sprayed, and a few other insults along the way, all to crank me up into an immediate rage. I am being kept on a short fuse today, worse than usual. I suppose all the elaborate plans feed into it, as the level of rage-ification is commensurate with the intensity of the perp interest and prepatory planning. So it would seem that wearing yoga clothes, some blocks from yoga but at the same time normal yoga classes are held, is a big deal for the sick assholes who continue to trash my existence every possible moment. It is totally fucking sick and as depraved as it is relentless. And they are more beserk today than usual. I can hardly wait to go out to the dayjob tonight, the one hour activity so the perps can get me in close to new and used vehicles, never mind the brown boxes and packaging of autobody parts.

On the way to yoga and back, an near immediate turnaround event, the assholes had arranged two Fuckwit gangstalkers to be sitting in mid sidewalk with small furniture made from brown corrugated cardboard. There was no sensible rationale for this colossal stunt, but there they were, one sitting inside a chair of extra thick cardboard, of at least 1.5" panels. So it would seem that the assholes needed to test me out on thicker-than-normal cardboard, hence this abusrd bone-headed stunt. I also had a few cardboard box packing Fuckwits before and after, seeming to support the brown color games they were up to.

Or maybe, they were cranked about my laundry today, having had three bright green microfiber cleaning clothes in the laundry hamper for ten days, abetted by the coincident shutdown of the hot water system until today. More "repairs" of course; and name me one location in the past 10 years when they haven't shut down the water or hot water supply. Every residence that I owned "needed" a new hot water tank within a year, one within weeks of purchase after the building inspector said it was OK. It is fucking insane for any asshole to sabotage one's life, never mind making it a constant mode of living for someone they have already hounded for 47 years before outing their sick asses in 2002. Justice won't be served until I get to take a baseball bat to the heads who decided to inflict this depraved abuse on me.

2200h
Finally some respite from the abuse today; it has been nearly nonstop rage-ification (provocation and "reaction") anytime I am functioning today, save when online. Though, I have been getting plenty of typo sabotage, even while blogging. A total perp beserk day today.

Anytime the sickos go beserk is an opportunity to observe what else is going on, and how it maybe connected. The above jerkaround over today's cancelled yoga is an example. Today also marks a return to having hot water again after two weeks of the system not working. So who knows what drives them, except to know that every obsession of theirs is related to another obsession. An example is the "bread stalking", hounding me with gangstalkers packing bread into incongrous circumstances or just positioning bread at street corners. As regular readers know, I also get hounded when egressing in/out of buildings. And lo, if not two months back they had a bread packing gangstalker loitering at the building entrance one day.

Other strange goings on were the supposed staff at the car dealership where I was begining the cleaning job. A white Ford F250 was in the Mazda shop near the faucet I use for filling the brown plastic mop bucket each night. The supposed mechanic dude wasn't doing any work on it, just hauling stuff in and out of the plastic lined box, he was almost draped on the tailgate and the box. He raised it up with a floor jack for reasons I didn't track, this in the bay of a hoist at his disposal. Anyhow, I didn't get into checking out the whole story, but it didn't add up. That I owned a Ford F250 pickup, albeit in red, might have something to do with it, and I didn't get around to asking what the engine and transmission configuration was to see if it was the same as mine old pick up truck.

2240h
I am troving through saved links and found this one on teleportation of atoms, a big advance apparently, as this has only been done with photons before. This must be some kind of planted joke, even if legit; I deal with teleportation fuckery every day. My toothpaste moved on me and swapped places with the razor a few days ago, only 8" apart. Other times, the gangstalkers arrive from nowhere, and are telported. They even showed me this capability when they first invaded my apartment in 2002. There has been at least 15 incidents when the fuckers arrived all around me and I never heard them coming. Most mornings at breakfast, I deal with 30 to 100 crumbs that come flying in from nowhere, as if the bread had been shaken or scraped while I wasn't looking, only a few seconds or so. Anyhow, don't let anyone tell you that teleportation hasn't been proven, as it has, going by this article.

A novel about recall, something near and dear to TI's; Remainder by Tom McCarthy. I haven't read it, but it might be an interesting diversion for TI's if they are allowed to read books. For the most part, they don't let me read much, possibly due to the fact that they cannot pump enough irradiative energy at me from a book as they can an LCD panel. Or at least, that is the way it seems with all the maser and plasma phenonemon floating around and coming off the monitor, even as I type this.

Here is a Marcia Ball concert from the CBC, audio only, but she is in good form. For blues afficionados.

Time to call this very ragged day done and hope that today's elevated fuckery will have abated.