Monday, January 05, 2009

Wheelchair Central

And what did I expect going the Victoria Disabilities Center? Obviously I wasn't allowed to anticipate this, and no doubt all the exposures to wheelchairs today (~10 at one location), as well as the physical infirmities of the psychologist (discussed later), and it was nearly two hours of it.

As I collect a disability payment each month, I am going through the grovelling exercise for getting grant money to take expensive software upgrade courses in the fall and next winter. This then meant that I have to go through the exercise of being "evaluated" (psychologically assesed for disposition and interests) as a precondition. And lo, if the psychologist herself wasn't in a wheelchair and also with some physical development disabilities that suggested dwarfism of a kind, but I am no expert in this field.

Even her hands were strangely compacted and bunched and I didn't want to look at them for the entire 1.5 hours she was 3' away from me on the other side of her desk. And of course she didn't let me get away with that, so she would raise her hand to her head where I kept my avoidant gaze. There was a observed instance of a maser mark on the wall behind her, and she would alternately move her head in front of it, or move her head to the side so it was directly visible. Regular readers will know that my apartment, and my once work sites, are given "treatment" of scuffs and other markings that seem to serve as a loci for masers or plasma beams to emanate from. It seems that the perps need these surficial imperfections to launch more focussed beams, and so they remotely mark up the walls, furniture and environs anywhere I will be for more than 30 minutes or so. These wall markings are also in the hallway of this and past apartment buildings, and are nearly identical, as if someone with oversized runners put a huge footprint some 3' up the wall.

And in case new readers are wondering what I am going on about, I live in an arranged freakshow world where the responsible party publically keeps me in a Fellini movie like scenario, constantly presenting the Unfavored (freaks and nonfreaks) in my proximity. The Unfavored would include wheelchairs and other disabilities, and it seems that the gangstalking is organized around these themes in order to stimulate (it would seem) long ago subconscious recollections that have no conscious awareness counterpart. I have no recollection of what happened for three years, age 2 to 5, and I can only assume that components of this freakshow were arranged at that time. And by presenting this freakshow reprise and others of the Unfavored, I assume the remote application of the perp's realtime neural investigations as to what I find subconsciously repugnant is thereby exposed. Little did I know that a band of sickos would be hounding me for recollections I did not know I had or colors that I don't like, now for 6.5 years.

Every so often they place a Favored demographic group member as part of the arrangements, which they did upon exit from the Disabilities center; an attractive blonde woman in a camel brown coat who followed the flat-top hairdo dude in the wide open coat with the same brown colored Burberry scarf. Dudes are on the Unfavored list, whether in a suit and tie, hoodie or other. Somehow, I have been assigned a new "reaction" to each occurence of this particular Unfavored demographic group, and the perps make sure that it happens. So it was a major dude flush of over 200 when I stepped out onto the street, with the one aforementioned Favored demographic group member. I had my execs, native Indians in red clothing and red backpacks, the red Anoraks in white hair, hoodie dudes, the waddlers and dawdlers and the rest of the panoply of Fuckwits that are gangstalking me every public moment. This was about 1245h, near the end of lunch hour, and it was a startling number of people for this section of downtown.

And I was even prepped for the event by staying at my place last night (Sunday), instead of going to my perp-abetting parents and then with this morning's hot water shutdown, the assholes prevented me from having a shower. I had to boil kettle water (from the kitchen) to use for shaving, and only my face and not the usual full frontal shave the perps have mindfucked into me as a new habit since 09-2007. This apartment building's hot water system has failed and they say a new one will come in three more weeks. And it is true that the last four places I lived also had water shutdown games as well, but none as long as this one will be. As the perps are obsessed with water and its properties and how it energetically interacts with us humans inside and out, it makes perfect sense that the assholes decided to pull a stunt to have me shave with water heated by a kettle on a stove and not from the faucet. I have done my camping time, where all these activities happen as normal in that context, but it would seem that the assholes have decided that it wasn't enough. I am also kept from drinking my one liter per day or whatever it is that we are supposed to intake. And swimming three times a week, one hour per practice, for some 15 years in a Masters swim club wasn't enough either, even if they paid for a new ozone treatment system at the pool.

I heard of a new forensic test on New Tricks where they can pinpoint bone mineralization to a certain locale, depending on water supply, assuming the subject didn't drink imported or home filtered water. I suppose, this might of been the perps "telling me" the nature of their investigation of water energetics problems. But I don't give a shit; they could of figured it out over five years ago if they had the fucking gumption to show their faces and undertake a cooperative investigation. But no, they take a major string of fuckups in my developmental years (a suite of traumatizations (it seems, see the Favored/Unfavored), plastics and other pollutant ingestion, and LSD testing (they tell me, and also replicate in visual form)), and then attempt to pursue their energetics detection agenda by taking the most difficult route possible by only utilizing remote methods and the fucking gangstalking swarms, maser and plasma inundation and mindfuck provocations to torment me into screaming rages. Every fucking day, and every moment of it, there is some reminder of nonconsensual human experimentation underway; masers, plasma beams, mindfucking me out of my habitual practices, applying pain (in the nuts and stings in my feet and head), and myriad other physical and mental incursions.

Anyhow, I am pissed that I have this greasy hair, and that the perps made sure it stayed on for this mornings events. And lo, if on the coincidence scale, the perps didn't script an online news story for me to encounter the topic of grease and how the good people of San Francisco are recycling spent home cooking oils. But there are more important things today.

Like another member of the Unfavored, a negro dude, pulls the elevator crashing stunt, attempting, and actually bargeing into the elevator (forget the manners even if reminded), while I am still in it and he was obviously was prepared in advance by waiting 6" from the opening side and didn't give a fuck as to being so ill-mannered. This public behavior bullshit only started in this fucking town in 2004, and about twice a month, I have these totally compliant Fuckwits barging in when it is customary all over the world, as well as being perfectly sensible, that it is prudent to wait until the passengers get out of an elevator before entering. I have lived and worked in numerous highrise buildings in many cities, including NYC, and have never seen so much fucking public bullshit over elevators until the harassment began.

Back from my one hour cleaning job tonight; the perps kept up the fuckery by hitting me with three back-to-back forced "forgets" late in the exercise; "forgetting" to empty the brown plastic mop pail (as I was putting on my coat, then had to take it off), "forgetting" to dump the recycle garbage in the recycle bins, forcing me to hide it under some black plastic refuse bags with the aid of a rake that "happened" to be at hand, and then "forgetting" the mop to take back to the mop pail. Just to think, the word that I used to describe my recall abilities today when the psychologist asked was "average". I had many mental gyrations to do in responding to her questions; before or after harassment began, which is the better answer. I wasn't always sure "myself", (read mindfuck scripted/imposed quandry), and sometimes asked. Invariably I got the "before" harassment answer as the baseline to respond to.

Other scripted fuckery on tonight's job was screwing me while putting the new mop heads on the mop handles; orange colored for my mop and blue colored for the boss man's mop. He "happened" to be nearby each time the imposed fuckery was playing out, making it out that it was a two man job when it wasn't, especially if they weren't helping. For the record, the mop was correctly placed one half of the mop on each side of the hold-down clasp and yet "somehow" the halves got tangled up when I wasn't looking.

The mophead colors seem to be of considerable importance to the perps, and it is especially notable that they sometimes have me working side by side in the showroom area with the boss man when finishing up the job, he with the green mophead, and me with the fugly orange colored one with the even worse dayglo orange handle. I also have my own smaller area to mop, and the boss man has been there when I was "learning" (read mindfucked into forgetting) and mopping some of my areas for the first time. There is a decided emphasis on the application of colors and their residual energetic effects, however that is expressed and determined.

I had my "fellow travelling" gangstalkers on me in both directions for the 10 minute walk to the job site, a car dealership. The same arrangement as the last three of them in the past two weeks; they "arrive" within some 20'-40' (other side of the road usually), walk in parallel, then "re-arrive" again one block later to tail me to the destination, often ahead of or behind me, but now on the opposite side of the street, a more discreet CIA style. (It isn't the CIA as I have done nothing political, diplomatic or arms trade/research sensitive in my life). When coming home tonight, the "fellow traveller", a term I use for the gangstalking Fuckwits who get on the same bus stop as I do, and then do the same in reverse when getting off, was on a bicycle in the ample bicycle lane (Yates St. for locals), and then when opposite me, he gets off, walks his bicycle to the sidewalk, and then rides on the sidewalk ahead of me, takes a turn where I was to, an then proceeds down the third leg of my intended walk. A bearded fuck in a brown duffle coat wasn't the most believable cyclist either, but stopping in mid block and getting off the cycle lane was totally beserk. I have never seen such deliberate bicycle tailing fuckery before.

Then the blatant bullshit wasn't done, even if I took the least travelled route. Another dude emerged from this now extra (gangstalker) busy liquor store and looked at me, I looked at him and was made to look away, and then after two seconds I was made to look at him and he was still staring at me. So I get controlled to be incensed just at the moment he stops looking at me, the perps extending my stare while he was looking elsewhere. I get at least one of these staring fucks a week, and I am sick fed up of it.

And my bookmarking activities are getting a boost from the Fuckwits; they now fill in the appropriate (usually) Bookmark folder for me and then crash it. Then I proceed to Bookmark again, and the dialog box has the folder already filled out as I had it, and then they will freeze it again when doing the actual bookmarking. Regular readers will know that the Fuckwit assholes (perps is way to cute) routinely noisestalk me everytime I bookmark a web page, be it for movies (over 25,000), commercial or personal sites, probably over 60,000 in all. They do the same for when I select books for my wish list, now over 1,000 books long. Likewise for Powell's Books and

And onto my fellow TI's and their scintillating blog postings today. A corker from Rachael O, On Gangstalking, (This Blog Will Always Be Kept Real) that describes the emotional and physical state of the TI's life with lucidity and perspicuity. This one should be framed, even gold embossed. I cannot throw enough superlatives on her blog posting today, and so I will leave it at that. My Blogger icons are all emptied and I cannot excerpt some of the exceptional lines for quotes.

And a very interesting expose from Bad Experiment of the person who brought the Tuskegee Syphilis study to our collective attention, the actions of Peter Buxtun. The Need for Conscience and Courage is worth a read, and also for the vicarious hope that someone will do the same for the TI community. (I am not hopeful for any white knights, especially with the example of Dr. John E Mack, a Harvard psychiatrist who stood up for the abductee community).

And in adding the above links in the two paragraphs above, I notice that the perps had me open the first in a new browser tab (what I normally do), and for the second link insertion, they fucked me into opening it in a new browser window, something I never do voluntarily. And all the while when making a URL copy and linking the overhead rumbling noise started up, and was of sufficient volume to penetrate the hearing protection (deep green plastic earmuffs) I was wearing while typing. And the latter activity is also making extra keystroke noise, again heard through the hearing protection. Never mind the constant din of gradually incremented noise in the earmuffs. Often, when I take them off, it is quieter.

A triple siren cascade while listening to Joyce Anderson; there were no vehicles that I could see, or lights for that matter, so another case of projected noise on top of music. As music listening is so intensely regulated by my mindkeepers, these must be prime neural investigation exercises.

Time to call this one done for the day, and hope the typo count isn't too high. My editing capabilities are often dithered.

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