Monday, February 09, 2009

A Low Key Monday

I have returned from a stayover at the perp-abetting parents place and the games that go with it, including my once per week evening of watching television. I got emo-trashed again while watching 60 Minutes and the extended edition of Katie Couric interviewing the captain and crew of the United Airline flight that ditched into the Hudson River. This was the first major media outing for the crew and Captain Sullenberger and family. I must say I was impressed by his cool smarts and analytical outlook. And too, I learned that it was intense at the back of aircraft that was submerged, blocking the rear exits and was filling up while the passengers and crew filed off the aircraft in the remaining four exits, putting extra evacuation pressure on them. The crew member in the rear of the aircraft was certain she was going to drown, and as things progressed, she came to realize it wasn't over. Quite the emotional rollercoaster for her. And while this program was unfolding with the stories the perps had me with tears streaming down my cheeks, which is totally at odds with how I would be. This is called emo-trashing in my vocabulary, though I don't know if it happens to other TI's. Anyhow, I recovered enough to watch the last 60 Minutes segment on Coldplay, a band I don't follow much.

Later the perps let me in on their numeralogical games, as ordinarily I don't get into this much. But as it happened, Captain Sullenberger sought confirmation that all passengers and crew were accounted for, and that totalled 155 persons. And lo, if my parent's street address isn't 4155, and my farm employee number is 4855. I don't put a lot of stock into number games, but I though I would pass this on for those who do. And perhaps, someone could enlighten me on the significance of these numbers.

And when setting off to go downstairs yesterday afternoon I got a near tag-team negro gangstalking in the elevator. I get in on the 6th floor and the elevator goes as far as the 5th floor and this seen-before stalker negro dude, 6'6" in a camel brown duffel coat and some kind of knitted bag hat gets on, and while doing so he asks me if the elevator is going up or down. I tell him it is going down, and he pauses for a few seconds, by this time standing next to me, and then saunters out the open door. This dude has been doing "stand there" (sentry like) stalking outside, and was the same one who I looked at once to then have my attention made to look at some dogshit on the sidewalk, presumably as some kind of comparative valence game for the perps. Anyhow, the elevator goes about two more floors and then opens up and a negro woman gets on, and while doing so gives me the cold stare, as if I am some kind of toxic waste instead of the source of bountiful rewards for so many hundreds, if not thousands of operatives and shills. Fine, I have seen her act before, and it is not any different, and the elevator goes to the ground floor without incident. I did get more gangstalkers outside, coursing past as they do in parallel, on each side of the street, all for me to cross their paths at a 90 degree offset, a highly coveted perp gangstalking move. And too, intervening vehicles passing by is also a big deal for the assholes.

My parents were parked in the car lot opposite of the front of this apartment building, and as it "happens", the front passenger seatbelt doesn't work, and they both need to sit in the back with seatbelts on. Been there, done that; my last owned vehicle, a 1982 Volvo 245 wagon had the same "problem", and when dating Ms. C of the story, she would have big stinks over having to wear a seatbelt. All to crank up the personal friction and annoyance while driving. Lucky me. And I never got the chance to dump her for good, as I was rendered malleable to later resume dating, as fraught as it was in the latter stages of dealing with her, who was obviously abetting, and the rest of the laser and beam assaults on the freeway and streets of Seattle. Not to mention work related activities which were obviously strained for me to see. And they even set me up to quit, but the boss was away, so I couldn't, and the next day I got the "on leave" treatment, which was as 24x7 opening for nonstop abuse, instead of non-worktime abuse, 15x7.

Anyhow, that little trip down memory lane was likely all planted, and for what reasons I don't really know. I did two hours of gardening at my parent's place this morning, pruning and cutting them down to size so to fit into garbage bags to remove later. The perps cannot get enough garbage bag (polyethelene plastic?) action it seems, as I handle garbage bags extensively when doing the one hour cleaning job each day at a local car dealership. And of course there was elevated noise all about; I know the neighborhood, and there isn't normally that many hotrods, heavy duty vehicles and other loud vehicles in the suburban area where their house is.

I took the city bus home to downtown, and for once, the freakshow was understated; there wasn't the too obvious ones, but dudes and their skateboards have been playing heavy today. On the bus, and then in the elevator when headed out to the cleaning job. I also got a "split dude pair" gangstalking as I exited the building; these two Fuckwits were coming toward me and then split apart for me to pass between them, so they could "greet" their buddy who was exiting the building behind me, the same dude in the elevator. Such a coincidence, then meeting like that. I suspect it was all about some kind of energetic comparisions, attempting to get the same energy read off their elevator dude pal as with the pair already on the ground, and "getting me" on each side and walking in parallel.

The vehicular gangstalking while I was on the bus also seemed a little calmer today; instead of long trains of vehicles arranged by colors, they had more discrete clusters of 10 to 20, arranged in the same color coordinated way. After the initial grey scale colored vehicles, whites, greys, blacks and silver-greys, they introduced some more reds, and also kept up with the blue colored vehicles, even clustering them. Anyhow, I don't know where they are at in their color schemes, but the ongoing planted thoughts are still largely about their supposed cessation of hostilities at month's end. Only three more weeks of this nonsense before it will pass, though I have to say that this is the most relentless campaign of this kind, as normally they give me a few days rest from the bullshit, and they haven't for over a week. I really don't expect them to stop as they have so much invested in me, arranging all my life circumstances for over 54 years. Why would they stop when there is so much more for them to jerk me over about?
02-10-2009, 1020h
I got screwed out of posting this last night. I thought the harassment was lessening and then I was subjected to a rage-ification over peanut butter and jam application to toast at breakfast, some thing they hadn't done in a week. It was an near everytime event for the last few years, flicking either substance around, creating extra clanging noise of the knife on the jar when there was no contact, pulling the substances off the knife before I get it to the toast, and any combination or permutation of the physicality that one can think of. Now to post.

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