Saturday, February 21, 2009

More of the Same

More of the same dullness unfortuneately. So far, before I head out at 1730h for the one hour cleaning job I haven't been out, not even for a Saturday national newspaper; very slack, and very contained. Keeping me at the 22" LCD monitor with earmuffs on seems to be the biggest priority along with creating distortions of the text, lines, graphics and additional plasma colors. They can dick with one's visual cortex directly, and the lines or seen objects in question, and in realtime. Hence, this LCD will have sudden displays of converging lines in my peripherial vision, and then when looking at it in central vision, it is gone. This is only one example, and it goes on for at leat four of these per minute. In addition they have blackish wipsy trails and balls floating about all the time, nonstop, and add in small plasma flashes on a as-needed basis. When I was having tea earlier and eating chocolate with it, they decided I needed an orange flash some 18" in front of me, and about 1/4" in diameter for a second or two. Perhaps they needed to reference this color with the brown colored chocolate, or perhaps they needed to piss me off. One never knows what the game is, all the time.

I have been getting pains shooting down my right arm, starting from the elbow. And lo, if the pains don't come on when I am flipping through web pages and see something that is Unfavored, especially a bald male head. For whatever reason the assholes are putting on skinheaded males around me, and anything that remotely resembles it. So, if at the bottom of a web page on the LCD display there is a half round pink object, and I scroll down to see what it is in total, there might be a shooting pain down my arm. The remote access of my nervous system isn't new; one time when hiking they shot something that nailed me in the lower back and sent a nerve sensation down my right leg, then it was over as suddenly as it came on. The precision of this piece of fuckery boggles my mind, then as well as now; they could remotely access the intended neural circuit in my spine to direct a sensation down one leg only, not the other. This is the kind of crap that makes one resigned to this bullsit, though they like to moderate that perspective too.

I will say though, the perps have been less invasive than usual today, though that could change when I go outside in a short while. Even the nearly always rage-fication when applying peanut butter and jam to my one piece of toast at breakfast was reduced to one rant due to some adverse fuckery, not allowing me to clean the knife of the first item before using the second if I recall correctly. This is on the light side for sure. And in keeping with the past five weeks, they keep telling me that Feb. 27th will be an interesting day. As always, for an outfit that has lied about these kinds of big events consistently for over six years, isn't to be believed. All that will occur will be my doctor's appointment. And if past experience is anything to go by, they will remind me of this big build up of six weeks while there, and as soon as I recognize that in fact, it was all bullshit, why, the doctor will clear his throat, shift his legs, rattle his papers in various combinations and permutations. Life has been getting dull to say the least, and I would have to say it seems to be planned that way, especially with the dearth of employers responding to my applications.

More bookmarking of interesting music at Slipcue. This activity is roundly monitored and messed with by my tormentors, though for the most part they are putzing with Windows select, copy, cut and paste in all its variations as well as being obsessed over semi colons and blank spaces as I arrange the artist name first ahead of the album name in the title of the bookmark before saving it to my 30 Mb Bookmark file. It keeps them happy, and I don't mind playing pretend spender and making out that I could possibly afford all these music titles, let alone have time to listen to them. Any heavy metal afficianados won't find much of interest at Slipcue unless they also like old timey music as well.

This one is done for the day, and I wonder what the assholes have planned. They went beserk on me after I got back from the cleaning job, getting me rage-ified in succession with fake touchings, faked noises, flicking soapy water about (couldn't have come from the open teapot I was cleaning as the opening was facing the opposite direction to the travel of the soap suds that erupted from nowhere), and other long running provocations.

No comments: