Saturday, March 21, 2009

Shades of Brown and Grey

Back from a visit to the First Feral Family and doing driving to look at roofs for shingle color and general appearance. They are considering replacing their cedar shake roof with a fiberglass shingle one, and are considering the color options. So...... in the world of nonconsenual color testing, that meant looking at the brochure, then online, and then at three houses that serve as references for the roofing contractor. And of course my contingent of gangstalkers was around, and there were plenty of vehicle backing up and repeat visiting, getting out and then in, conversing with the door open, and all manner of juxtapositions of putzing around, which is what the perps want from me in the first place. They cannot get enough of me egressing buildings, vehicles, and even rooms in buildings. A wonderful opportunity for them with the perp abetting parents.

And that spawned a gangstalker surge at Mattick's Farm, a high end semi-rural location for apartments with some stores and a small grocery store that seems to be my mother's favorite. And the crush of people there was totally insane, made worse by all the Fuckwits wearing bright red or yellow, and then presenting themselves in the coffee shop, just outside it where we had our coffee, and then again outside the grocery store, and finally, an odd few inside. All these "hikey bikey" types in tight black pants and their bright "safety" wear coats. Yellowjackets and redcoats I call them, or alternatively, mustard and ketchup. I have never seen so many cyclists taking a rest stop before. But then again, this was also occuring in 1999 to 2002 at another location in this city when I was visiting the bank. I happened to know a few of the cyclists and would have coffee with them sometimes. Again, I don't know what is so interesting about having cyclists passing by me, taking a rest in my proximity afterwards. I get plenty of gangstalking cyclists on the sidewalks, in this town of all places, as it has a high proportion of bicycle lanes on the streets.

I have never been able to stand the sight the mustard and ketchup two condiments, let alone together. I wonder what that means to the possible traumatization researchers that make my life a constant hell. The three missing years of 1956 to 59 has more mystery around it than I know, but so what; why cannot I be left alone? If this is all about traumatization remediation it is a bigger (sick) joke than I thought; I am fine, so get the fuck out.

Or does this play as; "developmentally traumatized child is administered mendacious recall depletion irradiations that were only partially effective as his subconscious recall remains intact well into adulthood". And so the assholes who did this find his subconscious aversions to be problematic in his adulthood as they have even more plans for him. Then they find the pollutants that he ingested under their constant care (har, har) to be also problematic. And so they continue to remotely monitor his neural correlates of traumatization, except making it overt (in 04-2002). Call it what it is- life rape; every moment is monitored, scripted and potentially fucked with to ensure the victim is under constant adversity, if not duress and even intense enragement by remotely applied extra-conventional gravitic fuckery and magnetic energy irradiations. He isn't allowed to even turn off a light switch without his hand "missing" the switch somehow. Every itch (read, remotely applied sensation) that he scratches has a simultaneous noise erupt as he scratches the itch. And, he was doing fine until the sick assholes arrived and made his life hell.

And now he isn't allowed to take a city bus without a posse of gangstalking Fuckwits gathered around him; the city bus freakshow today had a three negro family, and then three other brown skinned individuals were also ringed around me at my seat. The Caucasian red heads were there at the back with the skinheads behind them, like a ranking of the Unfavored. Then a "fellow traveller" on the bus behind me tailed me off at my stop and then tailed me on the first 5 minutes of walking once off the bus down a narrow lane. It doesn't get much more obvious than that never-before blatant tail. It was the strangest collection of Fuckwits that ever gathered on a Saturday morning bus heading away from downtown. I notice they like doing the negroes up in red clothing of late, as the woman had red pants. Five days before it was a 6'6" male negro in a red coat.

Back to the Mattick's Farm grocery store; there, the brownshirts were parading around, and they even put me in the center of a three gangstalker swarm of a brownshirt, a redcoat and another fucker constantly tailing me. One end of the store to the next, it was swimming with the ever gazing and ever bending over Fuckwits trying new color combinations of clothes, persons, elevations and the rest of the parameters that go into harassing someone for nonconsensual human experimentation without locking them up. I was dispatched to look for gluten free bread when there wasn't any, possibly to have a gluten (in me) to gluten (in bread loaves) energetic interaction test. (Also experienced as "bread stalking"). And lo, if there wasn't some six silver-grey vehicle parked around my parents' vehicle with one slightly brownish variant. Same when driving into downtown, these subtle variations of silver-grey, silver-grey with a light brown tone and the like, emulating the colors of the roofing shingles we had been looking at. Why wasn't I surprised?

Another negro on the way back from work today; in the same "negro station" as the 1970's funky dude dressed one appeared a few months ago. I don't know why they like to arrange them on this same stretch of sparsely populated street, but it is consistently at the same location. Again, I have no idea why the perps like to place members of other races in my proximity, and I have had no issues with anyone on account of skin color. It just seems to be an intrinsic property of each person's make up that they want to learn about, and that might even go all the way up to the Whitehouse. Just speculation of course, but when one takes stock of the magnitude of this abusive covert research pogrom (not program, pogrom means; a massacre or persecution instigated by the government or by the ruling class against a minority group), one can only wonder how far up the food chain it goes.

And I should also note that I worked with negroes in 1996 to 2003 in three jobsites, and my boss of my last job from Seattle who "happened" to show up yesterday at the local supermarket (very strange indeed), is also a negro. And we got along fine, and were good friends. Though in hindsight, I suppose it was contrived as part of the perp's obsession over skintones and the color of brown. Fucking bizarre to say the least.

No more excitement to be had tonight, and hopefull the bedtime overhead tapping noise will not be applied. Now, three nights in succession, the tapping noise starts up the instant I change my attention to something else. The perps seem not to be able to control this action yet, hence their abidding interest in one of the most pedantic of brain functions. I thought they would have figured out this at least my mid-2008, but no, the assholes keep hounding me with various noises and plasma and maser flashes and beams. All to keep up this remotely applied targetted research they could of completed in a tenth of the time with cooperation. Fucking bizarre as it is craven. (cra⋅ven [krey-vuhn] adjective - cowardly; contemptibly timid; pusillanimous).

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