Monday City Bus Show

2025h
The gangstalker show wasn't too freakish today on the city bus. I had a weird at the bus stop keep rubbing his head and making funny faces and even came out of the bus shelter to be closer to me. Then I moved another 10' away. The red and white Coca-cola gangstalker truck was outside the bus stop, a putative delivery despite no deliveryman or associated activity. This is the same truck that "happens" to show up parked on my walking routes, outside my doctor's office, parked at a gas station for outbound and inbound travelling, at least three hours apart and a few more odd appearences that don't come to mind. All that red and white metal panels covering a brown beverage. Much like the rage-ification fuckover games when applying peanut butter and then jam to toast for breakfast.

Some five minutes into the bus trip a seeming herd of high school students boarded the bus and lo, if the sole negro didn't end up beside me in the back full-width seat. And she liked to wave her arms plenty too. Other brown skinned creatures also moved in and out in rotation, eventually building up to a hispanic looking man in a deep red shirt. There were no end of working age dudes on the bus, and it has never been explained to me why there are all there at 1100h instead of at day jobs. I don't expect an answer to that anytime soon. I rang the bell for getting off the bus, pulling on my immediate right side, and lo, if the negro woman didn't get up to let me out of my seat. As in, how did she know I rang the bus cord as she couldn't of seen me do it? Anyhow, I get these and plenty of other mysterious events in any given day, and I am sure that my perception of all these is highly managed, noting the incremental mind-fuck games that have progressively sapped my cognitive abilities in the last few years.

The perps had me get up at 1000h this morning at my perp-abetting parent's place, making for a 11 hour sleep which is at least three hours longer than normal. I get the sense the get-up time is more about shaping the rest of the morning, as in insufficient time to do any gardening work. And too, there wasn't anything too compelling since the weed re-growth was abated with weed whacking and herbicide.

Though it was an earlier visitation time yesterday, and I was employed for 1.5 hours in building a bamboo frame for the runner beans. I got jerked with the notion of drilling holes in the raised bed and got my drill box out from the crawl space. Only to "find out" (again) that some asshole has stolen my drill, and that the same asshole fucked me out out of remembering that when it first happened about two months ago. I don't forget that shit, ever, especially when something gets stolen, and so it was another never-before recall fuckover stunt. No doubt it was all about having me go through the same process of "discovery" of theft when outside the house in the sun, as opposed to inside the house like the first time. Such things make a huge difference to the assholes. As well, wearing my tan-through shirt while outside, though no tanning took place I learned this morning. I am not surprised. Again, the nature of sunlight upon one's skin is a huge subject of perp research and attendent fuckery.

My mother and I got my father from the old folk's hospital for the afternoon; I don't like hospitals or anything about them, so this exercise must serve some perp purpose, as have past imposed visitations. And lo, if there wasn't an attractive blonde woman in a short skirt on her cell phone at the entrance, loitering there while my mother did the sign-in. Regular readers will know that attractive blonde women are placed as some kind of entre, aka introductory gangstalker, before the rest of the unkempt gangstalker scum surface in the same vicinity. And this would of been my third visit to this location, and I suppose in perp-think, I was due to be given the eye-candy before the wheelchairs and other loathesome devices surface in number.

The perps had me all whacked-out over the 60 Minutes stories last night on TV, even if all were repeats. This is the state of what I call "emo trashing" where they have me in near tears over the plight of the aggrieved and defenceless. And too, that of the valiant protagonist, Alice Waters' food movement, aka "slow food", as in nourishing, just-picked freshness. I am getting fucking tired of being jerked with over these stories, especially repeats, when I know I would have had very little emotional linkage to them, and yet the "normal me" doesn't seem to serve the purposes of the gutless assholes that continue to manipulate my emotional state. Just tell me why to my face, asshole, and see if you have one left after that.

Other TV news goings on were the usual variations; crowds all over,- protests in Iran over election results, and the Golden Ears bridge opening in Vancouver was a gong show with 60,000 pedestrians arriving and plugging up the bridge, and some others that escape me. I haven't quite figured out why the perps like me to see huge crowds, but I am always glad I am not in them, and instead, get to see it on TV.

2300h
This one is done; plenty of motorcycle noise tonight, even too loud with the earmuffs on and forcing me to remove them and plug my ears. Such events are often timed when reading or thinking (har, har) about the various top perp themes, see the Consolidated Link List and the Pondering the Perps' Objectives. How can the motorcycle noise be as loud as streetside noise is a constant mystery being six stories up. Total Sensory Perversion might be the ideal book title should I ever undertake such an onerous task. I don't see it somehow, as I don't have the perseverence, and it is managed to be even less than what I would have.

I do a video shoot tomorrow of a local TI's location and the measurements on her electric and magnetic field detection instruments. I never get a word in edgewise, and if responding to a question I get cut off inside of 10 seconds. Like talking to a wall sometimes, a common and long time theme in this Potemkin Bubble I am kept in, and it has a longer history than that in certain circumstances.