Totally Slack

1940h
Not even enough get up and go to start blogging until now. The time just slips away in this Potemkin Bubble, and the perps make sure I don't notice and don't mind. And they like to keep me in as a shut-in until 1715h when I head to the part time cleaning job at the car dealerhip. I haven't figured out what is so important for their shut-in games, but hopefully August will be nonstop employment if the daffodil bulb picking comes to fruition late next week. Most people have summer holidays but I have summer work with the rest of the year off. That is how it goes in this kept state, one cannot be sure of anything, let alone perp methods and their fanatasical refrains.

I did my cleaning job at the car dealership tonight; nothing too outrageous, only the odd crumb flipping onto the just-cleaned surface, water droplets doing 24" laterals, and yellow plasma strobes on the inside of my left eyeglass lens whenever I entered the Parts section. The latter has been consistent for some months and I don't know what they expect to attain from that nonsense. We are now down to the last week of the job before a staff member is going to take over. I haven't figured out this car dealership in terms of their hiring; they are advertising for a car washer but at the same time are laying off us part time cleaners to give to an on-staff person. A new tubby Salesman started this week, seeming to replace the French Canadian dude who kept running up my ass, sometimes three differing locations inside of two minutes, hanging around worse than a fart in a sleeping bag. As far as I could tell they had a young woman cleaning vehicles, or at least until last week. The entire communication goings at this car dealership are strange to say the least, exemplified by the time I applied for a posted car jockey/tire person job there in late May, and no one said anything to me, and they seemed to give it to someone else. The same someone who was on last years' farmworker crew who kept hanging around me for no apparent reason. Fucking bizarre to say the least. And lo, if they had hired me, they would of had an experienced cleaner and instead will be faced with training issues. Anyhow, I have given up on anyone or organization making any sense while they are obviously complicit in this ongoing life rape, and even put on the buggy eyed look to convey that they aren't exactly willing participants. Big joke that, plus all the stressed looking individuals who also participate in this sham of playing horror struck about being involved. I had plenty of those looks in the pre-overt days prior to 04-2002, but I don't buy it now, as everything is so highly managed since then.

I got my color coordinated Fuckwits at the grocery store on the way back from the car dealership. I have been imbued with a mighty hankering for blueberries, and only the freshest will do, and not frozen ones at anytime. So...., there are plenty of sources in this locale, and they had local ones, not from the Fraser Valley this time as in the past. I never did get to pick blueberries in my berry picking efforts as they kept me on raspberries or like fruits such as tayberries and marionberries. And lo, if a brown dressed woman didn't precede me to the blueberries and loiter there, and I went elsewhere but got skunked by the assholes as there was only one tortilla package left and I wanted two. Anyhow, the woman was still there, and upon my arrival she takes off with a half full quart tray. I attempt to pick up a tray but instead get to have a whole quart of blueberries tumble out. So I select another tray that was level and go to the checkout, only to have the brown clothed woman ahead of me with her half filled quart tray of blueberries. Ahead of her, and placed behind her was a man in a light blue dress shirt and doing some kind of stooped shoulder pose along with his straggly white beard. Later I was allowed to know that the chocolate in my basket, in addition to the blueberries, was a seeming color emulation; mid brown substance in a light blue packaging, much like the two gangstalkers ahead of me, the male taking his sweet time to get going, likely to extend the pose time, a blue shirt behind a brown clothed woman.

2200h
More vapid slackness; though gainfully reading blogs that I regularly visit. The theme seems to be tits (Apostate, Wide Lawns, cleavage power), as in female anatomy for two sites of the 20 I look through. Funny how breast reduction surgery was a topic of some discussion with Ms. C of the story, though it never came to fruition by the time the Border Patrol stopped me visiting the USA. For all her vaunted "feelings" about me, she never visited; just another bullshit artist along the way it seems, and even getting "caught out" (as it appeared then) to ensure her loyalties weren't with me. Strange that entire year of 2002 and all the comings and goings as well as being terrorized from plasmic/EM weapons in my hotel room as well in the streets of Seattle. I was hounded out of my apartment for many nights, and took a hotel for instant relief one night. The next hotel night they were all over me with strange beams coursing the room, and they always knew where I was in the room. One night I got sleep in the steel bathtub in the bathroom. After that, they were ready and prevented any kind of safe harbor from their beam and head pain weapons.

So maybe dullness isn't all that bad, but what is bad is that I am kept and targetted all the time, and mind invaded to the level of not knowing where the thoughts really came from. I still get jerked around with forced "misreadings", typo sabotage and the rest of the litany of abuse they dish out hundreds of times per day. My future is not my chosing, and I have no idea as to what is in the script, next minute, month or year. Meanwhile, all the players seem to know, and are even practiced should any substantive discussion arise. It is fucking tiresome, and worse yet being among this noise barrage and the butt of all this unwanted attention. Even the LCD panel as I type this is breaking out into regions of striations of light and shadow, often adjacent to where I am reading. Which tells me that they know where I am looking, as one example among many they revealed to me in the heady high abuse days of 2002. They will even stop a knife with a force field should I aim it at my wrist, a stunt that has all the markings of being totally arranged given the simultaneous noises, plasma flare exposures and other events. Even trying to escape is a pre-arranged event for crissakes, as well as the feelings of being totally bleak about this immersion into the perps' institutional insanity they feel I should be in, without asking of course.

Time to call this done; the leg torquing torture has started up, and they make sure I cannot stand it.