Sunday, November 01, 2009

Daylight Hour Changeover Vexation

Twice a year I am put through the vexation of changing my watch to Standard or Daylight time, and it becomes a vexation as the watch gets fucked with such that I cannot change the time, and then resort to taking it into the Asian jeweller vendor for him to change. It is a Casio digital multi-mode watch, and I am only allowed to know how to use the timekeeping function (mode) which is fine by me. I have kept the manual since I got the watch as a replacement to the identical model that was stolen from my locker at the swim pool in 2003, and one would think I would be capable of learning to change it by now. But in perp world, not so. I was allowed to change the time without interference back in 2004, and to the degree I didn't need the manual. But now, the assholes routinely fuck me and the watch to send me to the vendor after a few days of being one hour out. Today, I had the manual out, read it, understood it, and then the fuckers would only allow the seconds to be changed which is totally fucking useless. After some five attempts I knew I was beat, and so yet again, the assholes are keeping me clued out by an hour. They just love the "getting it wrong" games, and this is a perfect entre for timekeeping fuckery, a longstanding theme of cognitive fuckaround games.

The one hour out jerkaround is a favorite of the perps; I have a long record of having my inbox email count being out, this going back decades to central corporate computers in the 1980's. It is no surprise that it still happens in the Windows PC world.

Other favorite perp fuckover action this morning was the infernal laundry, always a regular fascination for them. Today it was sheets and wool socks as both are notorious sources of lint, per fuckover games, but not when they are together. One cotton shirt was also included, and lo, if it wasn't lined with dirt after laundering to then force a second laundering of it, plus two added items of the same navy blue color. So..., the first round of laundry, sheets mainly, was in the adjacent dryer while the second was in the washing machine, side by side. Then when the second laundry load was finished in the washing machine it was amalgamated with the first load in the dryer, doubltless a very exciting advance in perp fuckery. And lo, if after the first dryer cycle the bedsheets were dry, but the added-in items weren't to then force a second drying cycle. In other words, one garment (the navy blue shirt) made it through both washing machine cycles and both dryer cycles, and sharing the first dryer cycle time with the first load after its second washing machine cycle. Other items went through both dryer cycles but only the first washing machine cycle. Get all that? It is fucking insane that a covert agency expends billions of dollars every year to piss with my clothes, their laundering, and every last detail of the process, all because they lack to gumption to front for their ongoing remotely applied nonconsensual human experimentation. All of which could of been expedited in one year with cooperation IMHO, but no, they continue on these bizarre themes and all the included minutae for over 7.5 years, still afraid to come out of the closet. If that doesn't define the perp's collective insanity, nothing does.

Other rage-fied vexations to get me ranting have been fucking with the mouse cursor speed, keystroke speed, and hopping crumbs around and out of my grasp when attempting to remove them. Also, bathroom cleaning duly erupted while the first washing machine load was running, and that was beset by re-occurences of dog hairs, crumbs and grit on the very surfaces that were cleaned. Once, I counted over forty arrivals of dog hairs on cleaned surfaces of the bathtub alone. I say dog hairs as an ironic term; I don't have a dog anymore, and although most of the hairs look to be from me, I would be totally bald over five years ago if I shedded with that rapidity. I have seen the dog hairs materialize from nowhere onto clean surfaces; a metallic shimmering and poof, there it is. Mostly they fuck me out of seeing them arrive, though they do like me to have me see the whole teleportation deal sometimes. Chocolate crumbs arriving on my plate from nowhere are playing big of late, total unabashed teleportations.

I was out earlier to do the now standard First Feral Family visit routine, visiting my father in the hospital for those with dementia, and my mother coming along too. We take him out for the afternoon and hang out at the First Feral Family home. Today, opera on TV was on while I went through the delivered boxes of PC hardware, in readiness for rebuilding this PC from a new motherboard up. Everything looked OK, no damaged components, and it remains to be seen how putting two PC's together is going to go. There are all manner of potential jerkarounds from parts that don't fit to defective parts and the inconvenience is doubled when there is a third party building the PC. I dare not try it myself, as the perps have sabotaged every effort I have made to make the simplest of hardware upgrades in the past seven years. They will even make my hands shake and fumble, never mind the opportunities for sabotaging the components themselves.

And the leafy greens testing is still continuing; my mother gave me some of the salad mix that she bought at a local grocery store, which "happens to be" from the same farm that I work. I had the same mix last week and had consumed it by Friday, two days ago. I keep repeating myself, but this is highly consistent with the perps looking for some kind of remotely detectable energetic provenance signature from me, that is gained by eating the food at the geographic location of origin. And of course, the salad was placed inside of two polyethylene bags (zip-lock, and then a shopping bage), and resided in my mother's fridge for at least a day inside the original stiff walled polycarbonate plastic box. Regular readers will know that the perps also have a fixation over my exposure to plastics, and routinely hound me with various kinds, especially vinyl PVC, having irrigation services vehicles with the 20' pipe sections on a roof rack, circling the block. (No irrigation jobs downtown so WTF?).

It was a muted city bus freakshow tonight; the main piss-off was that I had to walk to the bus stop and in doing so, couldn't take my Oracle database exam guide book back and begin to read it, eventually doing some of the exercises. It is at least 1,000 pages and isn't very portable, so I had to leave it there and plan to retrieve it on Nov. 03 when I do the PC shuffling and take it in for the total re-build. My mother's place serves as the delivered-to address for my web purchases, and the book and Windows 7 arrived in one delivery from

I stopped at the local supermarket on the walk back from the bus stop, and was reminded that the freakshow wasn't over by any means. Two seeming independent dreadlocked hair-do (hurl-do IMHO) women were on me, making multiple reprise gangstalkings, and one even ahead of me at the checkout with a protracted stay to deal with a supposed screw-up by the cashier. Any excuse to keep the freak in proximate range will do. One of the dreadlocked gangstalkers was wandering around with a bicycle helmet on, and the other was partially obscured by a hoodie. But the assholes gave me a full frontal look at the latter one, as she was right in front of me as I turned around to head to the checkout. Somehow she got ahead of me when she was still grocery shopping, or else there was a third dreadlocked hurl-do woman in the same clothing color, heavy on peanut butter brown, about the only brown color that has some leverage for the assholes who hound me all day and night.

I saw most of 60 Minutes tonight, and the Yakuza (Japanese mafia) piece by Lara Logan. And lo, if I wasn't surrounded by three Japanese boys at the back of the bus when there was plenty of seating elsewhere. They each took on a different configuration; two facing opposite and one in my orientation facing the length of the bus. The strangest thing was that they only went three blocks before they got off, and they could of walked the distance easily. Ditto with the hooded negro woman who got on to sit some 7' away, right behind a hooded dude, both wearing black coats with black hoods. She only lasted some three or four bus stops before she got yanked, a very common occurence for my negro gangstalkers. The more blacker they are, the shorter they stay on the bus proximate to me. Go figure. Then two independent negroes at the supermarket, filling in between the dreaded dreadlock acts. Another of the Unfavored demographic groups was a substantial obeser woman, at least 280lbs, in the typical white/grey/black pattern camoflage outfit that is so popular with the gangstalkers. She lurked in the shadow of the dimmed lighting behind the bus driver, a common ruse to present less of the Unfavored demographic group member. Her greyscale colored jacket features predominantly among the gangstalker routines of late, either ambulatory (all greyscale colors save metallic silver) in the form of a jacket, pants or both, and among the vehicular gangstalkers, putting clusters of white and silver-grey vehicles together, then gradations of grey and all the way to black.

This might be my last post for a week before I return from a major PC rebuild. And I am being optimistic here, as anything and everything can go wrong, (read sabotage) even if I am not doing the rebuild myself, but shell out to have it done.

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