Back to PC Functionality

1750h
A total wasted day, that only the sickos could benefit from. They had me retrieve my PC from the shop at 1030h, return it to my place but not connect it, and then deal with the email jerkarounds of my mother's PC for most of the day, something that could only be arranged. The recent hard disk replacement of my mother's PC "resulted" in Outlook gone, and in its place was Outlook Express. So.. no end of time was expended to get the Outlook Express loaded up from Outlook saved files to no avail. Not that I figured out the difference, as they look the same, and any critical faculties to do so were long ago dithered. It was only when talking to the PC repair technician that I got the hint one got swapped for the other, and that it had to be set up. And from them, I learned that the ISP had to reset the password for my mother's email ID, as I could not do so online, and got derailed into a 6 long customer name being required when her email handle was only 5 long. Talk about stupid, this was it. So... more phone calls on the wireless phone and all those EMF's buzzing around my head, and I finally got it changed and the email accessible.

As one can discern, my PC is now hooked up and running, getting a removable hard drive tray and rack installed, and no software installs. The RMA hard drive parcel is still in the manager's office, and they haven't even deigned to phone me to let me know. I even walked past the assistant manager this morning on my way out and he didn't say a thing. More fucking bizarre bullshit, as he was the one that signed for it yesterday. If the sickos want to protract hard drive acquisition like they did with the last one, keeping it in the manager's office for six days, then they will. I have the one that failed sitting on my shelf, awaiting the RMA parcel so I can send it back. Basic and barefaced mail interception, especially for spinning magnetic materials that seem to be so vital for their agenda. As mentioned many times, I am bathed in a magnetic field everywhere I go, measured at 1600 gauss in 2009. And I get to see masers and plasma beams all the time, everywhere I look in my place, and both are magnetically controlled phenomenon. Not too hard to figure out the perps' methods, though their objectives are somewhat unclear. Hounding me to make endless typos, spelling mistakes and misread errors all day long is totally fucking tedious, but they have been doing this all my life, and I am not used to it, and totally resent some sick asshole dithering me at every breath I take..

Other related PC action to the above over the past two days was to have my mother's PC leaving the repair shop, just as I was bringing mine in, the PC's crossing paths as it were. I drove my mother to a social function, then purchased some more coconut butter at a specialty store, and then took it back to her place where I set it up, but didn't look at the email that cost me most of the day to fix. As usual, I had my consort of gangstalking vehicles, with red colors playing big, some four around me these days, with another two or so parked nearby or crossing at intersections when I am waiting. The perps are also putting on more brown colored vehicles, massing two or three light metallic tan colored vehicles in my proximity and sometimes another two passing by or parked. On the brown dressed gangstalkers front they put on three dudes opposite me on the bus last night, each in a widely different shade of brown, deep brown, light brown, and an orange brown, all sitting some 3' apart, and aligned along the passenger side, opposite from me on the driver's side at the rear. This is much more venturesome than they have ever been, having three brown (Unfavored color) dressed males (Unfavored demographic group) clustered nearby.

Other predictable vehicular gangstalking action that erupted while packing my PC, or returning after dropping it off at my place, was the arrangement of soil slinging trucks ahead of me, the gasoline and heating fuel tankers, the mixed concrete redi-mix trucks (keeping the single lane flow very slow then), foliage bearing vehicles (gardening services) and the wood hauling vehicles. They cannot get enough of that perversity, and besides the vehicle colors, the most consistent set of vehicular oddities.

Now the beeping from outside had started up, somehow getting through my earmuffs, I them off to ameliorate the faint sounds. I still have to do some First Feral Family duty time tonight, getting my mother back from downtown as she "happened" to have a social engagement when I was about done with that fucking Microsoft Outlook fiasco at her place. We drove down together, and will meet up again in an hour or so, and I will bus it back as she doesn't like to drive at night.  It is my opinion that the sickos have Microsoft in their pocket, and can direct them to add more FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt, mostly the latter two) into the public software picture by way of their naming confusion as well as confusing product overlap. Going back to my worksite in 1990-91, the IT people in our government organization were always talking up Microsoft  without any research or substantive rationale, as well as buying their stock. This was long before the PC desktop was established, and it was cause for chronic vexation, as Windows 3.0 of the day could not satisfy our user requirements, and the IT personnel were fobbing off our complaints, as was our manager. I never did figure out why the IT imposition of Windows 3.0 of the day was so absolute for all its failures at the time. Once I put this in the larger conspiratorial context of nothing in my life being happenchance, all the strange organization behaviors made sense.

Another round of over revving motorcycle noise outside just as the above was written, so it must be of interest tot them that I write about their past Fuckover games, if that is what it is. They like me to keep up the thought pattern of what they either have done, or have fed me, though for the most part, the historical activities seem to fit the pattern best, as they can be validated in many ways besides the current abuse and incursion rampage. More rumbling noise is now getting through the earmuffs, the same noise that nearly always arrives overhead, whether in the kitchen, desk, in the bathroom or in bed. This rumbling noise also somehow gets through 12" of concrete floor/ceiling.

2215h
Back after driving my mother to her place, getting her PC to print, and hanging around to then get the bus to downtown. She came at the Perp Holy Hour of dusk onset after visiting an embroidery show downtown, and had dinner locally with a friend. And of all rarities, she came up to visit my place, and got to see the removable hard drive tray in action, me providing the demo. Then onto the parkade in the next block, and then I drove her back. It was the dusk onset and the perps put on a big show, covering me with red colored vehicles, mostly deep metallic burgundy reds, and even driving I would have some 8 to 10 in view ahead of me, never mind behind or parked to the side. And on Shelbourne Street, one of the major arterial streets to the suburbs, they put on a swarm of some 50 to 80 cyclists of no apparent affiliation, but they were decidedly organized, and proceeded to block the single lane of traffic two vehicles ahead of me from Bay St. to Ryan St. I couldn't believe it, wilfully violating the law with a swarm of cyclists three or more abreast, and aided by the lack of jam of the first motorist (silver grey color) behind them who wouldn't pull into the oncoming lane when he safely could of and passed them. They put on the slow 20kph troll and eventually coalesced and ceased their ride for whatever reason. Like how does one get that many cyclists arranged and behaved in the same way, as they weren't racers or of like athletic endeavor where they know the route and stay in single file, and never approach that many cyclists. So it would seem that the sickos need to send cycling hordes out in advance to collect whatever data they can about me, my processing of the color red, and at the particular time of day when one switches vision processing from cones to  rods. Go fuck yourselves and get your sick asses in my face instead of putting me through eight years of this fucking hell all to keep up the pseudo-remote games.

A major screaming rage show with follow-on provocations at each location in my apartment this morning. I was spooing the ground coffee from the bag to the carafe when the sickos flicked some coffee onto the stove top, doing their gravitic defying fuckery again. A 10" mess of coffee grounds to clean up, and as this is the umpteenth time, I was pissed, and let them know it loud and clear. But that was just the starter-abuse, as they then ran the cleaning sponge into the adjacent hot burner to make it smell (twice), had me make four iterations to clean up the mess when one would of done, (especially when one witnesses how "sticky" ground coffee is in this apartment), and once cleaned, and then got onto something else, why, there was more mess again on the stove top, ostensiby by coffee grounds. Another screaming rage show to let them know how much I appreciated teleported reprise messes. Then the "usual" jerkarounds with applying peanut butter and jam to the toast, to keep my rage level going, and some more at the breakfast table in dealing with a proliferation of teleported crumbs. Once done the dishes and in the bathroom, they kept up more rage shows but jumping the soap from my hand, and later flicking shaving foam other than where I intended it to go.

The "inciting event" for pulling such a blatant rage-ification might of been that I was starting a new loaf of bread today, and that the end slice is of course brown on one side like most bread ends. Having this incremental (bread slice increments) exposure of brown through the loaf, and likely diminishing the further one gets from the bread end, is just too much of a temptation it seems to fuck innocent victims with. This is the mentality of my tormentors, and this particular "bread end fucking" had abated for the last three months or so, and I thought it was over for good, mission accomplished and all that. But no, the fuckers are back at it, and starting a bread loaf will likely continue to be this brutal and abusive event. (This particular gluten free specialty bread has only one cooked end, as they must make two retail loaves out of one pan cooled loaf, with the cooked (browned) end always at the opening end of the plastic bag that it is packaged in.)

Anyhow off to the bus stop this morning to join my selected freaks and shifteless males; yet again I have never seen so many males without a seeming day job doing dumbshit stunts like going three stops and getting off. There was the odd button down suit dude, all the more curious as to why he would be getting on a bus in suburbia to head further out into suburbia at 0930h.

Then when coming back tonight, another round of the city bus freakshow; here it was at 2105h and getting the bus in suburbia, and five dudes show up, three of which who crossed the street some 20 seconds of the bus crossing the tracks. These were the "bus stop sweepers" who walked through the bus stop after me and my other two dudes/tails had boarded. And these same two dudes followed me on, and both sat down at the same instant as I sat down, they arranged one behind the other, and a transverse seat between me and the one immediately in front. In other words, the three of us boarded the bus serially, and sat on the same side, faced the same way in this most curious in-file alignment. Later they filled in the seats with more weirds, though with some females to minimize a full dude press. A later skateboard bearing partial dreaklock blonde Caucasian dude "happened" to board the bus, and in the usual Cheersing scene, met one of his confreres who was sitting nearby, and so I had this visage of a partial dreadlock hair-do/hurl-do if I wasn't attentive (read, remotely applied attention control). The disgusting bullshit that the Fuckwits do to their hair simply astounds me.

Anyhow, some 30 passengers on a Friday evening heading to downtown from whitebread suburbia of Gordon Head seemed a bit rich for city bus transportation in this town. Other weirds were the ballcap backwards dudes, the tight white toque dudes, and the white ballcap semi-vagrant dude. I don't quite know why the perps want me to see this tight skull cap headwear, but they go out of their way to make sure I see only a small slice of this headwear between Fuckwits that have obligingly separated for me to see the featured Fuckwit between them.

Other things I was up to while without the PC for the last two days was some limited reading. The perps would often dither my reading after 30 to 40 minutes at the most, making further cognition impossible. I don't know how the book got there, as they must of blanked me out, because I once rarely forgot the circumstances of aquiring books, but I read Beyond My Wildest Dreams (and here) by Kim Carlserg. It is about alien abduction from someone who remembers much about it, and was illustrated as well. I now have a possible explanation as to why I get so many hoodie dressed Fuckwits, some who put their hoodie on after boarding the bus for crissakes where it is substantially warmer. (Or, like last night, the hoodie slipped in increments of an inch at a time down the head of the woman seated in front of me, over some ten minutes of bus travel, and not by any action she took). The author revealed that in one scene of her abductions that there was a predominance of hoodie wearing individuals, and so it might be that I was also exposed to such during the "lost years" of 1956 to 1959 (age 2 to 5), where my recall seems to have been 90% deleted. As mentioned many times, the ongoing freakshow parade (of the Unfavored) seems to be about emulating subconscious traumatization associations, and attempting to remotely detect such reactions with realtime neural monitoring. And then apply some kind of remediating energies to remove those associations, as it seems to be problematic for the assholes who created the problem in the first place. Abuse to rectify past abuse is perfectly OK by these psychopathic cretins.

I wanted to re-read A Nation Betrayed by Carol Rutz, and I note that there was a handwritten message on the first page addressed to me by name. Yet again, I have no recall as to how I acquired this book, but it must be directly from the author. And, to reiterate, I am extremely pissed that these kinds of events, book acquisition as one example, aren't recallable when they always were before overt harassment began. Sudden and unexpected drop-outs of recall are extremely perturbing for me, and I am sure there is much more my mindkeepers know about that than I do. I wasn't allowed to re-read this book for any length, but the few I did read, and the author suffered as a child, (and retained in memory), makes one skin creep. It seems that she was shunted around to some of the major abusers, including Dr. Ewen Cameron. Speaking of which, the sickos let me re-read In the Sleep Room in some depth, the first 50 pages or so. This tyrant is getting a picture painted that is begining to make some sense at to where he was coming from in professional terms, and setting the basis for why he perpetrated the clinical transgressions that he did. As before, I lived in Montreal, the city he practiced in, for two of the above mentioned "lost years". I recall the 1956 stay as I was an only child then, but have no recall of the latter stay, and no one in my family has ever informed me. I only found out (read, scripted setup) by way of a photograph that was distinctly that of Montreal (ice sculputres) and my younger brother was 14 to 16 months old. My father graduated from McGill in 1959.

I tell this above story often, but I never know if I am boring my audience or treating newcomers to the long running trappings of this tale of extra governmental depravity. My intent, is to make most any single blog posting readable and coherent from the present perspective (as in elevated extra conventional abuse) to that of my past, as little as I know about it.

Enough of the rambling and on with posting.