Outside Before Breakfast

1145h
A forced "forget" last night, the assholes reminding me that there was milk to purchase just as the local supermarket closed for the evening. Invariably, that is how it goes; "happenchance" reminders after an evening of "forgetting" at store closing time.

So... dressed and outside before breakfast is a rare event, and for that extra flakes and Fuckwit gangstalkers were on duty, and crossing my path, even twice was a bigger deal than usual. The seeming staff member crossed my path just as I entered the store, and then 90 degrees offset, and after I picked up the Saturday national newspaper, was set to cross my path again, and did the polite staff thing of deferring and letting me go first. Then a skinhead dude burst from the aisles, me with newspaper in hand as they fucked me out of getting a shopping basket as there were none at the usual location of the stack. So onto the stack at the E. side of the store, and the first two had plastic bags in them, and so I get the third one, it having onion skins in it still. And have I mentioned how often onion skins and bulb plants come up as part of the fuckery games? Not this week any how.

And while shopping there, the stalking/stocking person was making the loudest noise possible in handling the placing the potatoe chips two aisles away, shaking and squeezing every bag at least twice before putting them on the shelf, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was some extra noise augmentation going on as well, to go with the squeezing and manipulation of the mylar packaging, something the perps are prone to do. The apparent reason is that mylar when stressed gives off small luminescent bursts I read somewhere.

Then out of the local supermarket to then do the gangstalker gauntlet back to this apartment building, where the infernal butt sucking dude was parading around in a semi-frantic state for no reason. Every apartment has a balcony, so why in the fuck does this shit come out to the front door area and parade around like he does? All regular gangstalkers have a certain annoyance attribution, and it seems that this one is no exception.

Another stunt when outbound was to arrange a suited Fuckwit to emerge from the stairwell at the same moment I emerged from the elevator and then have the shit converge on me at the front door. As mentioned in past postings, the sickos like to set up public gangstalker convergences on me, especially with males, and this was only a single instance. And, as the stairwell is at the landing, and door was kept open from yesterday's painting in the lobby, I should of heard the Fuckwit coming down the stairs, which means he was pre-positioned and waiting on the small landing. Been there, done that, as is witnessing a Fuckwit get late notice on proceeding instead of waiting.

Then after breakfast, the shaving process got supremely rage-fied with the assholes whacking me in the dick when the towel was at least 6" away and not moving. I go through an elaborate process each time when I use the towel after a shower to ensure there are no loose ends, and lo, if somehow I didn't get whacked in the dick again. The assholes have been stepping up this particular form of abuse of late, and sometimes they just whack me in the dick without a towel in hand to get the rage level up faster. But as I shave my entire front each day, and had a shirt on beforehand when I went to store before breakfast, I am quite certain that this insane and abusive enragement fuckery was related to the rarity of pre-breakfast shopping and clothes wearing. Mostly, I don't have a shirt on during breakfast, immediately prior to my shower and dental hygeine routine. Or at least, that is how it has been for the past year when I expedited the morning routine to take less time, putting on clothes for breakfast and then off again immediately afterward.

And I see the coconut butter has now entered its fourth change of physical properties, a 500g, jar, becoming like peanut butter, smooth and pliable at room temperature. It started out crumbly, then became pliable, then crumbly again, and yesterday I noted the arrival of some liquid in the bottom of the jar, and that the nut butter had smoothed out. I bought two identical jars at the same time, and the first one stayed crumbly the entire time, over some six weeks of use.

And I see that the assholes are getting me ready for peanut butter consumption again, having two smashed jars of it on the street, two blocks apart, two days ago. It does make me wonder what their game is as to nuts, nut butter and food oils consumption, a long running perp interest I have come to know. They have had me on peanut butter for over seven years of daily use, and then had me go through three jars of coconut butter for the past four months. Back to peanut butter again, especially with that one kg. jar sitting in the cupboard for the past two months or more, as some kind of reference perhaps to the adjacent coconut butter jars, kept there even when in use as it gets too solid (usually) when it is kept in the fridge. All too complicated for me, and why is it that my food, and the color of my food, so important to an undeclared abusive Fourth Reich outfit that has bought this town?

1610h
A screaming rage show over taking a shit earlier, unlike any since their last climatic levels of 2006. They plaster shit on me, blocked the toilet, shitted the plunger, and then as an "extra", they flicked shit onto a towel on the floor. Then they jerked me around attempting to clean it up, and also engineered a toilet roll change in the middle of all all this. A shower to clean up, and then the towel is now getting laundered. Why cannot I be left alone to take a shit, and what is it about the color brown that the assholes are so hyped about? Only in the last two weeks have they ventured to place dark brown gangstalking vehicles in my proximity, marking their progress over eight years of insane abuse over the color of brown. This is fucking insane that I cannot be allowed to take a crap without being fucked with and rendered into a screaming wreck.

1855h
Dinner was duly made and eaten, and at least three rage-ifications over food flicking, crumb inundation and water flicking onto my jeans of no conventional means. The games have escalated in the past two months to screw me around while dealing with their messes and the like. The crumbs that hop off the cleaning sponge after being picked up is one example, or just won't plain get picked up any more with a wetted sponge when they always did. Also, many more crumbs just arrive from nowhere on my plate these days, all for them to have me obsessively pick them up with my finger tips, assuming they don't hop off.

And dinner was arranged to follow on from the laundry, after handling and putting the towels away. Morning time laundering was nearly always like that, finishing laundry handling and then it was lunch time. It is rare that they have me do laundry in the afternoon, especially two sessions. And it seems they wanted the laundry machines to be vacated for an hour or so until they started the shit games mentioned above.

A dull evening, but I see that the sky to the E. is unclouded, but to the W. it is, all to reduce the intensity of the dusk onset sunlight and the faux reflectance off W. facing residential towers that "happen" to beam right into this apartment. And I see the games have just begun with an upward facing window shoot a beam in here.

2020h
Post tea time with chocolate; at least one screaming at the assholes when they rotated the round Bodum tea pot 180 degrees after it was placed in the dishes rack after cleaning. The asshole cannot get enough abusive fuckery in when doing the dishes. The teapot didn't slowly roll, it was powered and then suddenly stopped. Fucking tiresome.

2215h
Last round of posting tonight; a tour through the many bookmarked sites I rarely visit as they don't change much over a week, my assigned notion of currency. No major insights or web site finds, as the profusion of BS remains problematical for me to sort out. The sickos did put on the clunking noises while reading about the Katyn war crimes. What I am allowed to read at length is highly governed it seems as they will dither my reading should I stray onto something else, and make it a pointless effort. Ditto for books I have, especially ones that cast some relevance onto my own circumstances, especially the state of the clinical and theological abuses in Quebec in the 1950's, when I lived there for two of my formative years.

This one is done for the day, and onto a FFF visit tomorrow night.