Monday, June 28, 2010

Contrail Day on the Farm

June 26, 2010, 2135h
A very long day, working until 1830h, and the bussing it home with the city bus freak show that got so out of hand with a native Indian nutcase throwing his arms around in a mock fight with no one, that I bailed early and spent an extra 15 minutes walking back. And lo, when I got out, if they didn't have a negro and an Cambodian pair of Fuckwits on display, right buddies they were too.

And it is likely that TI's and regular readers will know that the perps have an obsession over knees and knee coverings/clothing. This particular aspect is most apparent when I do farm laboring jobs, picking bulbs, fruit or tubers on or close to the ground. I normally use knee pads, and they work within the realm of being fucked with; slipping down, slipping laterally, and although adding comfort, are under constant manipulations. I leave the kneepads at the farm to dry out overnight, and I got screwed out of retrieving them when the Saturday and Sunday (June 27) bus schedules don't allow me to get to the farm by 0700h for regular work start time. So... as I was taking the walking trail to access the farm, why, the crew was there in view, picking strawberries. I hopped the fence, and reported for work, sans kneepads. The assholes wouldn't let me crouch for the first two hours, and had me bend over for the most part, sometimes straddling the row. Then the sore back games started up, and I suddenly became able to crouch, which is how I spent the rest of the day picking. I also got a spell of the demotivation feeling to retrieve the kneepads at lunch time, as I could of made it to the farm warehouse and back in time.

The next day, the same thing, except someone left the gate open for me. The no kneepads jerkarounds started up again, and finally, in the latter half of the day they let me kneel directly on top of the soft soil, no rocks thankfully. So it would seem that this was a big deal as they never have let me kneel directly on the soil while in these low-to-ground picking situations. I also noted they have cracked up the kneepad material, so another pair will be due in all likelihood as this insane escalation of expenses has continued this month.

Another feature of the work day was to fake me out and not tell me that there was extra work. At 1740h the supervisor came to collect us all, and the inference was that the work day was over. The supervisor gave me a bunch of carrots to take home, and when back at the warehouse I clocked out, and began looking for a plastic bag to put the carrots into to place in my backpack. And lo, if there wasn't a potatoe washing job ready to begin, and it seemed they needed me to be on the conveyor line to pick out stones, soil clods and other debris next to a Mexican worker. He was also one of the three that worked at last year's farm job, 08 to 11-2009. He doesn't speak much English, so I cannot say I know him well, but he is a good worker that aims to get along. Anyhow, an extra hour of unexpected work at the day's end, getting faked out by the oddity of no one telling me what the fuck was coming next.

Another event of the day was seeing a major contrails and maser sky arrangement, and it was also witnessed by one of my co-workers. The event had been promoted at lunch time when I noted an unusual crisscross cloud pattern in the sky and mentioned it to my only English speaking coworker. While picking strawberries an hour later, she in the next row, I mentioned two new parallel contrails, each with a 10 degree dogleg on the latter 20%, and remarked as to how unsual that would be in normal aviation practice. About ten minutes later, she mentions to me that there is a third contrail aircraft, and when I look up it is equi-spaced to create three parallel lines. And when we continue to look up, a black maser beam, the width of the aircraft, is projecting from the aircraft to the horizon. on the N. side of this deliniating beam the sky has been shaded a darker color, seemingly a massive maser wash meeting up with this beam. The look of it was that from the horizon to the aircraft there was a black beam, and from (or behind) the aircraft there was a white trail (like a beam, but gradually widening further behind it). We remarked on the fact that neither had a camera, and that if we ever saw it again, we still would be unlikely to have one. This black/white continous line in the sky, with the aircraft the point of color change stayed in place for a minute or so, and was a rare exception to the fleeting plasma and masers I see all the time and all around me. About five minutes later, an Bombardier passenger jet flies low, in a deep grey and navy blue livery. It is the first time I have seen this aircraft type here, and was most odd that it was so low, maybe 1,000 ft or less. Most of the Victoria International Airport traffic is small turboprop aircraft, and here was this smaller commercial jet. I am a minor expert on aircraft types and noise, as it seems that they manage to re-route the S. bound flights (harbor, or to Seattle) just over where I am working in the farm fields, this being the third one in two years.

And just when I thought I was done with picking strawberries for the entire day, and seeing a profusion of red colored vehicles in clusters and patterns, why, the assholes put flashes of red strawberries in my visual field for the evening. I never had any flashbacks from anything at any time of my life, and this bullshit starts up. Also of related interest, it was the first day they had me picking strawberries with my barehands, as they had me wear gloves before. Transparent nitrile gloves, then blue nitrile gloves (with many splitting incidents), and then finally bare handed strawberry picking was allowed. Ditto for the carrot harvesting that came later, as well as the sudden potato washing job at day's end.

-great linting sock problems continue, now it looks like a cross country/continent search for thick non wool (as in non linting) socks. This beggars belief, getting screwed over with a new pair that linted with much less wool in tonight's laundry. Maybe the whole deal of a separate sock laundering that has been going on for over a year is now over, and the assholes will let me launder socks with the rest of the laundry, but only if they are non-linting of course. This bullshit never ends.

-water line games over carrot washing in the field, plus I got some carrots given to me, likely for further nonsense as to eating them, versus picking them and the influence of the water supply pipes that irrigate them.

June 28, 2010, 1605h

My new Topre Realforce keyboard is at work here, and what a waste of $300. I was expecting some snappy and touch sensitive (resistant, then "breaks through") keys, and I get an elevated mushiness. Heresay for the keyboard afficianados, but this is the way it is. This is a capacitive resistance individual switch design, so one can read different EMF signature for each keystroke. I feel totally rooked, not to mention an extra $33 of taxes on this sucker when I picked it up. I thought I had dodged the Provincial Sales Tax (PST) before July 01, but they screwed me for it anyways.

A busy Monday for all the goings on a day off, starting with a stayover at the First Feral Family home last night, and then onto dealing with returned items to drive across town to the place I was at last week at the same time, and then backyard maintenance work. Then a doctor's appointment, where an Asian doctor also got pulled in to ask questions, he being a very pale Asian. I was in "on" mode today, highly verbal and with facile recall access, almost unknown to me before now.

More bullshit outside my door; yacking on the cell phone. This is after I put three loads of laundry through as the towels and wool socks make lint in copious amounts and must be separated from the rest of the laundry. I have yet to find thick wool-free socks and the local major outdoors store isn't helping any, keeping wool blends only. Another expense in the making, having dealt with self-punctured umbrellas (read, sabotage while it was on the shelf) and other bullshit this month.

This new Topre Realforce keyboard is on the fritz it seems, and the typo sabotage is also contributing to the harassment-scope. The perps have taken to making me send or take things back, and it just might be this is another in that succession of escalating combinations of items, geography and what it may contact, and be wrapped in. Two brown cardboard boxes for this new keyboard, so that might be the real perp interest in escalating the noise and harassment as I type on this. The only model I have come to use is that the "brown color energies" of the cardboard, and the wood pulp have been conveyed to this plastic keyboard, and the entire interaction of my fingers on it is also of intense interest. But as nearly all things are boxed in cardboard and paper, save for the plastic packaging, I was not too surprised to have a cardboard box bearing Fuckwit outside the parcel pick up location this afternoon. This is the parcel for which I did not get a delivery notice, and "somehow" I forgot to ask how that might of happened. And no less, she didn't ask for ID, which they always do, even with a parcel delivery notice in hand. All too strange, not to mention the 10 minute wait for only two supposed customers ahead of me, taking forever while the freakshow paraded by. The Canada Post livery is an orange red, so there were no end of freaks and Fuckwit passing through the line as well as lining up behind me, at least eight more, many in red colors, looking to be shopping for the most banal items, perusing them at length.

Some strikeouts on what I ordered online besides the above keyboard, and when I return to the website, why, there are some items that are more suited as to size and type. Which pisses me off; I either got mindfucked as to cognitively not noticing alternatives, or else the site got spoofed. The prices also seem spoofed compared to an article I read about this site, also confirming the better choice. The game now is, do I eat the $28 and not send it back, or go through the messing around and shipping back and the rest of it? Seems like perp heaven to me, either way; financially fucking the victim or having the item reside in the victim's residence and not have them use it, possibly giving it away. All those "energies" of each scenario are just too tantalizing for the sickos.

Two days ago, June 26, I had three separate incidents of Fuckwits in public doing the "come at me" for no seeming reason and then stop, or finally declare their intent, long after safety and personal space incursion threats were registered. I get about three of a week normally, but three in a day is exceptional. There was the two-time Saturday Fuckwit in black and a white wide brimmed hat and full white beard, my regular tail at the bus stop for the #6 0707h bus, N. bound. This time, he was standing at the intersection some 80' away, for absolutely no reason. Traffic control changes cycled one after the other, and this wacko was standing some 5' in from the curb, W. facing, and kept this up for nearly 10 minutes. A woman was waiting for the bus in his usual spot leaning against a wall, and when he arrived, he aligned himself with her, and me by extension as I was leaning against the same wall. Then she steps away from the wall so I was in direct line of sight with this Fuckwit posing for unknown reasons, and wanders around, leaving this bearded and big hatted Fuckwit to pose in view. Only a minute before the bus comes does he walk down the street to the bus stop, and comes directly at me, looking at me, and then when within 8' he stops and leans against the wall where the woman was leaning.

Onto the next Fuckwit, a wacko native Indian act, getting on the bus and then walking past seats he could of sat in all to sit directly in front of me, transversely. I was alarmed as to what the fucker was going to do, but he sat down in the closest transverse seat. I have had it with this bullshit, and wanted to get off and walk the rest of it, but the pull cord on the bell didn't work. And when the next stop came, why, the wacko looking woman with the steel cage wheeled hamper, a common gangstalking prop, was making moves to get off, so I defered and waited another stop. I got off after the red-haired woman crossed my path to do so, getting ahead of me, and lo, if there wasn't an negro and a deep brown Asian pair walking toward me. But that wasn't enough of the Unfavoreds.

The assholes then arranged a yellow shirted Fuckwit coming from behind a building with a cardboard box in hand to then get within "threat" range, and then the fucker finally declared his intention by asking me if I could unlock the adjacent gate to the alleyway to the garbage room (which one needs the key for as well, so what did he expect to accomplish?), and then stands way too close while I was unlocking the gate for him. And have I detailed enough incidents before as to the endless games that go on whenever I am about to enter or exit a building or lock or unlock a door? Fucking bizarre to say the least. Three personal space encroachments in one day, the native Indian score alone is two for recent month.

Anyhow, I should get this posted for now, as it is my day off, and I am usually too whacked after a day of farm labor.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Long Days

June 24, 2010
A 11 hour work day, picking strawberries late into the afternoon, 1830h.

June 25, 2010
The parcel delivery mystery game continues: the courier/delivery service won't leave a written notice as to where to pick it up and who it is. The parcel has gone nowhere for two days now, and a weekend is  now upon us. A total orchestrated fuckup; never in my life when I have missed a parcel delivery did I not get a notice. But these fuckers made three attempts on one day and left no notice. The parcel has sat there for two days in total limbo, and there is nothing I can do about this as I don't know who to contact.

This month, a total of four separate deliveries from online shopping has been/will be attempted. In the two cases that were sent to my mother, I had no notice of when it shipped, where it was, or any of the usual tracking information. In both cases, I emailed the suppliers, and it so happened that the day I enquired the parcel had been delivered to my mother's place that day. Both were ordered the same day, and both took longer than necessary, a whole two weeks for supposed airfreight.

And the third parcel is on a mystery tour; unknown delivery service that reported the three deliveries on June 23 and did nothing with it since, not even supplying a notice, per above. And this fuckery all started as the sender wouldn't allow a separte shipping address from the billing address.

Then a fourth parcel has not been given notice of shipment six days after ordering, and it just might suffer the same fate of being on an local mystery tour as well, because they too didn't allow a different billing and shipping address. The sickos were prepared for this one, arranging my web display screens to eliminate a separate shipping address for two of the four online orders I made. This is fucking absurd that after eight years of this insane abuse, they are still playing games with my parcels and jerking me around over where they get sent, who has them and then ensuring I don't know who has it or where it is. Plain fucking nuts.

A continuing barrage red vehicles and red colored clothes for my two brief outings tonight. One to get groceries and then another to get thick socks, with the least possible amount of wool in them as the wool socks I have to wear with my hiking boots are now throwing copious amounts of lint onto the pants. This then, is the excuse to pack lint onto them all over once they come out of the washing machine. The socks have always been washed separately for this linting problem, but that somehow didn't stop the lint coming off the socks directly onto the inside pant legs. Anyhow, another pain in the ass to deal with, never mind the expense of getting just the right kind of new socks that are low on wool content. I suspect this game has a long run ahead of it, even if I dumped all the wool socks today. All that "residual" lint will persist for months and is bound to keep me  fretting and occupied. Funny how it didn't happen last year when I wore the same socks, boots and pants for four months straight, laundering them every night five days a week.

And a full day of strawberry picking today, in two fields. One was the first pick new field, and the other is a weed (yellow flowering mustard seed) infested nightmare to pick. One of the mexican pickers in a bright red shirt liked to hang around me, so I assume he was today's red (strawberry) localized clothing reference. I was picking barehanded, which represents an increase in the complexity the perps are willing to undertake, as they previously allowed onlt nitrile gloves which they routinely punctured at some point in the work day.

Then a supposed traffic tie-up meant that we stopped work earlier, and then it also meant the bus back to my place was impeded, which it was. An 18 minute wait at the bus stop with a crowd of some 12 or others at the bus stop at 1740h  was duly arranged, not to metnion the parades of vehicles; greyscale colors with embedded red vehicles at first, then more red vehicles clustered together. All the while there was a parade of Fuckwits going by the bus stop; building up from vagrants, then native Indians, fat people and the final coup de gras, a negro woman and her young son passed by the bus stop and all the Fuckwits standing there, and then the bus came immediately afterward.

[And a screaming rage Fuckover tonight with major typo jerkarounds, some 15x before the word "other" above, was allowed to be spelled correctly. More typos have followed, and they have also fucked me over opening up the groceries and otherwise screwed me senseless tonight. At least 20 rage-ifications since 1900h. The weekend Fuckover can be extra brutal as I came to find out early in 2002.]

The city bus freakshow came with its own "strawberry" emulation Fuckwits. The dude in the sloppy and goofy red shorts did his spread legs (crotch exposure) for the entire time he was on the bus, the arrangement was that it was too much red at once so they had another Fuckwit stand in the way for five minutes or so, and then he got off so I got a full crotch full of red shorts looking at me from across the aisle. About when I had enough and was to walk, he got off, and within a stop, a woman with a red and white patterned bag sat down in the seat of the red crotch job dude. Again, I had enough of her waving and moving the bag around and then she accomodated me by getting off. I made it to my usual departure bus stop with a headphone wearing Fuckwit dude standing in the way at the rear exit, adroitly getting in the way, and contacting passengers from each side of the bus that were also attempting to get off. Totally fucking stupid to arrange oneself to be in the way of exiting passengers in the first place, never mind from two directions.

And after a whole day of picking strawberries the sickos decided that wasn't enough red to look at, so they have arranged flashbacks of red strawberries in my vision for the past few hours. I have never had any flashbacks from anywhere at anytime, and now they have started this fucking bullshit up to aid their visual harassment continuity games it would seem.

Not much to go on here, as there is much to mention, e.g. the red shirted Mexican farm worker that kept hanging around me, but I think it is better to post it, lest it get deleted like the last time.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Posting Sabotage

June 23, 2030h
The assholes deleted a posting of at least a page with blatant intrusion of having the page re-display without any contents. None of the forced keystroke blundering to make it seem it was me; just unrepentant assholes at work.

A whole page deleted is rare, and yesterday they faked me out by displaying the page deleted, but when I logged in next, it was recovered intact. A fake out on their sabotage, not unusual when they like me to have the facts dead wrong. That's the "E" of FUDE, the new acronym to describe what states they like to keep me in, borrowing from the IBM salesman's credo of customer relationship maintenance; Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt.

A half day at work today, with an employment counsellor meeting in the morning, all for not much; I have a job, am steadily working, case closed for now. Certainly there wasn't much to go on, and it is just as well, though no bad feelings, unlike the last one who wasn't too keen on me getting training grants, and who was the third sabateur of the lot who sank $3550 worth of Oracle training in the fall.

I had my parade of vagrants and other Fuckwits on display when negotiating the two city blocks to the employment office. Two mobile cranes were in place for my walk by, an all too common occurence for the arranged circumstances I live in. One was gone when I returned 40 minutes later, so who knows what was getting tested. The residual energetics of the departed crane in the asphalt road surface it was bearing on when operative, with the second crane as a reference? Same old bullshit this.

And now that strawbery picking has increased of late, as in me as the farm laborer with my co-workers, there is an profusion of red colored vehicles, sometimes six in a cluster, and also of the shiftless dude gangstalkers in red shirts or red ball caps. Two days ago they even drove a red vehicle beside the bus, viewable through the rear door windows while I was standing, where there wasn't a lane for the red vehicle, just an ntersection space. They pinned this piece of driving insanity on an Asian driver, doing the pretend-to-not-notice-no-lane-to-drive-in but keeping up with the bus as it cruised into the stop where I got off. All that just to treat me to more red-through-tempered-glass for a whole 10 seconds before exiting the bus. Fucking bizarre to say the least.

Other Fuckwit goings on were to do the negro skinhead, surely the most loathed of all the skinheaded males I get to see in a given day. This was the sometimes loafer on the couch in the lobby, now promoted to walking outside from the apartment building, and some extra plasma an light games to ensure his head looked extra reflective and thereby, extra disgusting. (This is my new assigned reaction to skinhead since early abuse onset, since 2002).

One time they slowly corraled my gaze while waiting outside for the group leader to having a negro bald head positioned between two dudes standing in place, narrowing down the disgusting part. I almost wanted to puke there and then, but they wouldn't let me. Another such stunt was pulled in a mall about two years ago, where one happened to be sitting on a couch as part of a promotion. It is amazing how often they try to eliminate all the extraneous things in my vision all to show of the central Unfavored specimen or feature thereof by placing bounding Fuckwits to frame the Unfavored alone. If I don't like bald heads, I don't see why I am to be hounded relentlessly for over eight years as to my own personal predispositions. Go fuck your own.

Being at home for half a day, save the employment counsellor meeting this morning, wasn't good enough for the parcel delivery hijinx to be imposed. I left at 1140h, and I see the delivery attempt was at 1405h. Fucking brilliant, all to jerk me around and send me to a red livery post office to retrieve it later in the day, and later this week.

And the farmwork jerkarounds continue, the legal Mexicans now adopting the same intrusionistic fuckery/moves as the Punjabis did for the prior two weeks. Horning in on my working area while picking potatoes and then bending over to have their ass pointed at me, 18" away. And lo, if the tractor isn't started up each time this stunt goes down. Are Punjabis equally rude as Mexicans, or is this staged and orchestrated, not unlike so many similar physical intrusions the assholes have scripted for the past eight years? I rest my case; this entire existence is orchestrated, unless some readers have convincing information on the rudest ethnic groups. Considering I have many gringos intruding upon my personal space in all manner of public contexts, it seems to fit the pattern.

Other co-worked gangstalking bullshit is for them to walk out of the row of strawberries in my row, explicitly changing rows to do so. Another is to have the "supervisor" take some of my filled pint baskets of strawberries and to place them in his carrier, and swapping me empty pints instead. I suppose this latter situation has efficiency considerations, saving me a walk out, but as I have had them all over me and everywhere I have stood or stepped, I tend to be more perjorative about anyone's motivations in close proximity.

And a red shirted dude with a white ball cap did show up in the strawberry picking field, conveniently keeping his face obscured, and I have no idea who it was, and the person disappeared again. No vehicle, no association with anyone else, just another of those "come from nowhere" events that are getting more common of late. A similar scene was this semi-vagrant dude wearing a red helmet on a bicycle who was hanging around the warehouse door when we returned from field picking late one day. No one knew him, or said hello, and he just followed us into the building from outside on his bicycle. I even later asked someone who he was, but she didn't know.

Its getting late for a 0430h wake up time, so I am going to post this now, rather than accumulate a week's worth of postings due to above mentioned posting sabotage.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Mexican Legals

This will be my weekly format now that I am working full time and long days, not to mention the physical rigors of farm work; stooping, bending, etc. in the hot sun.

June 19, 1844h
The farm started eight Mexican legal farmworkers today, two of whom I know from last year's farmwork, different farm though. So the great continuation game begins, as I worked with Mexicans in two farms last year, and now again. Whatever the perps are looking for has yet to be understood, but rest assured it has something to do with brown colors and brown skin, and not to mention red, especially after picking strawberries all day.

And the vehicular gangstalking is also heavy on red vehicles again, often putting two together in file no less, plus a few more mobile ones passing by.

June 21, 2010
A heavy Monday, having a stayover at the First Feral Family home last night, and then setting off with my mother to do errands, then lunch out, then more errands after lunch, and then back to her place, then to the bus stop to join the city bus freakshow. This time they put on a blind person with a seeing eye dog, a light brown labrador, sitting in the next seat. But the blind fucker knew what to do, and that was to pop chocolates into their mouth, as I "happened" to have a swack of chocolate in my pack from my daughter, Father's Day and all that bullshit. Last year I didn't hear a thing from her, and this year I get the honor of a card, gift (chocolate) and a visitation.

Monday is my day off from hard farm labor, and a whole 10 hours of picking strawberries is very hard. Even if one uses knee pads and walks on one's knees instead of the crouching and back bending, "somehow" the knees still get sore and uncomfortable.

And knees are a big deal for the perps, being the source of a chi energy, and the perps have long made this known with the knee brace wearing Fuckwit gangstalkers that abound in my midst. I have been doing the farm labor thing for three years now, and the first year I used a green foam pad to put my knees on when bulb picking, and last year it was the one-strap knee pads which somehow caught and flapped about. And the third variant has been rendered uncomfortable, through no physical change to the pads, and I see they are begining to crack up.

The kneepad games went for a new round or chicanery today; the first store didn't have any, the second store would have but somehow I "forgot", and after negotiating the downtown detour with two major N-S arteries blocked by a supposed emergency, and then getting fucked in missing the street I needed to find, I get to the safety supply store and all they had was a pair of inadequate knee pads that would of got shredded within a week of strawberry picking. I didn't quite believe the store assistant when he said that is all that they had. I sense the perps like me to sense lies, as it seems there is some essential psychic difference between truth and deceit they are attempting to determine in the course of life raping me and all other TI's on the front line of this insane litany of abuse. It is interesting to note that my mother stayed in the vehicle parked behind the building for this errand, so it is very likely the perps can detect the psychic difference in me detecting truth or lies, but they wanted to to be able to do this from a further distance. Just my speculation of course, but there have been a number of other recent minor clues that they are able to detect some psychic energetics attached to human endeavors/actions/thoughts, but that isn't good enough, they want to be able to fuck the victim from further away. All that slowed down driving, extra distance and the white and yellow fire department vehicles and flashing emergency lights was likely the "warm up" event for getting fucked over the intention of wanting kneepads and getting detered by some Fuckwit abettor who didn't mind besmirching his business to look stupid over inadequate merchandise. There are hundreds of kneepad designs, and some pairs cost over $200, and all this safety store had was some cheap garbage. And of late, the assholes have been planting the notion of purchasing batcatcher's shin pads and cutting them down to size, surely a fool's errand. I would never of thought of this, so these "outside the box" notions must surely be coming in from elsewhere, especially when they border on the obsessive or absurd.

The above mentioned emergency vehicles, four firetrucks and at least two pickups, all in the Victoria Fire Department livery of yellow and white "happened" to be on their emergency run while my mother and I were dining at a local restaraunt. I cannot count the number of times they send their vehicles out to emergencies, and that includes sending one of their kind into the local supermarket, proximate to me in the lineup at the checkout, and then get called out back to the waiting firetruck parked outside, "happening" to find three parking stalls to pull into. How convenient when sending the fire Fuckwits to do grocery shopping in their large firetruck. I assume that stunt was all about the yellow and white colors of the truck, and that the Fuckwit was also still emanating these after getting out, doing his grocery shopping, and the fire truck visible outside. The running off (or plain street running) act has been seen countless times before, so nothing new there.

Later; the reason for the downtown shutdown was a gas leak apparently, the news item here.

There is a long list of perp activity of the past week I could list, should my recall be permitted to be accessed.

The assholes nearly sent me to the floor of the bus by braking hard, dithering my balance, while I had two bags in hand. This was prior to getting off, and lo, if the passengers around me didn't do their "oohs" and "ahhs" and someone even touched me in the process, or at least, that is how it felt. Funny how so many ready passengers there were, and someone even asked if I was allright. The assholes even had me grab the rail at a T junction, managing to force the palm of my hand onto the roubher surface of the screwhead in the T join fitting. I hissed a "yes", and then had to wait out the traffic light next to the dayglo construction worker dude on his cell phone next to the rear exit. No one followed me off, unlike the bus route I get to return from work, when there is at least one person who tails me off and for the next city block. I haven't seen a construction worker on a city bus for decades, and now in the past three years or so, they start "showing up". This Fuckwit even had his hardhat on for crissakes.

Its 2100h, which is close to bedtime for someone who is getting up at 0430h for a 0625h bus in the morning. Onto more farming endeavors and all the feints that go with it, along with the relentless urgency for my supposed co-workers to walk on the very ground that I walk on, or walk over immediately in front or behind me, or otherwise seed FUD to accomplish the same. Another continuing trait is to slow or speed up their berry picking so their ass is projected toward me, 24" or less. I get ahead and then catch up all to repeat this disgusting repose for the sickos. I cannot count the number of bend-overs I have had in the past eight years of gangstalking, but this mode of gangstalking is fucking sick, and I am fucking fed up of viewing these large asses in my view.

Blogging off for the week, as it seems that this weekly format is all I have time for these days, being rendered so "fatigued" by the sickos when I should be in reasonably good shape.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Strawberry Picking Blues

A week round up as I don't have much evening time with this farm worker job running 10 hours a day, and having to get up at 0430h each morning.

June 11, 2010
A day of picking strawberries, and some new crew introductions as well....

They put on a negro woman in the front seat of the van, all bodies in place when I arrived at 0650h for a 0700h job start. I get into the van behind her, and the perps made her to look like a negro male from behind; short cropped curly hair, and tall as well. It was only when I got out of the van at the strawberry filed that I was allowed to know it was a woman, and a mighty fugly one at that. She "happened" to be picking in the next row, often inviting supervisor (E. Indian woman) admonition to improve her picking abilities. At one point she indicated that I had a dirt patch on my ass, which made me wonder if she wasn't playing with a full deck. What else is to be expected with extended crouching and kneeling on the dirt between the rows of strawberries.

And plenty of siren cascades, as this field is next to a busy artery called Wilkonson Rd. for locals. No end of traffic noise as well, everyone and their Harley Davidson it seemed, all day long. The Snobirds, the national aerobatics also came out to do a flypast, the first of three over the next three days. There is a 100th anniversary of the navy celebrations taking place in this city, and no end of military attention in these parts.

And no less, the perps are putting on at least 20 buses a day going past in both directions, viewable and hearable from the strawberry field, and the kicker is that there is no bus route on that section of Wilkinson Rd. And it is the same each day no less, these buses tripping by, "Not in Service", for no reason but to emulate conditions I have come to know while living at this apartment, overlooking a bus route.

And jumpy legs and feet, especially so while reading two celebrity interviews, and in a new jerkaround, they had me mentally trasnspose the parents of the two actresses, invoking a planted "thoughts" about the parents of one actress when reading about the other. Just the usual insane mind-fuck bullshit I have come to know and loathe.

And the city bus freakshow is in full flush when coming back from the farm work at 1800h. Some 30 "passengers" (read, gangstalker freaks) on board the bus at this time of day headed for downtown Victoria is absurd. I have done similar "reverse commutes by bus in Seattle and have never seen anything like this number of passengers. I am sitting transverse on a seat next to rear doors, and this fucker comes on board, with at least a half dozen seats to chose from, decides to plonk his back up against the panel immediately in front of me. I "decide" (per mind-fuck planted thought), that this is total bullshit and get off at the next stop. When I get up to get the rear door, the Fuckwit "decided" he needed my former seat, in spite of all the others availible, and sits there even before I exited. Fucking insane, and I have never seen anything so utterly blantant about hounding me as this in recent week.

June 12, 2010
A big weeding day; at least 2,000' of strawberries in the morning, hoe-ing and plucking weeds with the crew and each in our own row. The tractor can roto-till the weeks between the rows, but leaves a 18" swath so the crop plants don't get damaged. I got called off to do a row cover rolling, where the white fabric is placed over the potato crops as a insect barrier as well as ersatz greenhouse in the field. No wonder my mother has some of this and is placing it on her crops. The sickos sapped my motivation for this entire activity, making rolling these to be an exhausting event, which it isn't. The sickos used this new opportunity to piss me off in new ways, and trapping my feet in the rolled off cloth "happened" countless times. It even trapped my boot one time, and the Asian co-worker with the $5,000 electric scooter found this hilarious.

Noise from passing traffic all day long, and it almost goes without saying, the harley-Davidson motorcycle noise is one of the sicko's favorites as they know I loathe it so much.

Anothe Snowbirds flypast, this time in a different field, and they always seem to know where I am as their major display is in the Inner Harbor at the naval base, not out in corn country.

And a major jerkaround in catching the city bus homebound. Two buses did not arrive at their scheduled time, and then three of them arrive all together.

And major vision impairments while I attempt to find a keyboard I want to order. This is part of protracting the exercise of deciding what to purchase, a full time jerkaround the perps like to engage in.

June 14, 2010
A day off, a Monday, and I spent some three hours at my perp abetting mother's place, hauling furniture out of the utility room to the back patio for later removal by the in-town brother with his van. All the furniture got its first time in the sun for at least 2 decades, have never been hauled out in a long time, though I noted some water damage on the drawer unit, and desk unit had been hacked down to two thirds of its original size, and may be an old work desk of mine long ago.

After lunch I installed three electrical outlets to replace the original house ones, now 40 years old. I had the entire house power shut off at the electrical box as the infernal mapping of the circuits isn't filled in, and lo, when replacing the one in the living room, with my mother sitting on the couch, I didn't get whacked on the head from nowhere, and complained loudly about it. And mentioned the details to my mother who put on the dumbshit act again, and me telling her four times that there is no clinical, neurological or organic condition that could account for this, so what is it? A dumbshit reply of course, then another round of explaining that the same individuals who hounded me in Seattle also were hounding me in Victoria, and so how could that happen? Another dumbshit answer, and of course I wasn't allowed to call her on playing dumb, being an ignoramous and not engaging in any meaningful discussion or research on her part, especially when two doctors tell me that I am being harassed by an external party. Another dumbshit response over what the term "party" meant in the context. And then another round of telling her that this harassment has been documented over 200 years ago and she says (still keeping the dumbshit act going), "you weren't around 200 years ago". And when I said that I never said or inferred any such thing, and detailed the "Air Loom Gang" story in one brief sentence, she dumbed out again. I haven't had a "dumbshit wall" conversation with her like this for over two years, maybe three, but it is interesting that it was conducted when the household power was shut down, and that she was ready and waiting in the very room when I got headwhacked from no conventional source. More of the same BS from the Prime Quisling, the First Feral Mother. Aka asshole of supreme proportions.

June 15, 2010
The frozen foods Fuckover; at breakfast I find that the assholes forced a "forget" on retrieving the gluten free bread from the freezer to replace the one that finished the day before. I never forget to replenish my stocks of food, and lo, if it didn't "happen" with yet more contention. I put the frozen loaf on the cutting board but the only way to find a knife purchase to split off the bread end (read, extra brown colored bread), was to put the loaf upside down on the cutting board. And lo, if the bread end didn't go flying off and into the sink and bounce around. Somehow, I "forgot" to prevent this predictable stunt.

Then a repeat Fuckover stunt at dinner, a forced "forget" in removing the frozen tortilla package from the freezer to replenish the package that was just finished. Like I said, I don't forget this stuff, and it "happens" twice in the same day. Dinner plans got messed up, and the heated olive oil got soaked up with a paper towel. This juxtaposition of extra olive oil on a paper towel seems to be a big deal for the assholes, as they pull this shit at least 4x/year, foiling my intention to make dinner after initially beginning it.

As for farm work, more potatoes and weeding. And a fake-out on lunch time, with me starting to eat it and everyone else milling around and in on the fact that it wasn't going to be lunch, but to get the potatoes washed instead. I am the "inside truck man", hosing the potatoes from the hopper truck in a metered fashion and here I was, with a partial tummy full of blueberries, the part of the lunch that I ate before being allowed to know that work was going to start, and lunch was to be later. This, combined with a forced "forget" to take a ProBar, made me very hungry, as I had eaten my lunch at the morning coffee break, and was only having blueberries for lunch. As mentioned in many past blog postings, the perps continue to hound me over what I eat, and what color it is, and having me eat berries for lunch alone, is a huge deal for the assholes. Somehow, I survived the day with a partial food intake.

June 16,2010 
And my new white bucket hat seemed to bring on lots of co-worker gangstalk attention. The sun came on at noon, so I wore it then. It was in my pack all day yesterday but there wasn't enough sun to warrant wearing it. No one remarked on the new hat, but it seemed to be the object of a cluster fuck, in the usual rotational way, of one person chaning duties with the next in some kind of roll call. Or is it "role call"?

Potato picking all day, with a pre-lunch fake-out of going to do weeding, which then caused me to hang up my rainpaints to dry at the cooler unit fan breeze at lunch, (potato washing is wet work). I though this was going to be the last of potato washing, as I leave them in this location when I go at the end of the day. And lo, if I wasn't faked out and then had to retrieve them late in the afternoon, at about 1600h for a second potato washing cycle.

And plastic bag hell again at the supermarket, this time two plastic bags from two different rolls in the produce department couldn't be opened as the sides would not separate. (And yes, I was attempting this at the correct end of the bag). This fucking stunt stopped me from purchasing kiwi fruit, as there was no prebagged kiwi fruit either. So.. it is back to blueberries again, in advance of picking them locally in my farm worker job/toil I do for the assholes. All that soil contact, weeding, root contact and pulling, is just too exciting for the assholes it seems.

The city bus freakshow was highly populated again (about 30 passengers), 1730h into downtown, reverse to the normal commute, and standing room at times. I got at least one tattoo act to avoid, and there was another standing on the curb when the bus was travelling. The assholes cannot get enough of me seeing this bullshit.

More cashier tattoos at the local supermarket; another female, though without the full arm, and only on the inside of her wrist. If I don't like the sight of tattoos, then why in the fuck am I pursued by this bullshit all the time?

Paypal fuckery; after getting spam in the name of Paypal for over 5 years, I was finally forced to look up using it again, as the shopping carts of two websites indicated that I have an account, and would I like to use it? Well, not really, as charge cards have worked perfectly fine for over 12 years of web shopping, so why do I need Paypal? Not much choice in that, as the page tells me I have an account, and lo, if the password doesn't work. I sent Paypal a note to say that I forget the password, and they are to reply to reset it. No email answer. Two days later I am faced with the same dilemma, and avoid using Paypal. I send another reminder I did not recieve a Paypal password reset and they say they did. And still no answer, and I did check my Spam inbox too, and no Paypal response. Obviously, someone has some big plans all over me using Paypal, and of course, by way of the most fraught route possible. An new sales tax is coming in, so I am ordering stuff to beat the implementation deadline of July 01.

As a postscipt to the Paypal obstruction, I go to the website again and attempt online support service, and lo, if the essential button to initiate the service is missing, and still no go on dealing with this fuckery.

June 17, 2010
I see that Blogspot got sabotaged and some of this posting disappeared.

A day of toil, like most, on the farm laboring front. First potatoes, then picking strawberries, and then potatoes again. They like to have me cycling between the two. The potatoes is always followed by going to the warehouse and washing them. I get to go inside the hopper of the potato truck and hose the potatoes in a measured amount so they drop onto the conveyor at the base of the hopper in a consistent fashion that doesn't cause problems for the downstream potato washing and packaging. Yet again, I get to set the pace of a production conveyor process, this time potatoes. Regular readers will recall that I did the same for daffodil bulbs for the past two years, as well at the "toil of soil", plucking them from the ground after the tractor has passed over to lift them up with its towed implement. Eight Mexicans arrive tomorrow to fill out the crew. This too is a repeat of the past two years of farming; last years berry picking and this year's daffodil flower picking were truncated due to an influx of Mexicans. And I saw one on the bus (rarer than negroes here), so I assume the sickos are getting me "ready" by having an advance gangstalking, which is what they do more of late.

June 18, 2010
A "lucky" respite from the all too short evenings, as I finished at 1630h today, and got a ride from a co-worker to downtown instead of the city bus freakshow. Though, the sickos are toning it down now, only 15 passengers homebound last night. A little more time tonight, and to get this blog posting written up and posted.

On the outbound city bus trip at 0615h I get a few freakish or odd acts. The Cheersing negro was onboard again, just "happening" to know the odd couple behind me this bus trip, as the assholes had the rear bench seat plugged  up with loafing dudes this time. Normally, they let me sit in the rear bench seat, but today, they wanted the "odd couple" siting behind me. It is the weirdest set up; she exits from the apartment building across the street (I swear there is no one living in this 17 story tower), walks past me waiting for the bus and to the next bus stop which she boards with a strange large dude in sunglasses. Like WTF? Why doesn't she get on at the bus toip closest to her apparent residence and meet the dude on the bus when he boards? Or, if there is a romantic angle to it, why aren't they together at the same place? Said woman also knows the lounging dude that waits with me at the bus stop, both apparently from the same building. Said dude also likes to suck on his cigarettes and his pals make sure the smoke goes up my nose before I remove myself and stand next to the curb instead of leaning on the wall.

A Fuckwit on the city bus tailed me into the ATM lobby at the bank where I got off the bus today. This Fuckwit is a semi-regular in a bald head and brown shorts and normally walks E. after getting off the bus. And it "so happens", the asshole tails me W. bound and into the TD bank ATM lobby where someone had pulled out the second machine, so the asshole had an excuse to loiter behind my back for the entire time of the transaction, which was augmented with extra fumbling imposition to get the check, detach it from the statement and the rest of the ATM deposit rigamarole. As mentioned many times, any and all financial transactions I make from coin machine to banking gets gangstalked, this time more blatant than usual.

Other miscellaneous stuff from the world of farm work. My co-workers like to hang around me especially when:

changing boots and getting into/otu of raingear before or after potato washing,
putting on my Ombrelle sunblock,
assembling cardboard boxes for potato packing,
putting on or taking off of clothes; either for too hot or cold,
egressing into/out of buildings,
putting on gloves, especially the nitrile ones used for strawberry picking.

Other games have been the sickos inundating me with plasma spots and splashes, and also vision attacks with a stinging sensation, as if the sunblock solution is dripping into my eyes, which it isn't as I don't put any on my forehead in the first place.

Now to get this posted, and ponder if anyone was anxiously waiting for this posting. This more infrequent posting, once per week, will likely be the norm for the next six months or so while I put on the work hours so I can get unemployment benefits later this year. And in all likelihood, I will pass from officially being "disabled" to the abled workforce. I am expected to be relieved of my "disability" any day now, as they run last year's income statements through their system as an excuse to invoke another administrative jerkaround.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Hound Dog Turban

A brutal abusive Fuckover since I got back from farm work at 1830h. At least 30 rage-fications, in full voice, and over the dumbest shit; they jabbed me in the fingertip when I turned the light on as one example. All this telekinetic and mindfuck abuse is coordinated with giving me a sore back and a sore left hip. The assholes haven't let up on this "back problem" bullshit, and seem to be determined to screw me hard on this one. Last year, I had no "back problem" for similar work, and now it has erutped today.

And again, the one Punjabi farmworker who makes a point at staring at me sometimes, and otherwise creeping me out, was next to me most of the time when potatoe picking. I would move up the row, and he would do the same within 5 seconds or less. On and on this went along this row of plowed potatoes, some 400' or so, each of working one side of the same row. And it started out that I had someone else, and then they fade out and the Hound Dog Turban came in as the real gangstalker for the day, faking me out to think I wasn't going to have this Fucker on my ass. No such luck. He must of moved next to me at least 100 times or so, and somehow it worked out that I could never get ahead of him much as more potatoes "showed up" for me to pick and of course, delay my move to get further ahead.

A 10 hour work day today, and another one tomorrow, the third in a row. There were two new dudes introduced onto the crew, one with a near solid forearm of tattoos, just to bring yet more of the Unfavored into my face. He wasn't the only tattoo sight today, but his arm was plenty disgusting to say the least. The tattoo presentation bullshit has been amped up of late, as has most of the usual fuckery, as it seems the first days of a regular job or course work/travel are a big time to fuck the victim. And about 40 people on the bus heading into downtown at 1800h, which is totally absurd for this town at this time of day. The guitar stalker was already in place, and no instrument case as seems to be the trend for this particular sicko prop.

An evening of just about nonstop rage tonight; jabbing me, fake touches, fake noise, telekinetic fuckery, and even a teleporting chad that reaches new lows of utter perp stupidity. At least 100 rage-fication provocations tonight, and all in full scream mode, of a voice volume I didn't know I had.

A transparent poly plastic chad of 1/2" "showed up" by itself on the floor mat when I got back in. (No possible source from the materials I have on hand). Later in the evening I attempted to pick it up but not seeing it in my grasp I let it go and it fell from my fingers onto the mat again. I picked it up again, and I still didn't see it in my fingers, but to prevent another jerkaround, I took the risk that it was in my fingers but not visible (or, mind-fucked to believe this) and took my pinched fingers to the garbage can 6' away and releaed them. No chad fell from them, and for about four seconds that seemed to be the end of it. Then I looked again, and the plastic chad was scooting laterally in a trajectory that wasn't conventionally possible as it was below the rim of the garbage can, and here it was just sliding over some paper in the garbage. This was a delayed "causal" fuckery event it seemed, and just one more example as to how fucking insane the perps have gone.

June 09, 2010
A 10 hour day in the potato fields, and washing them on the conveyor system they have set up. Much the same deal as the daffodil bulb picking and sorting of 2008 and 2009, just a different plant and biological form, a tuber instead of a bulb.

Less hound dogging me today, though they nearly all took turns to get near me and then slowly move away. Hound Dog Turban did encircle me once for no work related reason, and then asked a stupid question as to where to start when he was standing on the very potatoes he needed to pick. Then a big grin on his face for no fucking reason when there was no humor in the situation, and the sickos let me have a pithy rejoinder like "you didn't see them in front of you?". And of course, with his apparent lack of English understanding, one can get away with narky asides, but only if the mind-fuck assholes allow it. Usually, I get fucked to come out the worst of any verbal exchange or disagreement. Having a Fuckwit standing in close proximity with a senseless grin on his face is another reason his Fucker gives me the heebee-jeebees. I have see plenty weirds of late, and I don't need one next to me in the middle of 15 acres of potato rows. The sickos tell me that this is my real life brother in morph-over. Could be, though he is taller, darker (of course), has grey hair and walks real bowlegged to be him. But who knows, as the perps have infinite resources and preparation time for all their stunts and dodges. It is interesting that Hound Dog Turban doesn't get a commute ride with the rest of the Punjabis, who seem mostly to be of one family. I haven't quite figured out the deal, but there is a grandfather, daughter, and granddaughter, and the other two I am not sure if they are related, but it seems not.

But some of the Punjabis were all over me when I was making up cardboard boxes with the rest of them. The Senior Turban managed to walk through my work space when I was momentarily vacated wtih a stack of cardboard in flat form on his head. And where have we seen that act before? Like the next block, a Fuckwit walking on the sidewalk with a stack of cardboard on his head in 2008. The deal was the washing conveyor system is gerry-rigged, and can shut down unexpectedly, and also needs repairs before starting. This is the ideal situation as the assholes can have me outside with the expectation to begin (at my station or milling around), and lo, if we aren't sent inside to make up boxes from their flat form. Like I have mentioned many times, the sickos have an extreme obsession with the color brown, which includes those substances inside us, and of course, brown skin. Not my problem, and not my choice to be involved in "brown research". And the perps also tell me that their brown color obsession also related to crude oil and the various environmental spillings and disasters that unfold, including the one playing out in the Gulf of Mexico. No wonder the BP head brass hat looks so disinterested. And to extend the perp's interest in the color brown, and their seeming interest in transferable color energetics, it means that all petroleum products have "brown energies", even if as one example, gasoline has a blue-ish color to it. And of course, many petroleum products are dyed (transmission oil, aviation fuel etc.), and therefore would have both brown and the dye color energies at the same time, as well as that from the tanks, pipes and metals they passed through in the course of manufacturing. No wonder the assholes putting me into a screaming rage-ification state though their provocations and their mind-fuck games each breakfast when I place peanut butter and jam on my one piece of bread. They did finish a run of coconut butter and red jam for the prior three months, so it would seem they wanted to get back to the more difficult combination of red and brown.

And speaking of which, my BV Farm colleagues are also helping out. The one Asian has a two tone brown jacket he likes me to see, and in combination with another disgusting pair of brown pants, (three browns), his skin tone makes it four different browns coming at me from this one person/gangstalker. And for the last two work days, why, he had his jacket off and had a scarlet red shirt on. Pass the jam asshole, and back off on the red shirt bullshit.

Two dudes showed up yesterday as new pickers; one had this horendous blue tattoo all over his left arm, truly disgusting as it was the main visual feature. And I cannot count how many times my attention "happened" to wander and see it, even if he wasn't a close-in gangstalker for the most part.

Another one of those "come straight at me" fuckers again when waiting for the city bus. He was jaywalking across Quadra and McKenzie, a 6x6 lanes crossing intersection and incredibly busy. He was in an orange coveralls outfit with some dayglo stripes on it, and when his moment comes to cross the street he comes barrelling straight at me and diverts some 12'. And lo, if some very fugly neck tattoos didn't come into view.

Then a rare laundry confliction, with someone's laundry sitting in the washing machine, clean. I remove it to the dryer top, and just when I am about the launch my load with the coin machine (financial transaction here), a shirtless brownish dude didn't show up in the all too familiar moment, and lo, if the fucker didn't have tattoos on him too. If I fucking hate the sight of tattoos, why is there this collosal gangstalking show orchestrated over showing me these very disfigurations. Why don't they go fuck the Yakuzi who have tattoos all over them?

June 10, 2010
Another day of toiling in the fields of potatoes and picking them up with the rest of the crew doing their proximal incursions. Hound Dog Turban was one row, or 8' away at a minimum today, relieving of this utter bullshit in my face all the time. Instead, a few "pursuits" by other male E. Indian coworkers, and a Tamil guy in long hair showed up today, very brown with a squat negro like nose. I suppose the assholes are exposing me to negro facial features as seen on other ethnic groups.

The usual shit of the supposed crew; clustering around me when taking off or putting on different footwear and raingear as the conveyor washing can get wet. Then the weather games continued, faking me out into taking my raingear and gumboots from the warehouse to the potato fields and then not needing them and bringing them back to put away as the weather was so nice at lunch. And lo, if it wasn't raining again for the last 30 minutes of potatoe picking, soaking me without raingear.

And the fresh ploughed rows of potatoes readied for picking is also a big perp attraction; they cannot get enough of the gangstalkers around me each time I start a just-ploughed row, often within 10 seconds or so. The soil is a deeper black as it hasn't dried out any, which it will do within 20 minutes or so, becoming greyer.

Other bullshit today was having the helicopter treatment; a Sea King with some red plasmic emanations came to do some pass-bys ahead of the Snowbirds, the Canadian aerobatic team overhead doing one full smoke trail starburst overhead. That was the highlights, but there is the continuing drone of regular float plant aircraft, now rerouted to fly overhead of where I now work, different from last year. And at least four SAC bomber noise overflights as well. They know where to find me.

And an allstar gangstalk at the bus stop when headed home. Some 15 Fuckwits arrived around me within five minutes, and some creeping close. Normally the bus comes every 10 minutes, but "somehow" two buses didn't come, and just when I was ready to try another route, why, there are three same-route buses coming together. A whole 25 minutes of waiting for the bus when it should of been 5 minutes, and this fucking crowd of gangstalkers around me, which was extended to 25 minutes of waiting, and then this triple bus journey into town. Freakshow highlights were the double stand up bass in its black cover, various thuggy dudes as the least likeliest to take the bus anytime,  and four strong consort to lead and follow my exact route off the bus to the next block before going into my apartment. The next time I predict, at least one gangstalker following me from bus, bus stop, street and into this building and in the same elevator.

I better get this published now, as if I don't, it will sit for another whole day. As you can tell, my availible blogging time is highly constrained when working 10 hours a day, and the city bus commute bullshit.

Monday, June 07, 2010

Crotch Potato

A very busy two days of farm work, and a stayover at the First Feral Family home last night, delivering me to the farm work site this morning at 0700h. All kinds of perp disruption to established habits have transpired, and likely for habits to be if this farming gig takes me to November as suggested by the management. It is not the farm of the last two years, but one much closer into town and less commute time. But lots of hours, some getting 60/week according to one of the management staff.

June 05 was picking strawberries adjacent to a busy road, June 06 was picking potatoes with some rain interuptions, and June 07, today, was a full on day of picking potatoes, and then washing them on the conveyor line, right to the boxed state, ready for shipping. And I got to work on the "conveyor line" in the box of the hopper truck with sloped sides and a plywood covered conveyor in the bottom. It was my job to control the feed rate so the conveyor motor didn't need to be on/off-ed, and I did that by straddling the sides of the hopper truck bin, and controlling how fast the tumbling potatoes landed onto the conveyor. Largely accomplished by blocking them with my feet (in gumboots), and with a hose to direct them down if needed. I also pulled the plywood covers off the conveyor to reveal more of it as the pile was diminishing further back toward the front of the hopper box. So... every potatoe shipped for the past two days, tonnes of them, had passed under me as I straddled the hopper box as it was the only way to be able to stand up, as the potatoes covered the plywood conveyor hatches for the most part. Quite the juxtaposition of events and objects to say the least, not to mention all the water being sprayed at high pressure to douse the potatoes and direct them down the conveyor. Everything was food-safe and all that, save the odd potatoe I stepped on, (actually, my foot was lifted up unbidden by me and came down on a spud), which would of been picked out of the line further along, as they have a qualty person, after the spud shower stage to pick out splits, funky ones, soft ones and any that are disfigured or ugly. Rest assured, any of the few spuds that ended up under my boot were not passed onto the food chain.

And as part of that entire gig, I was picking the potatoes in the field with the crew of eight or so, picking them up by hand as these are the small new potatoes and too small for the automated equipment apparently. Soo... my colleagues were OK folk, Punjabis mostly, and most from one family, with one or two that aren't, and then one Asian. A large Caucasian woman joined the crew today, about two hours into the work day, and I did get to speak English today, save the 20 y.o. Punjabi girl who is fluent in both languages. BUT the males especially, made me very claustrophobic despite being in some 50 acres of fields, and they kept invading my personal space, and arranging their asses to be pointintoward me some 70% of the picking time. One of the seeming-senior Punjabis was doing his wander all over act, picking my row ahead of me, and then not, and fussing over me when my plastic 5 gal. bucket was filled, or even partially filled with just a few. He was doing the "helpful" work, keeping us pickers going without intervening stops to take the full bucket to the nearby bin where we dumped all the potatoes, once picked. Helpful sort of; he would take my bucket without notice (sort of OK, as I could observe it), sometimes bring it back, or swap me for an empty one, or sometimes do both. No rhyme or reason, and as well, picking in my row where he specifically wanted me to pick. The ass-planting bullshit got too extreme at times, and so I went ahead and worked there, and usually, withing 10 seconds, they had a picker beside me, sometimes doing ass-planting again. I don't want anyone's ass closer than 18" of my face in any public or worksite experience, so why in the fuck is this insane ass-planting cluster fucking bullshit going on? Like I say, they cannot ever get enough ass-plantings in my face, and last years berry picking also brought similar high rudeness, this being the freaking native Indians.

Speaking of which, the two days ago first day of farm work, and a mighty sunny one at that, came with a overpopulated freak show on the city bus, this at 1600h on a Sunday for crissakes. And one native Indian large gutted and long haired male with his skanky babe, the candidates for the Least-Likely-To-Be-Travelling-On-a-City-Bus award, were on the back bench 4' away. Then about 3/4 into the bus ride, he makes a beeline for me, but isn't looking at me, and looks at the window and raps on it, making it look as if he saw someone he knew. Like WTF; he wouldn't of been able to see anyone from where he was, and he invades my personal space, scaring the living shit out of me having this Fuckwit barreling at me, and he expects to live the tale. Well, when working with the assholes, to a script, they can have these invasions "happen" without consequence to the perpetrator. In a rough town, without the mind-fucck script going, he would of had a knife up his nose. It is fucking insane I cannot be permitted to be left alone in public, and having these grevious incursions on my personal space. Only the day before, someone waiting at the daytime bus stop, with no prior history with the police, minding his own business, was murdered in broad daylight. There isn't a fucking gnat fart in this sick town that isn't arranged, so I am assuming the hapless victim was fucked over by the Fourth Reich. This incident, "happened" a day before I resumed my city bus trips, so I cannot say it was truly coordinated with the abuse they heap on me (including blood samples about 5x/week), but it bears thinking about. And the victim was E. Indian, and lo, if I didn't start working with an E. Indian crew the next day. And yesterday, this E. Indian, arrives with my ex's older daughter, and no one introduced him, or explained why he was there. And he does his homework while there for crissakes. Stupider and stupider. And I got noise stalked and rage-ified with insane degrees of typo sabotage while this was typed up.

An early night as I have to take a hot bath to relax my stiff muscles and remove the excuses for making me so stiff.

Other bullshit was yesterday, when I had to pack for work, but also a First Feral Family (FFF) stayover, and lo, I didn't "forget" all my usual toiletries and face cloth I take there every Sunday. So.. last night, no teeth cleaning, same this morning, no Deep Clean for the eveningtime greasy face, and no shaving this morning, and no shower which includes no shampoo or conditioner. All very important events for the remote energetics evaluation and experimentation crowd, the gutless wonders of the TI abuse. In other words, I wasn't permitted to use the plastic packaged products which seem to be the bane for the sickos, and they had me in relatively "raw form" this morning for a 0700h work start and a 1715 finish after two cycles of potato picking and washing, per above.

Anyhow, I will get this done now, call it a day, for another early start.

no shave, shower, etc

Saturday, June 05, 2010

Did My Email Get Scammed?

 Did I get scammed and get email sent out under my name, and detailing a laptop that I purchased, and promoting it? If this has happened, don't open up the email as it is a viral attack on my PC. I got a call from someone saying they got an email from me today about a laptop promotion. This has nothing to do with me; I never bought a laptop, and don't promote any commercial enterprise.

Or could it be one of those jerkarounds, having me suspect it is the assholes, and articulating this on the phone to said (caveat) friend.

And of course it is the assholes, but at this juncture, I don't know how big this is or how long it will run. Don't open any email from me if it promotes a laptop. I don't own one, and haven't had anything to do with one.


First day back from real work, picking strawberries all day, and I don't suppose it was any coincidence when a large woman sat beside me respelendent in her deep strawberry red coat. Then one of my seat neighbors tailed me off the bus for two blocks, somehow dithering and then later catching up. And of course I wasn't allowed to walk at my usual breakneck speed as I am "tired" and "cramped" from the field work. Like hell I am, and I fucking resent any attack on my person that reduces any capability of mine, or any knowledge that I may have.

A busy and hot day in the full sun picking strawberries, not my favorite as they take so much work to aquat down and find the berries, and then evaluate them carefully for bug holes. A more laid back operation, which suits me fine after last year, when they were so particular, and then ended up calling me "picky" because I learned it all from them. A bullshit game in all likelihood. And all day long, road traffic noise, and in particular, loud motorcycles and loud mufflers, just what I get here at this place by way of projected noise games.

And again, I was among the Punjabi pickers, who would get quite excited and feverishly talking whenever I was between them in the rows. The sickos like me to hear voice, but not understand the language, and no doubt their brown skin played into the perps' plans. And again, like last year, I cannot figure out what they are doing in choosing their rows as they don't seem to be completing them. The jist of it is that they needed to keep close to me immediately after lunch (eating brown colored tortillas), and after the first row, some 30 minutes later, they needed to be at least 200' away, halfway back. Similar oddities in the pickers' behaviors were noted last year.

And like 2008, 2009, and now 2010, I jerked around in applying sunscreen when I wanted. I usually apply it at 1000h so I don't get burned before lunch, but "somehow" I forgot again. Fucking bullshit, and this seems to play into the perps' imperative over exposure to sunlight, on skin or clothes, and their need to be all over me anytime I put it on. Not my problem, so why am I involved in this esoteric nonconsensual human experimentation?

I will be slinging potatoes tomorrow, so that will be some relief from fruit picking.

Lots of other stuff to report on, but I need to get to bed and get to sleep, as work will start an hour earlier tomorrow.

Friday, June 04, 2010

Mid Day Drive Outing

Back from an outing where I went to the First Feral Family (FFF) home to borrow the vehicle to get two items at two problematic bussing locations, both of which I ended up packing back with me on the bus in a light yellow-brown shopping bag acquired at the FFF home, after the white and red terry towel had been removed from it. Strangely, my perp abetting mother did not have any other plastic bags, and regular readers will know how beserk the perps are over any exposures (visual or touch) to plastics. They can't get enough, and I doubt that all the irrigation pipe bearing vehicles in town wouldn't be enough if paraded in a circle around me. Having kids jump up and down in all the Ikea ball filled rooms still isn't enough of their bullshit.

Then a stop at the LD store after I got off the bus and negotiated the dude clusters in mid sidewalk on the way there. And a total gangstalk scene in the LD store; at least three wheelchair acts, one being especially low to the ground and I didn't want to look any further to see what that was all about. The Fuckwit parading around me twice as I had to wait longer for a checkout as there was a sudden flush of "customers" ahead of me, aka gangstalking Fuckwits. And in keeping with the colors of the arranged vehicles, a big woman in a deep red top arrived behind me at the checkout. Red colors are playing big, and they even arranged four same red vehicles in file in front of the bus stop before it came. A whole lot of greyscale colors as well; two days ago they put on 25 greyscale colored (silver-grey, white, mid-grey and black) vehicles with only one red colored vehicle embedded in the entire cluster. Much the same today, though the assholes are putting in more light tan metallic brown vehicles, and even "daring" to put two side by side. Don't ask me why they need to slowly and progressively introduce me to brown, red, yellow vehicle colors in such an incremental fashion, but they do, and have done consistently since this insane abusive depravity began in 04-2002.

That one of the above items was pulled from a brown cardboard box with green foam chips in it was also likely to have been a big deal for the sickos, as even color association is important to them.

A haircut earlier at 1000h, and there is nothing they like better than to have a gangstalker scene afterwards. The stylist didn't have his fugly red shoes on today thankfully, as I find them very distracting for whatever reason, usually meaning perp directed attentional gaze control. A halfwit was also at the bus stop, plus the usual rabble going by, and then the bus eventually came after the red colored vehicle show passed by. And lo, if the only availible seat was in the back row, middle, and my feet ended up on a yellow painted hatch with some embedded gritty compound. (Not too different than the plethora of skateboarders and the grip compound on their boards. And not too different than the sandpaper bearing gangstalker two days ago.)

I was sitting between two women on the bus, one at each end of the full width back street seat, and they were each suceeded by two dudes in front of me who were strangely compelled to do their seat changing games after each of them departed. One of the said dudes, "happened" to be getting off at the same bus stop and tailing me for at least half of the walk to the FFF home.The public seat changing behavior has been a recent eruption on the city bus freakshow, the present record held by a broad brim hatted Fuckwit who moved four times in one trip that was only half the length of my journey.

When I approached the FFF home, there was a red pickup truck in the driveway, this being the furnace repairman doing his annual inspections. I suppose that is reasonably legit, and free of conspiratorial inference. Once I backed past the vehicle, and travelled to the first intersection, why, there were five red vehicles parked just before it, and another once I made my turn. And then off to the races with the big vehicular gangstalking, just me in the vehicle this time, joined by my posse of color selected vehicles, one being a large red cabbed dump truck immediately behind me. The sickos were prepared with road digging, road constrictions and the inevitable boom trucks doing work, or a facsimile thereof, on the overhead lines or else in the manholes in the road. Which makes me wonder if they don't post a Fuckwit below the road I am driving, under the manhole, getting access from the roadside.

Then I drove to an auto parts store to get what I hope is a decent birthday gift for my daughter in two day's time, as it will be her 20th birthday tomorrow. The sickos have me cranked up about getting car safety goods for her vehicle, so I will have to comply with that for now, as the FUD has come over me as to its suitability.

Then onto Purolater with my vehicular gangstalking consort, plus the pre-arranged cluster fuck in the parking lot outside the office. Then my "talking to himself" (headset at his ear) B and W with tie dude was on top of me when I exited the vehicle, and lo, if he wasn't headed to the same place I was. And when I got in, why, a major tubby dude was doing his hand waving while talking to the babe at the counter, making out that he was a driver and needed to talk to the dude who was my tail in the parking lot. He went outside so they could have one of the perp trademark on-street conversations, posted outside the windows of the office I was in. That was all over in a few minutes, and they were still there while I had a brown box in hand, and lo, if the assholes didn't send me to the wrong vehicle, as if I didn't know. I don't make those kind of mistakes ever, and that bullshit started about 2004 or so when they seemed to be able to dick with my direction finding and relocating skills. And we all know how beserk the perps are over anything brown colored, especially if I touch it.

The post-dinner loud mufflered vehicle noises are upon me, likely to correlate with the identical noises before dinner. A surge of motorcycles and hot rod noises have erupted and seem to be the present trend in noisestalking. That, and the absurd Lexus sports car that sounds like a cow; at least a dozen of them in a day, up from none three months ago.

Before dinner, two hours of cleaning up the links on the TI Consolidated Link List, with some mysteries still left in place. The J K Harms site comes up on Google, but I cannot get to it. Which pisses me off as it has some of the most readable content and accurately predicts perp behavior and harassment patterns, especially for color combinations. And I see that video of the intense number of gangstalkers as originally on CATCH Canada is not to be found online. It is one of the most effective videos on gangstalking has suddenly taken a powder, and even makes a self-referential link that is broken. Read perp take down, or else a "just for me" take down, not unlike what seems to be currently happening for the J K Harms links; the link is broken but Google still has it as there, and no forwarding address is supplied. Go figure, and maybe it is really down, which would be a shame. Link by link, taking out the best ones on extra-conventional abuse and harassment perhaps? Let me know if you can get to either the CATCH Canada video taken by Norma Lawrence or the J K Harms site,

City bus freakshow highlights today; the inbound trip was arranged to have me sit near the front, as the back was full up. They seem to populate the bus to have only one availible seat. And so I got a good look at the weirds coming on board, close up. The Most Disgusting Award goes to the very fat and short man sitting in profile, as an incentive to look outside more and avoid this grotesque sight. In the last two bus stops they added a faux vagrant whacko, glowering at every one, and sitting between me and the above mentioned fat Fuckwit.

Other nonsense on the city bus, in both directions, was the driver going slow, just trolling along and perhaps that was the traffic speed for everyone ahead of him, but it was different from the sometime breakneck speeds they often go at.

More voices from the hallway and somehow getting through my earmuffs. I get at least four like events in day now, up from none some two months ago. The content varies, that is, tonal content as I cannot make out the words. Earlier today, they put on a mental defect speaking in the typical labored manner. Presumably, they know about my once arranged interactions with this kind of person, as they also arranged a Down's Syndrome gangstalker at the outbound bus stop today, also planting herself nearby, and escalating the activity when the bus travelled corners or bends. They might look the part, but they all know how to gangstalk. Which begs the larger question; are they for real or are they made up to look that way? One can never be sure about what the fuckers are up to, as they have so many choices in how to set up their acts. Chances are they want to decrease the neural activity of those around me as a way to pick up whatever neural activity of mine.

Off to do berry picking tomorrow, and hence these postings will not be so frequent or lengthy. Maybe this gig will go for two months or so, or maybe longer. Regular readers will recall that they took me down after six weeks of berry picking last year, making me very tired, and then fucking me out of setting the alarm in the morning, something that hadn't happened before or since. Other games were going on too, one being letting the berries ripen on the vine and not pick them. No doubt another big event/jerkaround/experimentation project has been cooked up, and this time the farm is closer into town, and hopefully the bus service won't be that inbound zoo that it was in the afternoons.

And I see the assholes fucked me out of getting a birthday card tonight, for my daughter who turns 20. These kind of jerkarounds just piss me off; so trivial and gratuitous as I see it.

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Music Noise Start Up

Some muffled music noise is getting through my earmuffs, so I took them off. They know what I hear, and ensure the same volume level of the annoynace persists, earmuffs on or off.

The yoga gangstalk gauntlet today; the legions of shiftless Fuckwits posted on the street, with more of the males loitering about. And seven vagrant cluster on the sidewalk, splitting before I got to them, one group sitting down, and the others leading ahead of me as I went under the tree crowns projecting over the sidewalk. When hiking the assholes did the same thing; typically a gangstalker cluster on the trail immediately before or after a heavily treed portion. And here we are, over four years later, hounding my ass over the same circumstances.

And a flush of dudes (six) outside the doors of this apartment building when I went to the bank at 0900h, plus one convering me in the elevator from this floor and leading ahead out to the waiting dude cluster. And lo, when I went to yoga at 1100h, why, a dude cluster in the lobby this time, and many of the same loafing Fuckwits from the first group. I don't get it; why can't these assholes come out of the closet.

And lo, if I didn't get a call to go berry picking for two days from now. Back to that bullshit again after last summer's jerkarounds, making me late, tired and otherwise unable to do the job. And it is strawberry picking, the worst job there is for all the crouching and stooping over.

A round of real book reading again, with plenty of outside noise like motorycycles and hotrods that got through my earmuffs. I read more of A Nation Betrayed by Carol Rutz (interview) and her experiences and tortures as a child part of the MKULTRA nonconsenual experimentations. One section mentions Dr. Mengle of concentration camp abuses infamy, and how a number of victims recall him and under what alias at the time. One quoted victim mentioned an incident when she was shackled and held down while he raped her as a child, and then later taunted her about moving away, but that she couldn't as she was shackled. Then, Dr. Mengle snapped his fingers and the shackles were off, playing another mind-fuck game. Sooo.... that telekinetic extra-conventional application of remotely applied technologies then ties my harassors, who apply similar  telekinetic games in my circumstances, to me and my tormentors. That is to say, Dr. Mengle was doing this abuse and killing in the name of science for the same assholes who can apply telekinetic events to any location and any circumstance. And it also explains why Dr. Mengle got tipped off before capture, and why he was let go by the US forces shortly after WWII. He was never captured, and lived to old age, wreaking his abusive mayhem in the 1950's and 1960's in the USA and Canada in clinical circumstances.

Yet another survivor, “Dr. Black somehow attached chains to my wrists and ankle. He inserted the object into me ‘down there’ from behind. When the charge hits the nervous system, everything hurts and contracts in a hellish fashion. I did start saying aloud over and over again, ‘I’m sorry’ (for what, it didn’t matter) and ‘I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I promise….’ He may have hypnotized me, because his eyes got darker as I looked up at them, and I heard his left fingers snap and the shackles were gone. I thought he was a magician. That made him seem all the more powerful to me. After that, he told me that only with him would I be safe. I understood that if I stayed loyal to him, I would not be hurt again. The doctor told dad the he, the doctor, and others worked on each person until they were ready to do whatever they were told. He said the final test had been for friends and close relatives of the prisoners to be brought there. The prisoners were then ordered to attack their loved ones and kill them. He also talked about breeding. Dad was considered 'closer' to perfection because he had the blond hair and gray-blue eyes and was in excellent physical condition." P. 87 - 89 

And I had given up on the massacre events in the news and how they have some consistency with what the perps do, and expediting their covert research agenda due to blood having magnetic qualities, and that the perps like to have a blood to direct environment interaction by forcing bleeds from nowhere on me. And also, that the perps seem to get extra research mileage from this, as well as the various neural states of a person dying, not to mention their state of duress. And the latest massacre in the UK is very interesting as it was in Cumbria, and some of the victims were workers at the nuclear energy research plant there, Sellafield. As far as I could tell, the Sellafield workers were retired, but it does add a new dimension into it, as their organs and blood may have been mildly irradiated with ionizing radiation, and it may have slightly different properties. Anyhow, I won't make a big deal of it, but I am not alone among the TI community in suspecting that the timing and circumstances of these massacres just might be arranged by another party whose mind-fuck games I have come to know first hand, and having seen them improve their abilities since they first went overt/beserk on me in 04-2002.

The simple fact is that if the perps can send me to the wrong cupboard for items I use every day, or mess up the sequence of my shaving routine that I have done for over 40 years, they can grind someone down to take actions that are totally out of character and make them seem legitimate grievances to the deemed perpetrator's thinking/invasive mind technologies application. And believe it or not, ongoing wars in Iraq and Afganistana aren't enough, never mind the historical depredations of armed conflict.

A new urgency to getting some things done as I will be berry picking with only one day off tomorrow. Last year's berry picking was sabotaged my making me feel tired, and then they also kept fucking me out of setting the alarm for the moring when it had never happened before, or since. So... what are they going to do this year, and will it be any different than last year? Have me do berry picking with on/off sabotage to get me kicked off the job, and then shunt me over to do daffodil bulb picking for July and August, with a hopeful extension to November like last year? In the latter job, they had me berry picking from crates at waist height (very convenient and much appreciated), and that the berries were in a greenhouse. It seemed to be a big deal for the assholes as to what I picked where under what field conditions and what time of day, not to mention the helicopter coverage that seemed to be part of the show.

Enough of this, and I know I "forgot" some more perp games today, having gone out three times, but that would be another one of those "happenings".

More shenanigans that I now recall. A phone call from Purolater, at the instant I was to sit on the bed, and catching me just before going to yoga, with the implied notion (likely planted), that I had better answer it as it could be a call about cancellation of yoga, in keeping with the wretched idiot show/chaos of past "notificiations". No, it was Purolater with impeccable timing, as the perps have put me through this almost-seated get-up game before, not to mention the odd shill doing the same thing. Purolater says I have a parcel at their place, as they attempted delivery, but didn't leave a notice on the door. I later check to see if they left a notice on my mailbox, but no. In other words, they left no notice anywhere, and didn't appear to call even, and they pull this stunt. And no less, I get the wrong tracking number from Newegg, so I cannot track the parcel either. I sent Newegg an email earlier, and they didn't reply to this nonexistent tracking number. All this insane dicking around and for what?

Then Powells books fucked up my wish list, wiping it out somehow. I had at least 200 books wish listed, my form of "cloud computing" where I store this online, except that they wiped it out. A four year old backup has more books than the one now. So why did this happen, and why is it that the sickos keep fucking with what I have backed up and where? And to add to the infernal games, I see I have two backup locations of my pictures on the same disk, so now I have a three way reconciliation process to go through. Fun stuff, and always with the dead hand of the assholes behind it. And as I type this, voice noise from outside is somehow coming through my earmuffs.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Odd Shopping Skit

Off the bus and to the LD store to load up on chocolate, and when I get there, the Milka bars are gone. And was I was attempting to make a substitution, an odd female whacko in brown and one very skewed eye starts making some furtive moves behind me, and then she did it again, almost like she was going to pile onto me while babbling away. The perps had me ask "what are you doing?" and then walk out of the store, but not before the faux manager was obstructing the exit with three deep brown ceramic pots on a trolley. Like WTF; I cannot go shopping and then they won't let me out of the freaking store. I haven't had anything quite so fucking odd in a long time, and for me to bail out on a chocolate shopping is a major mind fuck.

The prior city bus freakshow had the Fuckwit two seats beside me place his brown leather coat over his plastic bag next to me. A brown colored dude in super baggy shorts with the crotch halfway to his knees with his brown coffee in hand was also on the rear bench seat, and lo, if the fucker didn't get off at the same stop as I did. Other oddities on the city bus were two females, one with pink fiberglass insulation in a small roll package (6"x15") and with duct tape, and her Cheersing mate had a package of sandpaper. Talk about bullshit, bringing these props onto the bus. Almost as stupid as packing flattened cardboard boxes.

I was doing digging work in the backyard of the First Feral Family home, and I had plenty of noise action while pulling the roots of the weeds. At least three SAC flyovers, other aircraft, gurgling hot rods, delivery trucks outside on the street, and a few distant lawnmowers. My mother did her vacate-the-house thing again, coming back to see what I had done.

And off and on rain as well, coming on after I got back with the black vinyl border edging roll from Home Depot. And lo, if my in-town brother wasn't there to gangstalk me too once I got back, the border edging sitting there outside while I was kept inside listening to his banter. Obviously, catching me after completing driving the vehicle is a big deal, as if I didn't know that before.

Some light flashing games tonight to force an early tea time. Same deal; conventionally impossible light beam paths coming from the residential tower opposite, about the 17th floor and somehow getting around the overhanging balcony and into my apartment by some 12' from the window. The curtains were closed, and that didn't stop them, as the light beam can now penetrate the curtain and illuminate me. That isn't too bad, but then they got up to light flashing and so I ended my web surfing, took some pics, and some movie footage, and I will have a look at it later as to if it turned out. The LCD panel on the camera wasn't showing the flickering of the light beam when I could clearly see it happening with the naked eye. Just too exciting it seems, having me eat chocolate.

The sirens have started up for whatever reason. Even switching tasks can bring on extra noisestalking. And tonight, the other tasks have been checking out possible acquisitions, though some ways off when I don't have extra income to finance such. Underwear might be the next item to acquire, and my stock has been depleted by two pairs and the remainder have been peppered with pills and lint as a near permanent feature, and always getting worse in the washing machine each time.

And what is the perps' rationale for making underwear so difficult to come by? I want black colored, mid height, non-cotton (read, non-soggy) underwear in briefs style. I get into these websites of "performance clothing" and I find the "wicking" underwear, but no briefs style. I did eventually succeed, though it looks to be another mail order epsisode from the US. Which is how the last order went; I brought them in from Sierra Trading Post in Nevada, a clothing discounter, and had a local alterations woman cut down the waist height by 2" and re-attach the waistband with a serger. An extra $10 per pair just so I didn't get the waistband sticking me in the gut. And I am sure my tormentors liked that too, as they could score a swatch of fabric off each pair, never mind the fact they were in a nearby shop for a week or so. Plus, they had the alterations woman use olive green thread for one pair, she claiming she ran out of black thread. Bullshit.

Thats it for today; not a big blog posting and I skimped on the city bus freakshow, but you all know that every city bus ride is a portable gangstalking platform, and get a major show each time. Freaks, seat changers, blue-green hair today, and some wackos with white headscarves, doing the Islamic looking thing. Creeped me right out, and I was glad when they were gone.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

TI Plasma Land

What I should of named this blog; plasma flashes and projections are constant, and constantly force to to avert my gaze along with similarly perturbing masers. That is, my vision is constantly speckled, flashed, degraded, messed with or otherwise jerked with 100% of the time, and both central vision, and peripherial vision. The latter gets "special treatment" as they will add in objects that I wouldn't be ordinarily seeing, and would be outside my range of vision, except the assholes want more exposure time. I won't get into it any more, as it is personal to some extent, given the absurdity of that term when every Fuckwit in town knows just exactly what I like and don't like, (aka Favored and Unfavored) long before I was made consciously aware of it through repeated presentation in the gangstalking and street stunts shows over the past eight years.

And part of the goings on of late are to have me wear my hair long and have it dangle in view, creating vertical fringes that they like to intermix with vertical plasma beams, on this very LCD as I type, along with the loud mufflered vehicle bursts that somehow get through my earmuffs that I am compelled to wear. And as I type this, some left eye vision fuckery is going on, as if something landed in my eye. The degree of relentless obsession over my every thought and action is more intrusive than ever.

It looks to be another shut-in day when I thought I was to get some outside time today; my perp abetting mother and her flip flopping plans and spew of duplicity takes the day again. If it weren't for the mind-fuck games I wouldn't have anything to do with her bullshit, but they let that happen only once, and then it was defeated. I was to be driving her before and after her eye testing which is to be done in the next block, and was to hear of the pickup and drop off plans last night, and didn't. Just another jerkaround, what else is new?

Well, I did get some very peculiar smells driven up my nose this morning; first when I opened the peanut butter, and again for the blackberry jam, and then again when I put the latter on the former on the gluten free bread. Lets just say that the smells were of human origin, and not from me, and timed precisely for the brown and red food exposures. No doubt said smells will reprise sometime later today if the sickos stick with their usual pattern. Though, the nature of these smells does suggest a darker abusive episode of the deleted memory years, 1956 to 59, one that they now like to posit, albeit in very dicrete and infrequent planted suggestions. When one lives with mind invasive tyranny, and finds it to be 99% bullshit, down to the smallest perception, one doesn't believe anything from that particular source. Keeping the FUD fucking going it would seem. And on comes the most loathed motorcycle noise from outside, and now a siren cascade that is quite loud, even through the earmuffs I am wearing.

Last night's games, typical for a Monday night, were to keep me awake for at least an hour of planted and fast cycling thoughts, the usual forced head flipping like any night before sleep is permitted, and then on came the dude-talk bullshit. A 0100h dude chat from a putative nearby apartment that started up, and the perp sickos find great interest of late, perhaps to inculcate me to believe that the dudes are OK. As in not; the preponderance of shiftless males loitering about without apparent day jobs is getting much more obvious each passing week. I have heard of horsed reacting violently to the presence of males due to past abuses, and that just might be the case if I am ever allowed to find out what the fuck they did to me way back when. It seemed that it was so bad they had to delete my recall. Many of those similarly abused under government auspices do recall what has happened, if only latteraly in their 40's and 50's. Some found themselves to have multiple personalities, and others are just plain messed up and have never made it in the adult working world.

Now the beeping has started up, horns, and the one note whistle noise of no ostensible origin, a noise that plagued me 2005 to 2006, and is now reprising. Other noises of that particular residency have also been reprising in my earmuffs when they definitely don't happen here. Now more siren chirping and so it goes. Noise upon noise, crafted and segued to endles variation and in combination with what I am doing or thinking.

Two days ago I set up my mother's PC (containing the motherboard of my former one), with Picasa, the Google supplied free download photo management software. When installing it, the software scoops all the picture/image files it can find and puts them into collections as a first attempt to add order. It did a decent job of it, and somehow added a bunch of sample jpg files and such, many of them with pictures of negroes in them. Where they came from I have no idea, but I spent a while cleaning up these "extras", and lo, if some of the pics and collections I was keeping just didn't disappear in the next refresh. Another one of those poof!, gone jerkarounds, the exact same thing that happened about a year ago when rationalizing the Picasa collections on my own PC. This year though, they allowed me to "realize", per planted thought, that I could recoer them from the Recycle bin, which I was about to do when my mother "happened" to come by. I briefly explained that some of the photos went missing, and she said something to the effect that maybe they got lost in setting up Picasa. Like WTF; she is so totally useless with PC's and any related concept, and then she somehow knew that I had gone through a round of file manipulations beforehand, and then "accurately" suggested that might have been the problem. And as it was, she was there when I restored the files in the wretched Windows Explorer tool, and lo, if they didn't recover just as they had been, and all viewable from Picasa. Yet more evidence that she is connected to this insane abusive scam, knows the script, and knows exactly what to say, and leaving a little hint that this is the case.
What the sickos get from me doing file manipulations I don't know; having me delete files or email is always a noise stalking event, even for document files or saving this blog posting as it becomes written. But it seems they wanted to replicate the past fuckery of having me think the files were lost, and then having her on hand when I recovered them. Just fucking bizarre.

More reading of "A Nation Betrayed" by Carol Rutz, a survivor of 1950's and 1960's nonconsensual human experimentation. She recalls the players and many things they said and did. That included placing sleeves through her skull, (she was 8 to 10 at the time), as permanent guildeways for electronic probes to be put into her brain, even while active, as the experimentor wanted to know what she thought or saw in relation to the depth and location of the probe. She met one of Canada's esteemed neurologists, Dr. Wilder Penfield, as a subject of course, though he would personally walk her through the buildings and hallways of McGill University. I find it interesting that Dr. Penfield says,  “we only have 10 days to get this done. She is of above average intelligence but below average ability to travel the time continuum”. p. 65. He was talking to a colleague with Carol Rutz beside him, and then goes on about accessing the two alters, naming them, and says that he hopes to reach the seat of the soul. All of which tells me was that he wasn't just doing the research for journals and publication, but that he was knowingly doing research for covert organizations far outside any approved protocols, especially with a child as a subject. In other words, he was CIA guided, and was likely so from the days he established the McGill Neurological institute.

In another quote on p. 58, "Psychokinesis occurs via an energy exchange, or a cummunication, bertween the experimentor and the subject." Quoted from CIA Mori ID 173512. Well, could this be what the sickos are all about, having their Fuckwits stare at me, or alternately, look away in the most ridiculous of circumstances? They are looking for some kind of primal exchange, and perform great amounts of effort to ensure slow and graduated introductions to the person. Various methods are to have them on the phone at first, then later pehaps see them, (or more like, them me while they are in disguise), and eventually meet them. It makes me wonder about the whole cast of characters pre-overt/beserk event of 04-2002.

More noise through the earmuffs and seeming to be a shut-in day owing to promised contact not materializing. The "freeze victim in headlights" (captive to a plan that doesn't unfold) trick again.

Eating a kiwi fruit after dinner turned into a big siren noise event. I think noise eruptions nearly always cover me for eating this particular green fruit, with brown skin and black seeds inside. Not only that, the sirens covered me for retrieving the bag from the fridge, opening it anew, grasping one kiwi fruit, putting the bag back, removing the sticker on the fruit, all while eating it, and then some more after I had finished, crossed the floor, booted the PC and sat down to wait for it to complete boot-up. Exciting stuff for sick minds, hounding me over what my mouth contents are.

Some video was allowed to be viewed; Claudia Mullen, a TI on youtube making what looks to be a Congressional committee presentation.

Watching a video of alternate archeology on Project Camelot, Klaus Dona, one hour 27 min. I am getting the extra outside noise at certain junctures, causing me to take my earmuffs off and plug my ears. Fun and games. The sickos had me watching videos late last week when dark, but have now moved this activity to earlier in the evening, pre-tea time even. All these regular activities are important for scripting according to the natural lighting conditions. And a German accent exposure in listening to this video, and I have known the perps to put on this as background chatter when I was doing volunteer work back in 2007. Which begs the question as to why they set that up, having someone speak loudly on the phone, in German accented English, and then slide into German, which I didn't pick up.

I did my month end accounting tonight, always a big perp interest event, all those financial transaction recordings and itemizing. I am barely break even, so no fancy keyboard for me, to replace this wretched spongey one. And of all things, they didn't rage-ify me while doing the accounting for May, though they did fuck me around for at least 20 forced mistakes, and have me pound the keyboard a few times. And of all things, after jerking my ass around for over six years of doing month end accounting, they finally let my bank statement read down just like Quicken. At least over three years ago the bank statement read from the bottom of the page to the top, and then the bank added buttons to change the date order but they mysteriously didn't work, so I had to read Quicken down and the bank statement up from the bottom, a piss off to be sure, and a source of intense perp fuckery in having me look in the wrong direction on the wrong statement. At least a hundred rage-ifications on that one alone. And this month, they let me click on the date order button, and lo, if it didn't work. Putting them on the page display and not having them work for over two years; what was the point of that obsessive fuckery?

Other bullshit tonight was to have the plasma games on the LCD display, darkening down one side of the screen or the top or bottom and having it flash and waver for whatever reason, especially after switching from one color (bank) to another (cash account).

This shut-in day is over; plenty of chirps in the headphones that curiously erupt when I move the mouse. All to keep me tracked, in audio and in vision.

Not done yet; I had CC Cleaner running, a file cleanup program, and then while in Windows Explorer and looking at the Temp directory, the music I was listening to suddenly stopped when I saw the files disappear. Then the running water noise started up, heard through the headphones, while I was complaining out loud as to who turned off the music. Just one of those "happenings" when one has magnets at their ears.