Hound Dog Turban

1935h
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
1915h
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
2105h
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.