Friday, July 30, 2010

The Toques of July

You read that correctly; some of the gangstalkers are wearing winter head wear in the height of a warm summer, though only two on the city bus, plus others downtown which I gave up noticing. Last year it was toques in August as I recall. Said toque wearing dude is a MIW, as in Man in White, the kind that freak me out for some unknown reason. Worse yet, he is bald headed and likes to position himself around me, effectively circling me yesterday at the ridiculous cluster fuck called marshalling that went on for 45 minutes.

Today was better as we were in the field at about 0750h, so less cluster fucking/group gangstalking. Though they did put on a Hulk Hogan lookalike in absurd short cutoff jeans, and he was lounging in the marshalling area when we arrived on the crew bus. A blonde woman came to gangstalk just 8' away and doing nothing, and lo, if the HH lookalike didn't then follow and do his gangstalking thing some 5' from me on the steel rail fence. I didn't get the parade like yesterday.

And a whole lot less farm workers today, about a third less. Maybe the perps were swamping me on the first day, as they have been known to do this, most notably when I started at the recreation centre in 2007.

And a sign of the sickos upping the abuse level; having Fuckwits bump into me, preferably often. Yesterday it was the co-worker who kept knocking into me at the bus stop, some six times in 30 minutes while seated.

And today, this major sized negro waddles up the bus aisle, and elects to sit beside me. In doing so the asshole shoved me, and had his jacket flop onto my leg. Then I move sideways to create more space and then he asks if I am alright. I say I am as long as I don't get shoved. He then gets up and goes to the back of the bus.

And when I get on the crew bus, lo, if the same negro fucker didn't follow me off and onto work at the same farm. He we have the first negro gangstalking from boarding bus stop (one stop after me), to a crew bus to the farm, and onto the same crew, per next day.

We had a combined two crews for weeding in the first part of the morning, and lo, if the  above negro doesn't pull and another nudge stunt. We were all assemble on this road, some 30 of us, and just before being addressed by the crew foreman, why, said negro fucker walks behind me, between me and most of the 30 crew, and gives me a nudge again, and proceeds onward. Said fucker is short on manners, and given the goings on, see next day, this body contact bullshit has longer to run.

It was the Asians turn to nudge me repeatedly on the bus today. This strange simian looking older Asian woman sits beside me on the rear bench when she had four seats to choose from, and starts up the nudging bullshit again. Lets see; brown Asian in deep burgundy outfit, the same each of four days I have taken the bus this week, and for some reason doesn't hang with her same race and age "pal" who gets on and off at the same bus stop as she does.

A day of bulb picking on the farm, full sunlight with a breeze to keep the temperature down. Now that it is almost August I don't think we will get any more heatwaves.

And the sun block application games continue; the perps have me "forget" to put it on my arms after doing my face, or vice versa, give up on placing it on my ears as I have a hat that covers them, and on the back of my neck and not elsewhere, as I am unsure if the fog is going to burn off, and so it goes, never mind the lateral flying droplets of sun block that get on my clothes. All these permutations and combinations of sun block application, as well as doing it twice, once at 1000h and again at 1200h. This is a huge part of the per research, to understand the effects of sunlight on Vitamin D production in the body, and I am sure there are a number of other variables they aren't letting me in on, i.e., downstream Vitamin D and immune system interactions. Ask me if I care, and the answer is no; I just want to be left alone, but instead am a nonconsensual patient in this ongoing nightmare research/jerkaround game that has totally and completely hijacked my life. To the degree, I don't use that term any more, it is merely an "existence".

The tan-though shirts that I "just had to buy" last year are still getting mileage, for the greater cause of course, and what might clothing color interact with the above mentioned sunlight games. In 2008 they had me working in the fields bulb picking with a SPF 50 long sleeve shirt on, and after that season they had me purchase two tan-through shirts, which were first worn in the 2009 bulb picking season. And now, in 2010, I am bulb picking again, and getting more mileage out of these shirts, as well as a decent tan on my back. And too, the tan-through shirts are the only ones that get a film of dust stuck to them over the course of the day, introducing another light penetration variable (change of grey scale) into the mix.

Anyhow, it is getting late for a 0445h get up time, and call this blog posting done.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Bulb Picking; Year Three

My return from daffodil bulb picking, now the third year I have done this job in the service of the perps and their machinations as to having me handle botanical material, be it bulbs, potatoes, raspberries, strawberries and last, but not least, weeding. I was lucky I didn't get dispatched to the other two crews this morning, as they did weeding all day long.

I got to pick bulbs up from the bulb picking implement that lifts them up from the ground, not unlike a potatoe picking machine, and attempts to rid the soil so the bulbs all sit on top. And we farm laborers pick them up, separating out the rocks and soil clods, which the machine cannot do.

I arrived via the city bus (yes, a minor freakshow), and a farm bus pick up, to the farm at 0715h, and I thought it was going to be a 0730h start. No such luck; a 45+ min. cluster fuck/marshalling exercise, likely arranged by the perps so the freakshow could go according to plan. Among the marshalling freaks/farm workers were heavy tattoo-ed dudes, pony tail dudes, MIW (Men In White -a scary band of fuckers), turbaned E. Indian (only one), and even a touque wearing dude on one of the hottest days of the summer. Go figure.

Other in-field nonsense was at least four red shirted males "popping up" beside me in adjacent rows, as they always seem to know where to go without talking to the foreman. The flatbed truck came to take the bulb filled crates away, and the driver just disappeared for some 10 minutes, leaving the truck sitting there in front of us having lunch. Then this scenario played out at the opposite end of the field, some 700' distant, where the truck arrived, and sat there doing nothing. I looked for the driver and he was nowhere to be seen. This is how it played out for some 20 minutes longer until the foreman rounded up the designated helpers to aid in loading, and lo, if the truck driver just didn't appear back in the driver's seat and turn the engine on. Totally bizarre, as they never had these clusterfucks and sitarounds last year; mornign marshalling was over in 10 minutes, and anytime the flatbed arrived the loading crew was all over it ready to go.

A brief shopping trip brought on my consort of freaks and other gangstalkers. They are now, after some four years of shopping at this local supermarket, bringing on male checkout staff. And what a choice; some gormless looking twit helping to pack groceries and with no chin, truly of the Unfavored.

And the perps are working me over as to the source of my kiwi fruit; last week it was from Chile, this week from New Zealand, this being the off-season for kiwi-fruits as they mature locally in December-January. The in-season kiwi fruit is usually from California, though there is local sources sometimes. I once owned a small acreage with one acre in kiwi fruit, so I became quite accustomed to eating this fruit, as it was very local once. No doubt the kiwi fruit provenance is a big research scene for the perps, attempting to tie local soil energetics to that of the fruit, along with the energetic effects of the water supply, and then to determine the downstream energetics effects on yours truly. Like I care, and like I asked to be part of this. NOT, and I am totally pissed off 99% of the time, and have been for over eight years being the target of this harassment and with huge local population involvement, not to mention scripting my every interaction with someone who knows exactly what I am going to say. Worse yet, they won't let me take any measures to end this depraved obsenity of my existence. I won't get into the details, but this pisses me off more than anything else.

And laundry Fuckover games continue; the assholes have fucked the 6th floor washing machine to add more lint onto garments than they had going in. I used the 5th floor laundry room, and twice it has stopped in mid cycle and drained itself, once all over the floor. The seventh floor laundry has an unworkable coin slot so no go there, and then they fucked me out of bringing my keys for the 8th floor laundry. The assholes used to plug up the washing machines in the last residential apartment block I lived in, sending me up and down to find an availible washing machine when no one else lived in the entire building.

This one is done for the day, and onto bed time at 2110h

Monday, July 26, 2010

New Bedding, New Farm Job

I am typing this as some extra loud dude talk is somehow getting to my hearing. I closed the window and there was no difference in the dude talk level, so I put on the earmuffs and it was somehow getting through, so I took them off. And to add to the regular noise cacaphony, the sirens and the Harley motorcycle noise has also been played. The perps just love me to overhear male voices, loud enough to be heard, but not to make out the words.

And the joblessness as a farm worker didn't last long; the dear old daffodil bulb picking job is on for tomorrow, and lo, if it wasn't timed for when I will have first slept in my new bedding acquired yesterday. My mother messed up her notion of her friend's birthday party location, and arranged me to drive her there, but as it "so happened" she could of driven it herself. So... I had the vehicle for two hours, and as I was witness to my bedsheets being ripped after laundering them earlier, the notion arrived (read, was planted) that I could use the vehicle to go to a suburban mall and get bedsheets, pillows and a mattress cover. The latter were strangely yellowed at the head of the bed, and were annoying me as to how disgusting they looked.

By the time I had finished my driving, and shopping, and dropping it off at my place, there wasn't time to remake the bed with the new sheets etc. So it got to sit around in its packaging for a day in this apartment until I came back from my First Feral Family stayover last night.

As regular readers will know, the perps are obsessed over the packaging of everything, and any and all energetic interaction it may have with the contents, and latterly, the interaction of the contents and me. So getting me up at 0430h tomorrow and taking the 0635h city bus freakshow with the gangstalkers and weirds will be big deal, as I will still be resonating with the energetic interaction with the new bedsheets, mattress cover and pillows. And as the old bedding had yellowed (somehow), and the new bedding is white, I am sure to be getting plenty of color testing between the two.

And I will be starting work with the farm that I spent the past two summers at, picking daffodil bulbs. So much for thinking, (likely per planted notion as they do love me to be dead wrong), that I would have a week off from the berry picking job like last year. What all this means I have no idea, but doing farm work, and especially working with plants, or plant portions (e.g. bulbs, tubers) is a big part of the perp research.

They were all over me with neighbor noise earlier today, when at the First Feral Family home doing weeding. Then I went to the local shopping center with my mother to get brown cardboard file boxes, and then returned to do compost spreading. The 4' high pile was down to less than 3' high, and it had been formed from dropped leaves and needles in fall of 2009. Now, it was tight packed deep black organic matter, and it seemed that digging and spreading it brought extra neighbor noise, not to mention aircraft and the SAC overflight noise. Also "showing up" was the suck truck to clean out the drains, one in front of the FFF home of course, and worth 30 minutes of visitation with all the flashing yellow lights at the front of the house. As mentioned many times, the perps also have an obsession over placing vacuuming equipment in my proximity, and I cannot count the number of suck trucks I see now. Vacuuming the drains was once a rare event, but now I see it 3x per year per neighborhood. And what does the perps' obsessions over weeding and composting have to do with each other? I have no idea, except there must be some commonality of the energetics related to each, say, a universal life force they wish to quantify. And as they have had me weeding or picking fruit nearly every day since early June 2010, it would seem that they want to "borrow" or compare the weeding/fruit picking results to that of compost slinging. Ms. C of the story did her "Composter Masters" training when I was going out with her in 2001, so I can only assume that was part of the pre-overt harassment warm-up before the perps went overt/beserk in 04-2002. If nothing else, I can make a mean pile of compost, just like last year. And that it was covered in plastic for all that time, and occasionaly watered with varying hose ends of varying materials and colors, so I am sure that is factored into all the variables my tormentors seem to be juggling and attempting to remotely detect.

A 30 minute phone call earlier before evening tea and chocolate break from one of my former farm coworkers. She is to have an interview for a berry picking job, a new height in hiring in agricultural laborers human resources practice. Thats the only avenue that I get jobs it seems, by way of mass hiring, and weeding out the non performers. A long way to getting an IT job it would seem, which may be the next gig after farm laboring. Getting an interview seems to be an random event in this town, and with the scripted life model, per perp machinations, it makes sense. They want me on weeding, composting, fruit and vegetable picking and other plant parts, and that takes place in the summer mostly. Like why didn't they direct me to agriculture instead of forestry way back when, so I could of got my weeding done as a student summer job instead of laying this bullshit on me now, three decades later?

And an email exchange from a former work colleague went ballistic today, as I complained to him about his characterization of me with mental health associations. He was one of those who I "bumped into" at the hospital, in 2002 and who later retrieved my belongings from a Seattle storage unit as the US border patrol wouldn't let me in to clean out my apartment in 2003. At the time, I gave him ample evidence to indicate that I was being harassed, and he even aided me in identifying some of the driving manouvres I had seen as that of police or other law enforcement training. As far as I was aware, I had amply defended my case in his eyes as there was no further discussion. Then in the last month I get two emails heavily imbued with the mental health angle and I launched a polite but factual missive that detailed all the professional determinations of genuine harassment that I have been informed of. As expected, I get this angry polemic that is off the topic and doesn't address the arguements I made, nor any hint of objective re-assessment on his part. In other words, blowing up, not arguing the point, and otherwise evading any objectivity as to my central complaint; that mental health considerations have absolutely nothing to do with this imposed state of abuse. In other words, more of the same, but from another party that backslid on the then (seeming) convincing facts related to organized harassment at the time. One cannot buy a friend even, let alone have them stay with the facts as presented and then muddy the waters with more bullshit at al later date.

A doctor's appointment today; the featured "student" was an Asian woman who asked me a number or questions as relating to this campaign of abuse and nonconsensual human experimentation. She wasn't very dark skinned, and was dressed in a red and white dress that she fussed with a few times. She also had a 5" brown blotch on her leg, which the perps wanted me to see more that I would of usually looked. The perps had me verbally stumbling a little, and were sucking my mouth dry at the same time, also a source of minor speech impairment. Last month, it was an Asian male doctor who was the featured "extra" at the appointment, and I was much more verbally fluent and without stumbling or mispronouncing words. I was totally on last month, and say, only about 85% of that level today. Funny how that happens. Which begs the question, as to how do they decide on what level of verbal fluency I have and for what circumstances?

Anyhow, that is it for tonight, as I will be doing the early rising thing again, 0445h or so, to catch a 0635h bus to farm land.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Farming Hiatus

July 24, 2010

An eventful day on the berry picking front, as in no more work. I was promised work until October for any and all farm work duties, and now poof, its over. And of course the Fuckwits put on extra gangstalking to celebrate the event, and the sirens have increased in frequency since I got back. I got a ride back, and retrieved all my rain gear and gumboots as well. No more return trips unless I get a phone call this next week, but it is unlikely that it will occur. There was way too much management dysfunction in the last few days; e.g. no locals doing weeding was mentioned, and then later in the same day I got detailed to do weeding. Another was that I was sent home at 1500h because there wasn't enough berry picking, and then when about to clock out at the warehouse building, the owner's son “happened” to be there, and offered us weeding jobs for the next two hours. More owner family blowups over that one I heard by way of the rumor mill. The bummer was that I was expecting to stay there until late September and get enough working hours in to have an unemployment claim, so it looks like another gig is in order. Regular readers will recall that I did berry picking last year in July, and then got suddenly dumped, and took on daffodil bulb picking again. Well, it is very possible this could be a repeat of last year, the perps taking their research results at a new location so to compare to an benchmark one (daffodil farm), all in the course of doing farm work. Last year the employment arrangements had me spending a week of doing nothing between gigs, a seeming forced arrangement, and that just maybe the deal this time too. We shall see.

And my interest in learning Spanish from the Mexicans also got stopped, only a day after getting an English Spanish dictionary, “diccionario”. This is how it goes; promising endeavors get scripted and supported and then get truncated while still in their infancy. The Oracle 11g upgrade courses of 01 to 03, 2010 are antother example; no jobs on this front, and according to my mother, who barely knows what IT is, nothing until the fall of 2010.

On the other Fuckover fronts, the laundry is getting to be a grievous endeavor. More lint arrives on my laundry than it has going in, and so I went to the 5th floor washing machine instead. It didn't finish the cycle again, and the clothes were sopping wet. I launch them again, and get screwed into a two hour long nap, and when I go to retrieve my laundry, why, there was this wet mopped floor, presumably discharged from the washing machine. My clothes were inside, and spun to normal dryness. What that was all about I have no idea, but for some reason the assholes won't let me complain about the washing machine problems to the apartment management.

Another Fuckover front, has been about aquiring new moisture wicking shirts for outside work. The assholes destroyed one such shirt, and have been jerking me around in getting replacements. Today, one of the ordered shirts was this ugly hospital green color instead of “dusty olive” so it goes out ASAP. An order three weeks ago had the same problem with an ugly brown color when I was to get “stone” color. And of course, the colors seen online differ from the real thing. A local store shopping episode of two weeks ago for four shirts also got messed up with one acquired shirt being identical to the one I already have, and one other being long sleeve when I was expecting short sleeve. So I would surmise that the Mexicans at work who were interested to learn the word “shirt” weren't totally self interested to improve their English vocabulary, but to continue the perps' obsession over this garment in all possible dimensions as to color, material type, acquisition source and of course, the bizarre hijinks over whether I keep a just bought shirt or not.

July 25, 2010
Another round of laundry, this time bed sheets, and lo, if the sickos didn't run a rip in the fitted bottom sheet, one of those “eruptions”, as there was no evidence to suggest such an outcome. No doubt the acquisition of sheets, pillows and matress cover is all planned for some gangstalking hell. And too, more time in bed with ripped sheets as well if last time is a harbinger, as Monday (tomorrow), a prospective shopping day where I will need my mother's vehicle to get all this home, is booked up with other events. And yet again, the one item that I hung dry, and is also just purchased, is splattered with lint, one of the ongoing jerkaround themes of late, cousin of the incessant crumbs and doghair inundations.

I will be off to the First Feral Family home tonight, doing the regular Sunday night stayover, and odd jobs around the house and garden. The perps interest in having me do weeding and pruning continues unabated and no doubt will be accompanied by extra noise; aircraft, vehicles, neighbor lawnmowers, chainsaws and other powered equipment. And just to think, much of the farm work of the past 7 weeks was done while under or near (within 200m) of power line. The raspberry picking was directly underneath the powerline, so I am sure the perps found this endlessly fascinating as they keep me in a densified magnetic field (measured at 1600 Gauss last year). And not to mention the three cellphone towers also in close proximity, two on the powerline pylons, and one about a mile away on a rocky high spot with a 60' tower on top of it. I have seen masers or some kind of odd emanations from the latter when looking in that direction, so I am sure my time spent doing farm work at this location was well spent from the perp's perspective of EMF interference games.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Bussing With the Natives

July 20, 2010
A farm work day, shortened to 1500h because of picked berries wilting in the heat, and giving me some evening time to blog this. Other related events were the force play to have me eat sardines for lunch for the very first time while at the farm. The two native Indian berry pickers, relatives, were down to one, and he managed to pull some boneheaded turning around in his vehicle while I was having lunch, said sardines. Then he sits in the vehicle with the open vehicle door facing me some 4' away. The perps have been big on having open vehicle doors facing me, and the minivan crew bus with the rear driver side window taken out two weeks ago is a related example. And I see they wrinkled the bodywork below said window, which just might be the first time that the supporting evidence of a collision arrived after the adjacent window was removed. Freaking bizarre, putting a 2' long x 4” wide gouge in the body under the removed window. No doubt the Hound Dog Turban will be doing more posing in the rear seat to be seen through the removed window, and maybe the body damage aids the perp cause.

And when taking the bus home, the native Indian gangstalking agenda became more apparent; two native Indians somehow “needed” to exit the front door when all the signs on the bus say “exit by rear doors”. This bullshit of the gangstalkers needing more proximity time by holding me up at the front door of the bus is getting out of hand. Also, I see Fuckwits on the bus walk past the rear doors to exit at the front. Like WTF; new rules for the assholes.

Back to the native Indian gangstalker agenda when bussing back today. I enter the bus with the two Caucasian bus shelter stalkers behind me, who then arrange themselves near me at the back of the bus, and these seemed to be the only other passengers at that stop. But no, somehow a native Indian in some skanky wrap around sunglasses and a ponytail board the bus with his Caucasian sidekick in a ginger brown hoodie. Later on the bus ride, a long haired boy in front of me departs, and his seat is filled by the blonde woman who strangely stands in the rear exit area, back to a male seated passenger. (There were plenty of availible seats). Then in a continuing game of musical chairs, an Asian dude replaces her at the rear exit standing location in the identical pose/location she was formerly at. Then when the seat in front of her empties, said Asian dude sits in front of her. In other words, both went through this ritualistic seating behavior, only to sit in file, one in front of the other, both immediately replacing former passengers.

Back to the native Indian gangstalking agenda. Then two more native Indians walking along the bus route, odd to be sure, but not major odd. Then a couble of native Indian gangstalkers board the bus for the last 10 minutes or so, sitting 15' away. And lo, if the don't accompany me off the bus at my exit stop. And the strange thing is that the four parties of native Indians on the bus gangstalk route, including the two walking, all wore white T-shirts of near identical white tone, and fabric weight.

This is a short posting tonight as I have some spare time, but need to get to bed for 2100h and a 0430h get-up time. More strange dreams last night, a Monday, the sickos doing their usual thing of extending Mondays by keeping me up and then forcing a light REM sleep for much of the night, fraught with strange dreams.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Week Roundup

July 19, 2010

A busy week of farm work, with the addition of two native Indian berry pickers. The hyper dude with the pony tail, then ersatz shirt-as-turban got canned for not picking (too hyper, skipping all over the place), and at least two other pickers packed it in. Next year I hear, there will be 14 Mexicans hired instead of the current 8. Which likely means, no summertime locals, just the regulars who are all Punjabis. The Mexicans are often working 11 or 12 hours per day, getting plenty of hours in, and get to stay on longer while I and the other pickers get sent home around 1730h, a 10 hour day, plenty enough. The hype dude was arranged at least 10x/day for me to see his ridiculous pony tail, as the perps have a particular fetish in exposing me to male ponytails (cannot stand them). Then, the next day, the farm owner's son comes by with his latest babe to do a little play berry picking, and lo, if she didn't have a ponytail too.

And there would have been a posting last week, but the assholes blatantly deleted two pages of draft blog posting, detailing some of the daily inanities, especially around the negro and kiddie gangstalking. They just blew away the posting before my very eyes and then saved the file and all that I had typed was gone. No keystroke blunders or other faux causal events, just poof, gone by itself.

This is a Monday, the day I take off from farm work and to spend yesterday evening, and an overnight stayover at the First Feral Family house, usually being tested on new foods, new colors and new juxtapositions of materials, (e.g. caulk and caulk gun in the kitchen for three weeks now, when my mother has no idea how to use it and no one that I know left it there, and “happens” to be the very same GE caulk compound I applied extensively in my house 1994 to 1996).

The berry picking has transitioned to raspberries last week, a whole lot easier than strawberries, but invoking different techniques to find the berries, as so many lurk behind leaves, deep into the canes. Every day I take the bus home, why, a profusion of red vehicles comes on, in varying reds of course, and with the accompanying greyscale colored vehicles too. Plus, the shiftless male gangstalkers have taken on a propensity to dress in red, and even the daily morning negro is strutting in a red shirt sometimes, and making an effort to sit near me, as his purported pals seem to be ignoring him.

The Cambodian pickers are still continuing to “happen” to take the same bus as me each morning, and now also take my walking route from the bus stop to the farm. As in gangstalking me from the boarding bus stop, (they are already on board), to the farm work site. And now that they make us walk the extra five minutes to clock in each morning, the Cambodian dude packed a brown cardboard box with him for curious reasons, as he was walking the same route as I was. I have often remarked on the “cardboard box stalking”, a seeming portable color reference, and they have now taken this to new heights, having the “cardboard stalkers” pack cardboard along my walking route, in close proximity. Other cardboard games are to have the berry pickers sit on cardboard while having their break time, again in close proximity. This brown and cardboard fixation has gone so far in the past as to having cardboard furniture placed on city sidewalks at an interesection for no seeming purpose as regular readers might recall.

And an interview for a possible IT contract job this afternoon, a strange set of circumstances due to the interviewer making sure that she seemed particularly bored. An Asian woman in a pink top, so I shouldn't of been surprised to see a pink shirted dude with a coffee cup in hand doing the “loiter lollygagging” routine that I have come to know and loathe. Nor the Asian gangstalkers sitting in the lobby on my way out, or the Asian dude tailing me for three blocks on the way back. And it was very likely that my experience pre-dated the interviewer, going back my days of DEC VMS of 1986 to 1989. Somehow, I fitted the profile, being the only one with this particular experience, and so I will be pitched as a part time VMS systems administrator. Like, WTF; 20 year old experience, and being touted as a resource. I thought it was a joke at first when getting the original email, and then realized it might be another one of those perp games where they like me to be re-exposed to past activities, likely arranged back then. It is similar to the exposures they like me to see when viewing job postings; nearly every business within a block of where I live, (and see the store fronts), has advertised at least once. Part of the games of more needless exposures, albeit in differing contexts.

The downtown crush today was full of the ratty haired, tattoo-ed, the large gutted, and the otherwise Unfavored, though no faux army personnel today (so far). And swarms of seeming tourists as well, as this is one of the main economic drivers of this city. Naturally, they could be all for real, but the complexity of the blend of gangstalkers and tourists is more difficult to separate. Though, if you follow this blog, you will know that nothing in my visual proximity is left unmanaged, and that especially includes the mix of people/gangstalkers I see at every moment. Dumbshit stuff of having a dreadlocked negro sitting in a vehicle that is impeding the sidewalk, waiting for a parking spot that has no expectation to materialize, such as today, is nothing new. One new Unfavored twist was to have a female grabbing her crotch, twice even, in mid sidewalk. The perps like to mix male and female clothing, say, fedoras on babes, but to have females engage in blatant male behaviors in public is a new one.

Last night's once-per-week TV viewing was heavy on the mental health angle, even Hercule Poirot had a flakey client. Then more of the same on the CBC documentary, Prodigal Sons, and again more on the news. Like WTF; why am I getting such a heavy load of this topic when it has absolutely nothing to do with me?

Last night's 60 Minutes rerun on the end of the soap opera series, Guiding Light, had me emo-trashed again; tearing up for crissakes. Get this right; I have never heard of the show before as we don't get it in Canada, and don't have any empathies related to acting and the cast or casts in general, so why does some fucking asshole jerk me around as if I gave a shit? For the record, I never would have had any such reaction, and am totally pissed that someone plants emotional reactions on me that just don't make any fucking sense as to my own emotional make up. And furthermore, I am also pissed that the assholes didn't let me know that I was manipulated until after the fact. I could pick up these manipulations before, and now the fuckers won't let me, or worse yet, have changed me so I do. I don't know who I am any more.

And the boots, socks and insole games continued last week; I had a pair of unused insoles in the pair of safety toed boots that I bought in 09-2008 and have never work for work purposes, and bought three pairs of insoles in 2009, and put one pair in these unworn boots. The non-wool socks arrived and lo, if they weren't much thinner than the thick wool socks I had. So, in order to end the sloppy boots (which can be telekinetically manipulated), I put a second pair of insoles in them. This worked, and the first morning of setting out at 0610h for the bus, why, a 6'4” dude was outside the lobby on the W. side, visible through the ample glass, flapping his arms and wandering around. Like WTF; how is this weirdness always erupting around me, and he wasn't even a vagrant, just “hanging around”. The boot games will be continuing as I see that the assholes have created extra wear on the outside of the Vibram sole heels, and no visible wear anywhere else, so doubtless the boots will be taken in as soon as the six month long jerkaround of getting bootlaces for my spare pair is accomplished/allowed.

[2120h add in]
Some very strange dreams last night, planted IMHO. The dreams were about financial duress and not being able to access my bank accounts in two countries and all manner of workarounds to "deal" with the problem. For the record, I have never had such experiences when regularly visiting and working in two countries (1999 to 2002), nor do I have any such related issues now, so WTF. Why was this total bullshit planted on me and for what reason?

A two stop shopping trip to the LD store and the supermarket, the former being an Rx pickup, and a new generic manufacturer for one of my meds. No doubt this drives deep into the perp's agenda, as they are obsessed over the the source, manufacturer and packaging of everything I ingest, and so it would seem that a change in the generic Rx manufacturer is a huge deal, and advance on their continuing Fuckover show.

And then past the negroes (2 parties, the latter one circling the checkouts for no seeming reason while paying by debit card), then the parked motorcycles (2), the shiftess dude in red on the outside bench, the just-standing-there cell phoners (2), and the rest of the Unfavored freaks over some 100' to the local supermarket. And at 1835h the assholes had closed down the hot chicken counter, at least an hour early, and so no tortilla/quesadilla making tonight, and none for lunch tomorrow. Then the assholes had also cleaned out the organic cashews they had last week, serving as my coffee break time sustenance. Back to the overly sweet Pro-bars again for at least two days. And onto sardines for lunch tomorrow, hoping the mess, smell and other unpleasant side shows won't be parlayed into a big Fuckover scene in the middle of the berry patch when I take my lunch tomorrow. Never mind the accelerated burps the assholes always now deliver when I eat sardines.

I am going to call this one done for today, and maybe for the week should I be working extra hours.

[And I see in reviewing this posting in OO Writer, the assholes have stripped out a partial paragraph. This insane fucking bullshit never ends.]

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

It Must of Been the Socks

A number of provocations this morning at 0430h to raise the rage-ification level, one notable stunt being spreading fressh coffee grounds on the counter in a 6" diameter spill, and without any forced fumbling or faux causal event. In other words, the coffee grounds were teleported in to make a mess. A similar scene last week was a screaming rage show, as they wobbled the spoon outside of coffee bag, knocking the bag in fact, and there were two coffee messes, 180 apart, either side of the coffee carafe. So instead, a coffee mess that arrived by itself today, and less screaming at the assholes at 0430h.

This morning's harassment highlight was forcing me to take a 0520h shit, an extremely rare occurence, and then breaking the chain inside the cistern to force me to manually flush it, getting my arms very wet until they finished chain fucking and the toilet was allowed to be finally flushed. In the process they also plugged the toilet, so I also had plunger duties as well as cistern dipping games to get the falpper vaqlve to work. And it sems they finally relented on their flush lever games, having me hold it down for at least the last two months, and today it got fixed as well. Like I have said, the toilet games all started at the aparatment invasion when the Fuckwits first went overt/beserk April 15, 2002. One asshole/sicko put a balloon down the toilet while flushing it, forcing me to clean it out with a plumber's snake. That was the start of the perp's tilet fucking games, that have continued unabated for over eight years now. I am not allowed to take a crap without something going wrong; plunging, overflows, messy cleanups and other jerkarounds are 99% certain. This all is part of the perp's insane obsession with the color brown, and of course that includes cardboard boxes, and having Fuckwits pack them around, often in flattened form, wherever I go.

Currently, with the strawberry picking job, the green pint boxes come in a cardboard box, and the pint boxes are packed 12 to cardboard flat box, usually stacked four high, as the pickers or the couriers bring them in. All that red packed inside brown cardboard is just too exciting of a color juxtaposition for the perps, and they make sure that my picking row gets an inordinant amount of attention; e.g. stacking the flat boxes in flat form at the end of my row, placing full carriers of strawberrys (no pikced by me) in my row, delivering empty carriers to my row as a source for everyone, having the carrier couriers hang over me on "just stand there" duty, and other feints to otherwise ensure there is plenty of red strawberry action in my proximity in addition to me picking them. Even rude shit like stepping across the row 2' in front of me just as I am about to advance to that very location. Hound Dog Turban was my row-mate for most of the picking day, N. side at first, then the S. side in the afternoon. This is the one apparent Punjabi who constantly hangs around me, matches my forward progress to the second, and seems to be "featured" as other Fuckwit co-workers buzz around him. Ever seen a blue-green eyed Punjabi before? Well, this is one, which begs the question as to why they want me to know this. Constant suggestion that this Fuckwit might be someone else in morphover? - seems like it.

And the minivan that acts as a crew bus has Hound Dog Turban sitting in the rear most seat, looking regal almost, as he sits there for the crew bus trips and for all break times in the day. And so it was interesting that after some five weeks of seeing Hound Dog Turban in his usual rear seat, as seen through the fixed glass side window, that the Fuckwits knocked out the glass entirely, so the regal Hound Dog Turban could be seen directly, sitting in his same location on the rear seat. No one offered any explanation as to how the window got knocked out overnight, but hey, the sickos are well past creating stunts and lies to cover for their dumbshit games.


After I finished berry picking the assholes treated me to flashes of red strawberries for the next 30 minutes on my way back home, first walking (with plenty of pit-lamping headlights trained on me), and then on the bus with the freakshow. They are still putting thuggy dudes next to attractive blondes to somehow co-opt their good aura with the likely traumatization reaction to thuggy males during the "lost years" when I lived in Montreal and Victoria, and haven't a clue what happened to me for at least three years to age five.

Another bold move on the Unfavored front when on the inbound bus, was to put two redheads in file, one seated behind the other. One was in place when I boarded, and then the second one joined the Unfavored parade when enroute back to my neighborhood.

A short two stop local shopping trip about 40 minutes ago, and as I predicted, there were plenty of gangstalkers posted at each section I went to. The chocolate section had a stunned granny opposite the chocolate, totally spaced out and not even pretending to be shopping, and stayed in that repose while I picked up 11 Milka 100g bars, and after I had put them in my shopping basket. Forget stunts and pretense, just add "stun-outs", the sentries that seem particularly focussed on not moving a muscle while in their proximity.

More checkout obstruction stunts while at LD, until they opened a second till, and lo, if I didn't have a negro family in front of me, first after the woman/mother was doing "stun out" duty standing in the aisle while I passed by to kill some time until they got the second till opened up.

Then the Paper Bearing Fuckwit male preceded me out of the store, all to do lead-ahead gangstalk duty to the next shopping stop, the local supermarket. The negro family at the checkout ahead of me managed to dither, and end up 40' ahead of me while the Paper Bearing Fuckwit stayed in between them and me. He then led me into the supermarket, and lo, if there wasn't another negro lollygagging around and pretending to shop. Then the Paper Bearing Fuckwit came into view, did three head spins, (read, spinal twists) making out that he didn't know where to go. Farcical if not plain absurd. After a shortened shopping trip due to 20 gangstalkers in the produce section along with at least two stocking/stalking carts blocking the aisles, each replete with brown cardboard boxes, then it was out of there to a checkout, thankfully not obstructed this time. A swarm of Fuckwits, some 6 parties, followed me in the checkout, so I suppose they were doing the same thing as they do with vehicles; cover my tracks for 30 minutes or more with Fuckwits (vehicles or ambulatory assholes).

Enough gory detail tonight, having a some extra time as they let us go from work earlier than expected, at 1600h. Often we go to 1730h picking strawberries, but I suppose they wanted to place more red colored vehicles and red dressed Fuckwits around me earlier in the daylight hours. I suspect our two day heatwave is over for the summer, as they have brought in cooler Pacific air, and some cloud to fluctuate the sun exposures today.

It was windy July 12, 2010, yesterday, and it looks like Vancouver got hit the hardest with watercraft breaking free and being tossed onto the beach. Not that bad here, but plenty of wind for my day off yesterday to join me on my outings.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Monday Games

A day off from the labors of farm work, a stayover at the First Feral Family house, and then fielding and watching, as well as being subject to later gangstalking, and an obstruction stunt at the PO, an ongoing saga that continues. All over picking up a freaking parcel in a brown box, and here they stacked the waiting queue with wierds, including the 300lb negro in black and white clothes. The perps deem it important of late that I get to witness thick ropey necks, usually on fat people, also another Unfavored category besides aforementioned racial group member.

And the three shiftless Asians in black and white clothing at the street corner outside the PO were ready for gangstalking when I emerged from the PO, without parcel. They started some 8' ahead of me, the middle one carrying a cardboard box on his shoulder for no apparent reason, said cardboard having some red overprint on it as well. And so the brown cardboard box stalking has reached a new level of absurdity; ambulatory box packing next to one's face, a very light brown if at all. That the box bearing Fuckwit looked like Michael Jackson wasn't lost on me, though I really don't know why, as I never cared for his music or other show biz trappings.

But I did get to take my wool linting socks back, and still have to suffer another week or so of this nonsense before the acrylic ones arrive, doubtless to more parcel pick-up shenanigans. Another wicking T shirt got sabotaged in the laundry; a stain on it that won't come out, a deeper blackened area of the grey shirt that has survived in good shape for the past four years. It seems the perps want to move me onto colored shirts.

I did get some more cotton shirts today, my mother insisting I take back some brown shorts that she bought at the same store that were never used. All these feints and games over the color brown, and that wasn't the end of it. Later, we stopped at an irrigation supply business to get a fitting to connect the two ends from a sabotaged tear in her soaker hose. And lo, when the topic of soaker hoses came up, why, the store assistant showed us a roll of brown colored polyethylene emitter line, what the pros use apparently, with a filter and regulator installed as well. All that plastic, especially the water bearing pipe, is of intense perp interest, not to mention the brown casing it had on it. I believe I have previously mentioned the perps' obessions with water supply, the nature and color of the delivery pipe, and then the seeming consequent changes that this conveys to crops that are watered with these various water delivery/irrigation systems. Which is why they will have tractors tow those big 14' high reels of poly hose behind their tractors past me, as part of the vehicular gangstalking scene. This year and last, they seem to be most interested in the 3" aluminum pipe that the farms use, both my employers' water delivery methods, and the large poly pipe reels/sprinklers are being sidelined. And too, if the crop is feed for animals, say hay for beef cattle, this is also important to the perps, these downstream uses and the irrigation methods,water source, watering regimen, and color and material of the pipe. Their seemingly endless quest over combinations and permutations of water delivery and its interaction on and inside us nonconsenual human experimentations subjects continues. It wasn't enough that I swam in a swim club for 15 years in two different cities, so who knows where all this bullshit is going to end up.

Getting close to bed time for this 0430h awakening farm worker, cum TI. I just finished a screaming rage show over a sudden takeover of this PC, leaving the taskbar hidden, and the usual Firefox headers (e.g. address bar) missing as well. Pissing with the Windows settings of Autohide on/off didn't help, and I don't know how I got all of it back on the next Firefox bootup. The perps have given up on forcing keystroke blunders to cover their machinations as to changing the settings, it just "happens" by itself. That, and a prior shutdown at bootup of the PC with no message as to what transpired.

I did the two walk trot to get my parcel at the drugstore Post Office (PO), who have now changed all days of the week to close at 1845h instead of 1700h. It was just on Fridays that they pulled this stunt, and lo, today a Monday, all weekdays of the week are now posted as 1845h. The regular PO clerk was there even with the "Closed" sign up, and made mention of their new hours, and was reasonable about getting my parcel. She gave me an extra long stare, all in the friendly context, as she knows me from two visits in the last week. (But it was an irregular stare all the same, and I have no idea why this erupts so many times. It was the second blatant staring today, the first by some dude I didn't know on the first downtown outing today). This was the same PO that was open until 2300h a few months ago, so clearly this jerking around with the PO desk in the drug store is a big game for some insane perp orchestrator. Shades of "The Prisoner" again, funny how that show comes to mind, all these hidden and gratuitous changes by a mysterious governing agency.

I had my gangstalker entourage all over me when entering the PO this second time, a cyclist with a red helmet seemed bound and determined to hound me in, and to the first store aisle, though not to the back of the store where the PO desk is. One more parcel to go, and having got skunked on getting kneepads at the workwear store earlier today, this looks to be another web shopping. A MIB like skinhead was also on gangstalking duty in the store aisle; black suit for crissakes and shiny and totally bald pate. Fucking disgusting it was, but only one of the many increased dude stalking types I get. The waddling large gutted male in baggy shorts is also a highly prevalent Unfavored archetype.

And a new form of gangstalking dude, one who sits on a railing in red shorts on the N. side of the street when headed out for the parcel, and the same fucker was on the S. side of the street when I returned, wearing grey and black with a huge black backpack on. Like WTF; strange enough to have a shiftless dude sitting around doing nothing in mid-block, and then to switch the Fuckwit's clothing and side of the street when returning is just too stupid for words. Stupider and stupider is the catchphrase that comes to mind in predicting the next stunt.

And the parcel contained my six pairs of non-wool socks I had to order from the manufacturer directly, not being availible here. That prompted a final washing of the remaining wool socks sitting out for their own washing load, and hopefully puts an end to this insane litany of wool sock lint that has being building over the past 10 months. The lint problem persisted even when having a wool sock only laundry load, and as mentioned in a few prior postings, it is all about taking away the excuses. Though this doesn't always apply, as they manipulate each method of fuckery to end as they see fit; apparent ending of the source problem (e.g. disposal of all wool socks) or just a sudden self fixing, (e.g. above mentioned Windows Taskbar hiding.

And another WTF over my parcels at the PO; no GST (federal sales tax on nearly everything), no HST (provincial tax on nearly everything) and it came from North Carolina, USA. I am nearly always getting nailed for extra money to pick up my internationally sourced parcels, and got roundly screwed over this keyboard when it was shipped from California. My umbrella from New Zealand didn't beget me any extra GST or HST charges, nor did my clothes from Duluth Trading, Wisconson USA. There is no rhyme or reason as to when I am getting nailed for extra parcel border crossing fees, e.g the usual taxes one pays here.

Onto bedtime, and the rest of the evening, hopefully spent in sleep instead of the typical Monday night tossing and turning. Last week they had me flip over, on my front, then back, and repeating this inanity incrementaly every six inches of bed width from N. to S.

Friday, July 09, 2010

Too Hot For Berry Picking

July 07, 2010, 1735h

The farm shut down the berry picking at 1500h, so I have some unexpected evening time, along with a noise parade outside that seems to be ramped up for the occasion too. Extra laundry time, and who knows, maybe a foray through the freak show (gangstalker disapora) to retrieve another parcel from the PO two blocks away. The perps seem to like me doing this "brown run", getting the brown cardboard parcel and toting it back, either in hand or tucked under my arm. I can expect other cardboard toting Fuckwits to be gangstalking me when I have the parcel, and at least I will get some extra freaky gangstalker action, if today's return bus trip at 1556h was any thing to go by; the skinheaded males, the tattoo shows, the negro on a electric wheelchair (a two for one Unfavored), and the ongoing kiddie show, not properly a freak per se, but it seems that having children in a stroller is now de rigeur for the gangstalking show on the city bus.

The strawberry picking started under some imposed duress, as the assholes either dithered my ability to see red, or else dithered thelighting such that it was very difficult to distinguish the varying red strawbwerries. All the light orange through orange red through ruby red to dark wine red all seemed to appear to be the same color when viewed in the shade of the leaves of the plant. And the morning sun angle was so bad that I had to turn around to look at the berries. As there was plenty of rotten ones too, it was very difficult to tell if one had a pickable keeper (orange red to ruby red), or else a tosser until after the berries were displayed in direct sunlight. I suppose the perps had been working hard on this, as they arranged mostly overcast days for the past month, which made for much easier picking conditions.

And what is going on with the freaking post office? In the recent past they didn't give me a delivery notice and I retrieved my parcel. Then the next time a notice, but they fuck me out of taking to the PO who gave me the parcel, arranged on the outside counter and not in their usual storage room. And I get another notice, as I have two more parcels coming (with incomplete information as to when they shipped and when, the tracking information), and today, I get a notice for a parcel that I had already picked up. This took a while to figure out, but the forced "forget" of the delivery notice apparently triggered getting a notice for the second time for the same parcel. Go figure; just a useless outing to pass by the gangstaling freakshow yet again, sans parcel this time. Fucking beserk bullshit, jerking my parcel deliveries around.

July 09, 2010, 1915h
A parcel delivery notice had me headed to the PO to pick it up before it closed at 1900h, as it said on the notice. And lo, if the PO didn't close at 1845h on Fridays, for a data download, and the parcel couldn't be accessed because the computer was busy. Another dude chimed in, and said he had made a significant effort to get to the PO, and it was effectively closed. (Said dude tailed me into the store and took a different route to the PO desk). The postal clerk who rebuffed our irate inquires was straight out of a B movie, who was only one of at least 100 freaks (aka gangstalkers) I had to endure on the way there and back. It was like a Fellini movie casting for wierds for the two block walk to the PO, and then back.

This was the second no-parcel jerkaround this week at the same PO; I got a notice on July 06 for a parcel, and went July 07 to find there was no parcel, and it was some dumbshit confusion that was planted by the fact that I picked up a parcel July 05. Why I would get a notice that I picked up a parcel and it be called a Delivery Attempt notice still isn't answered. So far I am batting 50% on parcel pickups from this downtown PO; two last week, doing the trot with the brown cardboard box twice, and then followed by these two jerkarounds where no parcel was in hand. It seems the assholes cannot get enough of me packing (brown) cardboard, not to mention the Fuckwits in my immediate proximity who do the same.

Speaking of brown, and cardboard, the two Cambodian berry pickers on the farm crew are also contributing to the overall wierdness. The aren't a couple, as she is the apparent girlfriend of one of the farm owner's step sons. But this female-male pair seem to do an awful lot together in any given day. Both are now on the same #6 0615h bus on weekdays that I take, though they sit in different seats, and the male, who has a loopy streak, doesn't acknowledge me when I come on board, but she does. At first they were getting off the prior stop and walking the opposite way, but now they get off with me and follow me on a public walking/biking trail to the farm. Niether is much company to walk with, (tried that), so I walk ahead of them in my forester's gait and leave them far behind for the 15 minute walk that it is. As the Cambodian woman is rather large, she makes an effort to conserve her efforts, and somehow manages to find the berry picking to save herself from coming back the same way after clocking in at the warehouse. The Cambodian male does the clocking in for her, and this is where it gets weird; he was far behind me and when I turn around to look, there he is running to catch up for crissakes. I watch this for a little bit and then he stops. We meet up again in the warehouse where I clock in, and he clocks in for both of them. They have a shared shopping bag to keep their stuff in, and he does all the packing of it as well. They have a little hideaway inside the blackberry hedge surrounding the strawberry field, lined with brown cardboard boxes.

and bothe of them pack some brown cardboard along with them while picking, as a sometimes kneepad. But, there seems to be some kind of inexplicable ritual about this brown cardboard, as they don't always use it for a kneepad, and deposit behind or in front of them for no apparent reason. I contend this is for brown color mapping reference purposes, much like other Fuckwits who senselessly pack cardboard boxes on the bus and disembark by walking off with it under their arm pit. Other times, one of the Cambodians will be walking with the cardboard propped on their head for no seeming reason, not unlike other Fuckwits I see on the street, pretending to be doing garbage duty with a stack of cardboard propped on their head. Fucking bizarre to say the least, but seemingly  this is the perp's big entre to having brown skinned people (gangstalker assholes) who also need to pack a brown cardboard reference with them and keeping it in my proximity.

And so it was today, as I "ended up" with one of the Cambodian pair on either side of me for the first six working hours, picking strawberries. The were doing the cardboard box shuffle as mentioned above, and for the most part, stayed within 4' of me the entire time. "Somehow", we all picked at the same rate in a little cluster ahead of the remainder of the crew, who were 30' back for most of the time, and most were Mexicans and the ongoing two turbaned males (Hound Dog Turban being one), and one Caucasian woman who seems to be good at riling me up at least once per day, no matter where, while picking or at break times. Anyhow, this later staged row of pickers also picked at the same rate so they progressed as a line of some 12 or so, 20' to 30' behind me and the two Cambodians.

So..., a shorter day at the berry picking today due to hot weather conditions, but the Cambodian male left early by 30 min. at 1600h. I work to 1640h, walk to the warehouse to clock out, and then back to then take the public walking trail to the bus stop, getting there at 1700h, and take another city bus freakshow ride with some 40+ passengers eventually, the dude with the coffee cup next to me and taking up two seats on the rear bench. And when I get off a block from my place, why, the male Cambodian Fuckwit/berry picker was standing there at the bus stop at the rear exit. Like WTF; this loopy Fuckwit sticks on me like glue, continuting to "show up" in the strangest of places, and constantly peddling excuses to explain himself, though the language barrier is used to great effect.

I have got to get to bed now, 2130h, for an early start.

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

Short Birthday Ramble

July 06, 2010

My birthday today, and no one knew and no events today, just how I like it, as any kind of do ends up being a clusterfuck of the abettors and family quislings. Though, for the first time, my daughter did leave a phone message and has sent a card and present, as she was away last week. This marks the first time in recent memory she has done this, so maybe the sickos are now permitting more daughter contact. She also came through on Father's Day in early June, another recent first, and perhaps some sign there will be more permitted contact.

A day of strawberry picking in the sunshine, no more of the overcast games with hints of sun, and then it retreating once I was prepped with sun block lotion. The perps have a huge interest in the sunlight and Vitamin D reaction and uptake, and playing with sun block and then not needing it is one of their games. Another was to fuck me into covering my arms, but a forced "forget" in applying sun block lotion to my face, giving me a slight red tone for a day.

Other bullshit today was having me stop picking a row, and then going to the opposite end of the field and then pick in the opposite direction. Some kind of red color games were going down, as I lost my usual ability to distinguish red tones in the shade of the green leaves, and constantly had to bring the berries into full sunlight to see if they were red enough. Then I restarted my former row, and picked it with an oncoming picker from the opposite direction. Then I finished it, and then started a new row, and was then moved to another because of a sudden picker departure, and no doubt someone will pick the row that I started. They closed down picking early at 1710h, which was curious, as they only intended to go to 1730h anyway. The story was that it was too hot, but it was comfortably warm, and besides, the Mexicans can take a whole lot more heat that there was today.

Other bullshit to stir me up was the senior Punjabi woman making remarks that "this guy: (I was in the next row), was a slow picker. She was speaking to the lead Mexican, their translator, who also pulled his own stunt later in the day. He came up to me to show me three strawberries, all rejects, that were apparently in my just-finished carrier full of pint boxes. I said I doubted that they were, but that I would take his word for it, but that they were the kind of berries I don't pick. Two were a light orange color, and I know I did not pick them, and the other was a bruised deep ruby red berry. I check them all in my hand immediately after picking and before I put them in my pint boxes in the carrier tray. It seemed like total BS to me, and an excuse to show me some red color range in his hand, rather than mine. Sometimes he comes around and shows us reject berries, and does this for everyone. And just for today, for my birthday, he follows his involvement in the above slandering confab stunt with this individualized "see this strawberry red range in my hand" stunt, claiming that I picked them. And a Happy Fuckover to you buddy, and I wish that I had gone a few more rounds of denying they were my berries, and go and check the ones that I had picked since to see if there was any like it.

I got this same faux quality adherence rebuke when I started picking carrots last week. I was the new one on the crew of six or so, and had determined already they they weren't picking deformed carrots, and kept all the deformed ones out of my bunches. The first time they take my picked carrot bunches to the wash station they claimed I had picked a deformed carrot. I also saw that they hadn't really taken the deemed offending bunch from my pickings, and then they blew me off saying this was advice for everyone. Right; I am the only new carrot picker, the rest of them have being doing it for over 20 years, and then they attempt to lay on this quality standards violation on me until I told them flat out that I had not picked a deformed carrot, as I had known this from the outset and could see it from the leavings on the field. I went through this same bullshit with the potato picking, getting rebuked for picking the too-smalls, too green, the sliced ones etc. when I was highly cognizant of what had to be picked. Then they back off for a while, and start up again.

The senior Punjab woman isn't too mobile in the course of strawberry picking, as she gets others to bring her empty carriers and take the full ones away. I suppose she doesn't count the fetch-it time of others into her own picking time. As far as I know, I am doing a good job, and the strawberries that I have picked get verbal complements, and the farm owner's son said I am highly thought of by everyone. So WTF; two more "dump on me" slanderings, timed for my birthday, but to keep me riled up as one can tell.

Off to bed for a 0430h get up, and onto another day of work. The sickos kept me up all last night, estending their Monday abuses into Tuesday. I didn't feel any the worse for having so little sleep. Truly amazing what the perps can do to someone.

Monday, July 05, 2010

Weekly Ramble

A Monday, July 05, and a convergence of stunts, color exposures (brown boxes especially), plastics exposures, weirds, landscape digging (roots) at the First Feral Family home, and some near unmentionable stunt that I will briefly (har, har) get to below. And I would have more material to publish if it weren't for two deletions of my blog drafts this past week, a royal piss off to say the least, as I thought the fuckers had given up on deleting my emails and letters when composed, but before they were sent/published.

A stayover at the First Feral Family home after yesterday's work day at the farm, picking strawberries all day. All those shades of reds, from pinks, oranges, scarlet, ruby, and a deep purple red just before the berries go bad. And of course, plenty of extra red color exposures all over; four red vehicles in file ahead of me in traffic today, and the odd insertion of a white or silver grey vehicle into the mobile consort that I get everytime I go out.

These stayovers seem to be the benchmark for perp activity for the rest of the week in all my other venues, apartment, farm, and anywhere I go in my local neighborhood. I reckon my perp-abetting mother cooperates all week, and then the perps attempt to elicit whatever they can detect in her, in me while there. I also get my weekly red meat fill, as they only allow me chicken meat for the rest of the week, as they have done for the past eight years or so. The perps put me off red meat when I was 24 or so; I had two big steaks to eat that evening at a company barbeque, and the next morning I felt hungry. So, the planted scenario was that red meat wasn't good for me, and had some kind of inherent nutritional imbalance. So... for the next 25 years I was eating about two to three red meat meals a week, as my then wife wasn't so particular about my views (read, planted notions) on avoiding red meat. What this means for the perps isn't entirely clear, but as they hound my ass with gangstalkers wherever I shop for groceries, one can be sure that the color and content of my food intake is under intense scrutiny. They have kept me on the same tortilla/quesadilla dish, with minor variations, for the past seven years since they gave up on illegally incarcerating me in mid 2003. They even stopped my salad intake late last year, and I had the first one today, over six months later. I also note that my mother is also cooking some of the salad contents to accompany my red meat dinner last night, so even the vegetative food intake is under intense scrutiny. As mentioned in past blog postings, the natural phenols (e.g. anthocyanins) of vegetables and fruits is a big deal, and that hounding me with man-made phenolic compounds, (e.g. plywood glues) is a vital component of the ongoing parade of props and freaks.
And the sickos are treating me to a severe case of restless legs of late, limiting my online time to compose blog postings, as well as sending me to bed at 2200h last night, and ending my TV watching for the evening. I have never had this problem before, and it has suddenly erupted to control my activities, the little spare time I have as I work 10 hours a day, and commute by walking and bussing, good for 1.5 hours each day.
I busted my ass this morning, digging a front bed up at the First Feral Family house, 10'x3', pulling out yet another dumbshit landscaping job my parents embarked upon, decades ago. And lo, if there wasn't buried plastic in the bed as well, a black poly that seemed to be there for nominal purposes, as it wasn't complete to offer coverage for the entire bed. And this was adjacent to the driveway, and lo, if the plumber wasn't to-ing and fro-ing, as he was installing the new sink, washing machine faucets and connections, and a new outside faucet immediately on the other side of the wall. And it marks the first time that non-copper supply side pipes have been installed in the house, and no doubt the sickos will find great mileage in attempting to detect the energetic difference of the water supply for the laundry, formerly all copper. I have mentioned the perp's intense interest in my laundry, and that includes the water supply, both hot and cold, and what kind of pipes supply the water. And I assume this applies to other TI's, though I don't see it mentioned very often. There is something about the water supply, and even going back to the city resevoir, that the perps want to find out, and that 12 years of swimming with a club 3x/week wasn't enough, not to mention lake swims, out of town swim meets etc.
On the farm, I get my usual on-off swarms of attention, and then they back off, save a few who stick beside me as we pick strawberries. Hound Dog Turban seems to be a reference gangstalker, a blue eyed E. Indian, which is very odd, and who knows, he could be a morph-over of someone else I know well, even a family member. Of late, they seem to be attempting to leverage the red strawberry contact I make, having a red shirted Mexican delivering new carriers of trays and taking the full ones away while we are picking, to save ferrying time from the location we need to replenish the carriers. And there is great perp interference as to what language I use; “gracias”, or “thank you”, almost alternating. I am not allowed to stay with one or the other, and most of the Mexicans speak very little English, so why not speak in Spanish, the little I know? Not allowed; must Fuck Up, switch languages, or otherwise be totally inconsistent even if it is not my nature.
And the teleportation bullshit is getting out of hand, being as blatant as it has become. The assholes moved my backpack 20' away, and moved the backpacks of the two Cambodian berry pickers on the very location where mine was. And the strawberry tray carriers get moved elsewhere on me; I have it 10' away, no one is close to me, and it is gone for crissakes. Some of the berry pickers are showing up from strange directions; the male Cambodian picker “happened” to be on my bus one morning wearing a dark green coat and gets off one stop early to avoid seeing me at the bus stop to then transfer (or walk in my case) to the farm. Soo... I come in E. bound. on the bordering public trail, turn N. and then turn W. into the farm driveway. And as he didn't follow me, he would of come in the same way, even if he took a bus transfer. Somehow, he arrives five minutes after me, when he would of ordinarily arrived before me, and comes in W. bound where there was no entrance, wearing his “strawberry coat”, of light grey and scarlet red panels. I was watching the farm driveway the entire time, so how did he get there then, and why the coat color change?
Later the next day I asked the male Cambodian about a spat he was having with the problem picker, and he tells me a bit about the incident, and I add my analysis as I overheard most of it at the time. He has his hoodie up for no genuine weather related condition, and it is draped over his eyes, so all I get to see is his very dark skin, with a splayed nose, much like a negro nose. So it seems that this little confab was to present a partial negroid face, and without direct eye contact. I have mentioned the perps' constant pursuit about not making or inexplicably breaking eye contact, before, and it has been totally consistent for the past eight years of this abuse. They just don't want to show me a full face, especially if of the Unfavored demographic groups.
The one negro woman they put on berry picking had male like hair length, and she only lasted two hours before they pulled her for good. So who knows what is going on with the sickos and their fixation about showing me very metered portions of negroes, especially facial features, but also other stunts like having an arm appear around a corner first, reaching for the bus pole, before the full negro was visible. Another stunt was having a negro jump into my way from 8' in front of me, “happening” to leap sideways from a box van from the tailgate to the sidewalk instead of getting down on the street surface first. And there have been countless other negro events, and it seems to be ramping up of late, though the farm work keeps me from the usual online exposures. Like I have said, the perp's negro fixation may relate to their impositions in childhood, where they locked children up in cages, and in one photo from the Indian Lake Project, they show negro children with others, one blind, in a cage. I wonder I was there; all the military show stunts I get seem to suggest this. It seems they deleted all my recall from ages 2 to 5, and this is the time period that fits with the dates of the photos of the Indian Lake Project. See link at right.
I will be 56 tomorrow, and that marks the same amount of time that I have been monitored and irradiated and otherwise fucked with, not to mention the long history of stunts and events the assholes have put on before they went overt/beserk in 04-2002. And they are still at it; blocking streets with the police, extra sirens and sending police vehicles to circle the block in front of me while at the bus stop at 0600 to 0700h, depending which day of the week, as the weekend bus runs an hour later. They even have the dipshits stop in the middle of an intersection on a green light, getting some more “posing time” in the intersection. Sometimes the police criminals are looking at me, other times not. But when they cruise by the mornig time outbound bus stop four days in a row, it cannot be random. Plus, the big dark grey vehicles with the blacked in wheels seem to be a perp favorite for me to see, again, it may mean subconscious traumatization elicitations from the memory wiped lost years, as the police were supporting the Duplessis Orphan abuse in Quebec I have come to know. And two of my first five years were spent in Montreal. All these circumstantial clues, and nothing definitive, and one big long Fuckover tease.

I just finished five screamings at the assholes for typo sabotage, so it it time to post this one.