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.

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