Sunday, August 29, 2010

Are There Cooperating TI's?

Aug. 23, 2010
A day of daffodil bulb picking in the field, just when I had assumed I would be on conveyor work at the warehouse. Well, I suppose, getting me and my new kneepads out there in the field was important, and so more kneepad time. These have some kind of gel inserts, so doubtless it will be of intense interest, a change up from the foam type. As mentioned many times, one's knees seem to be important for the sickos, as it must be some kind of chi energy center. I say this because I have had some remotely invoked knee pain, but also the gangstalkers like to put on a knee brace on one knee, usually black in color. Another time (2008), during a daffodil bulb throwing episode in which I was not involved in, one of the miscreants/operatives managed to throw one and nail me in the side of the right knee. And so, we are still at it, and too, the sickos will force me out tonight to get the Rx, and no doubt swarm me as my knees will likely be still emanating energy from the gel insert kneepads.

Back to the lead-in title question; the answer is that I don't know for sure, but I am begining to suspect that it is true. The twosome that arrived as casual labor on Friday, Aug. 20, 2010, for the daffodil farm work, were there again today, a Monday. As mentioned in the last post, they are identical in body form to two of the TI's I met the weekend before; one very large, and the other large. Different faces, but dead ringers if I looked from the neck down. As mentioned,  they seem to be making an effort to hang around me, and featuring themselves. And it was the same today. One of the TI's I have known for three years, and I believe she is legit. But she has baited me into past conversations that were set-up in hindsight, not to mention doing some brown latte bearing work in my presence when we met at a presentation last year.

Anyhow, whether morphed over or not, I don't really care, and the perps seem to be managing my "reaction" to one of suspicion, as they seem to know some things about the farm warehouse that only experienced workers would know, e.g. the supply of bottled water.

Aug. 24, 2010
Back from a hot day of daffodil bulb picking on the farm. Its what I do for $9/hour to augment this disability bullshit I recieve. I cannot think of a more physically taxing job, and here I am, in my third year of it.

And today was production count day, enumerating our filled boxes of daffodil bulbs, making for a minor gong show as the 20 or so bulb pickers were spread over 300' of farm field. The supervisor gave the enumeration job to several bulb pickers in turn, saving him the inconvenience. And so, my read was that this activity was tested by various males, each wearing different colors of clothing, hats even, and that this was important for the sickos. Tomorrow, I suspect, it will be the turn of Asians, females, and maybe the one token negro, the same dude that slammed me on the bus and then "shows up" at the farm as a prosepctive employee who then signs up. The next day he gives me a small shot in the back while weeding at a joint crew exercise. Needless to say, the karma is toxic, as the fucker doesn't know the meaning of the word "apology". Apalling maybe, but I won't tell him that.

Today, in the crew bus he sits next to the Cambodian dude who has followed me from the last farm job, on the buses, and then on the bulb picking job. But suddenly the Cambodian dude gets up, makes some excuse and sits at the back where there is no seat, just a heater. So..., the negro moves one seat sideways to then sit where the Cambodian dude was, and the other seat of the pair remained vacant. Like I said, there is nothing more inane that the perps like to engage in than their consumption of seat swapping, especially in inter-racial situations. (Or, having only negroes swap seats). This little vignette played in front of me, and it was only a five minute drive to the bulb fields in the crew bus.

The sirens have started up as I type, but I will mention that the recent headpains the sickos have been delivering over the past week have largely abated today.

Aug. 26
I see that my last entry got deleted, so here it is again. The assholes shut down my internet last night, as the ISP declared a "problem" after I was put through re-booting my router 5x or more.

More daffodil bulb picking, this time I was one of three tally folk, keeping track of a sub-set of daffodil bulb pickers and their bulb picking production. (It is in boxes, 24" x 14" or so, 8" deep, and to be filled to the handle level and then stacked in a particular row to facilitate later pick up with a truck). Which means I get my name called some 120x or more during the day, as we are spread along 300' of field rows.

They put the same negro on again, the one I know as Shover, as he gave me a shove when seated on the bus, and the next day at work, They, negro-ed me again with him at the homebound bus stop, and then on board with him and at least 4 more negroes of two parties. One negro woman had these disgusting square patches in her hair, making her hair worse than dreadlocks. I didn't think it was possible, but a new low in disgusting hair, aka "hurl do's" was attained today.

Back to name calling: there have been two incidents in the past 8 years where someone who didn't know me was calling out my name from afar. This time it is legit, as the bulb picking crew know me, and are calling me to note how many boxes they have filled since I last counted them. The perps do have a minor obsession as to having others call me by my name, or getting it totally incorrect, or getting hung up on the given names, as my first name is not the one I go by. Don't ask me why this is important to the assholes, but it is, and there has been no end of games related to this, including asking if I related to Howard Hughes, which I am not.

Aug. 27

An unexpected change in the farm laborer job as I was to be picking bulbs in the field, but the foreman came and wanted me and an Asian woman to be on their daffodil bulb sorting conveyor line instead. We got to sit in his orange vehicle while he gave instructions to the crew around us. The Shover Negro featured himself in the driver's side rear view mirror when I "happened" to look there, and the schizonphrenic woman was front and center visible through the windsheild.

Got screwed twice; "forgetting" a box of bulbs to sort, and then "forgetting" to put the conveyor belt on and backing up the system that then created a flood of bulbs for the downstream bulb evaluators. Great fun for the sickos, screwing me around when I don't ever make those mistakes.

And what's with the hoodie nonsense? Not only more of them, but the token Punjabi couple (he in a yellow turban), have taken to putting hoodies on too. A black hoodie over a yellow turban looks fucking ridiculous, and maybe it is for the perp's longstanding game of slow reveals of Unfavored clothing (any kind of head adornment).

Aug. 28, 2010
Another day of loading daffodil bulbs into the conveyor hopper, and keeping the downstream bulb sorting personnel busy, but not too much so that they miss rotten bulbs. After one 10 second visit to the sort line I picked up two rotten bulbs that passed by the last person so I reduced the volume of bulbs so they had more time to devote to looking at them. Mostly, one does it by feel when selecting the more suspect bulbs, as obvious ones can be let by.

I had the white dust mask on again, a seeming perp prop as it gives them that white surface on my face, along with the black foam on the inside to augment sealing, as well as an aluminum strip to set the nose shape, and yellow elastic bands to hold it on my head. Strangely, there was a surfeit of red vehicles when waiting for the city bus afterward, almost one in two was red for the 15 minute wait for the Saturday bus, not the usual double decker. I had my co-workers seated nearby, a blind dude with his white folded cane at his crotch, an Elvis-like dude with a guitar on the back shelf, the skateboarder dude with the board between his legs for the trip and a few other "thuggy buddies" also, and one babe whom I saw on the morning bus.

The entertaining talk among us farm workers on the city bus home was the schizoid woman who came for the past week, and how odd she was and the first time reaction of unsuspecting co-workers. According to the foreman, she really is schizophrenic as he has clinical training as a former mental health care worker. But as she also has a habit of "showing up" for a parade of three three in file through the door as I was about to enter it, and other "coincidences" of placing herself in my proximity, I have to wonder what the real story is. It is common for the perps to present someone who is seemingly well balanced at first and then slides into delusional or contradictory illogic, and then sounding a noise (or keeping the background chatter going) just as I figure out the person is batshit crazy. My ex was a little like that, going irrational when there was any tension in the household, usually due to her undisclosed financial state. And so, here we are again, planting the head cases for me to detect and then ponder how to extricate myself from the circumstances. In the ex's case it was divorce of course, but that show ran for five years longer than it should of, cranking up the stupid level and having me to parry it with rational objections. The final denouement being the hobby farm she couldn't handle, and wanted to bail out of by renting somewhere else. Some solution that was, and thankfully she stayed until the end so the infernal place could be sold, yet another real estate asset losing outcome.

So, this is the eve of having a day off, that being tomorrow, and when I will finish up this blog posting, as it is now down to once per week with the farm laborer job taking so much time as well as the city bus commute.

I was to stop in a bookstore on the way back from the bus stop, and as I opened the door, a file of five gangstalkers were in position to file out the front door, one immediately behind the other, as I held it open. I immediately had the "fuck that" notion, likely planted, let the door go and kept walking back to my apartment. All week the perps have pumped me to get the "Shock Doctrine", part of which I have read, and then when the time comes to enter the bookstore where it is on hold, they pull this doorway obstruction/mindfuck stunt such that I am foiled in attaining what I had intended. This is similar to leading me with expectations, and then having them dissipate with some contrived jerkaround at the last moment. (Also called "dashed expectations"). I don't know what they get from this juvenility, but it is so consistent there must be something really vital for them to remotely detect.

Today, I had the tan-through shirt on, following two days of partial cloudy days when I wore my SPF long sleeved shirt. The intent was to have the SPF (sunlight blocking) shirt take the dirt instead of my bare arms collecting dust, and becoming part of the ongoing sunlight-to-skin games that is a consistent theme of the harassment activity. "Somehow" I "forgot" and I put on the tan-through shirt again when I thought I was through with them for the summer. It seems that even a short spell out in the sunlight attracts co-workers (read, gangstalkers), and so it goes. All but one of the the conveyor workers are out of the sun after the first hour, and I am in the sun for the entire day, as the conveyor feeds through the wall. The one person at the end of the conveyor is in and out of the sun, depending on how fast the bulb boxes are filling up, and this cycling of in/out of direct sunlight, and the respective energetic interactions (or electromagnetic interactions if you prefer), seems to be a huge part of the harasssment/experimentation agenda.

There are so many large themes of the perp agenda; the above mentioned sunlight-on-skin interactions, and one that has been plain for some time, water supply, what kind and color of pipes it comes through, which includes the watering of the vegetative crops that I eat. The use of aluminum irrigation pipes seems to be a big part of the current perp testing, as the irrigation workers somehow trashed the $20k water gun with a 10' poly hose reel on it in 2008. This year, the water gun is fixed, but used sparingly with most of the irrigation still done by aluminum pipes. And I see the odd 10' poly hose/water gun being towed past the city bus stop when waiting after a day's work, so it seems that the perps are still busy on attempting to unravel the energetic effects of drinking/irrigating from poly hoses, PVC and aluminum pipe. Endless permutations and combinations, much of it related to the color of the pipe or hose, including that of gardening at my mother's place.

Aug. 29, 2010
A missing half hour this morning, as the usual breakfast routine took longer than normal, and I have no idea how it happened. Perhaps it was to allow time for the sickos to accelerate my breakfast digestion, as they forced me to take a shit after my shower and before shaving, and then back in the shower to clean up. This is the third crap in less than 24 hours, a near record, as usually they run me from three to five days without one. Where it goes is unknown, and I suspect they maybe doing some of their teleporting tricks to fill up the septic service vehicles that frequent my proximity. Just speculative of course, but given the perp's long standing need to interfere will bowel movements and plug toilets, as in literally harassed up the asshole, and all things brown, their fuckery knows no bounds.

And the cleaning urge struck again while the laundry was on earlier. Today it was floors, bathroom and kitchen and kitchen cabinets. It is unusual that they have be do both in one day, but I suppose the prescribed single room cleaning activity is allowed to become more complex. Back in the first months of living this apartment, they would only let me clean half the bathtub before a sudden energy/demotivation would strike, and since then I have been allowed to do all of the bathtub, and all of the toilet in one cleaning session. Such is progress on this insane Fuckover front for my mind keepers.

A final round of blogging before I post this one for the week. I went to my mother's place in the suburbs and watered her vegetable garden, and attended to some plants to hold them up with a brown paper-like decomposeable twine. As always, the perp agenda is important, the plant sap passing by the brown paper twine supporting the tomatoe branch is a big deal. I used the same twine to support Ocean Spray plants that are strangely flopping about instead of keeping their vestigiate form.

The perps put me into a 1.5 hour nap on the brown colored couch after lunch, presumably to prime me for the next task, one they routinely noisestalk me over, digging plant roots up. This is an area in one corner of the backyard that is humpy, and I am removing soil to take it down to a consistent grade. And lo, if a there wasn't more plastic sheet buried. I took out some last week, then today, and also discovered some deeper buried plastic that will have to be taken out next week. Given the large number of plastics that I dig up, and their oddity, I can only assume it is the perps playing yet more plastic exposure games. And the noisestalking immediately started up once I began digging; overhead aircraft, a sudden percussive building project that appeared to come from next door even if no one was there, and a block away circular sawing project, presumably creating EMF fields at the same time. The orchestrated lawnmower noises have dropped from favor, and now more distant noises, save the diesel engine running across the street.

At least 30 vocalized piss-offs when I got back via the city bus, though a muted freakshow this time. But I did get two dudes closing in on me, each sitting two seats away, and one of them doing his plastic bag rustling for some strange reason. Then when I got off, the fucker tailed me for two blocks, another never-before. Though I did also get a tail off the bus yesterday too, so maybe the assholes are ramping up the gangstalking coverage.

The usual litany of provocations to piss me off; fumbling fingers, senseless rattling of flat plates on a flat table top, flicking water about, teleporting crumbs onto my plate, and a few more that aren't allowed to be recalled.

This morning the perps were at their coconut butter sabotage, a food item that has been sabotaged every day for the past week. The coconut oil had separated in the night again, and I stirred it up with the solids and then ladled two spoon fulls on my bread. The stiff paste of the last time isn't allowed, so I have pourable coconut butter now. And lo, if the assholes didn't up the mess ante by arranging the bread to have holes in the slice, and of course, the coconut butter dripping through to ensure extensive finger contact with the plate to remove the ponded coconut butter. Just another vignette of the ongoing and bizarre games over the simplest of things.

Enough drivel, and time to post this

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Daffodil Bulb Conveyor Work

This is the third year I have done conveyor work for sorting and grading daffodil bulbs. I get to load the hopper, which sets the feed rate for the crew through the wall in the shade all day long, picking the bad ones off and letting the good (not rotten or scarred) go through for loading to a box, weighed by a machine for the same amount in each.

Interuptions; strange interactions (jose),

Aug. 17, 2010
Another day of feeding the hopper of daffodil bulbs, and basking in the sun all the while, save my work breaks. The rest of the bulb sorting/grading crew is on the other side of a steel wall, and gets very little sun, save the first hour. I wore my tan-through shirt today, always of a big focus for the sickos, and am a little browner on my back as a result. After a week's hot spell, a second cold spell is forecast for this August. I have known similar chilly temperatures for the past two years in August and September when the daffodil bulbs work was in progress.

At work, I get flurries of activities around me at certain junctures, often after breaks when I eat something. A second day of one pass of the SeaKing military helicopter, again, having a shirt of identical grayness in my pack, kept there as a protective wrapper around my glass sealing container with a plastic lid. The stainless steel airtight container on order has taken three weeks to ship, so I need to bring the glass one, even if I didn't want to, as it is total bait for the assholes to smash it somehow. And that would be a mess, glass shards, fruit and fruit juice in my pack should the unthinkable happen. The mantra I have for eliminating the hassles, is "eliminate the excuses", that is, remove any leverage or tempting item that could be co-opted to create hassles, mess or any other kind of disaster/harassment.

Other activity flurry timings seem to be related to when I am moving stacks of plastic crates, or walking in the track of the forklift as it moves pallets for me. All the tractor driving personel have come by for an ambulatory "guest gangstalking"; a no seeming purpose passby, 8' to 12' away, only to momentarily loiter around for some senseless reason and then depart.

It was the dual do-rags on the bus today; the two rows ahead of me each had a do-rag wearing female in it. They had me sleep much of the bus ride home, as I don't recall much of it save waking up. The bus driver changed things up by having front door exits only, and stopped a block earlier for me and others to get off downtown.

On the morning oubound city bus they put this gorgeous brunette babe one seat removed on the rear bench where I was, and she was on her cell phone. (Read, EMF signals in proximity). Then a co-worker male arrives and seats himself opposite me in the rear facing seats and makes conversation with me. Then the babe moved to the forward facing seat row immediately behind him, and offset by one seat so she was fully viewable from the back where I was. She was still on her cell phone, even after protracted quiet time, when a fugly negro woman with dreadlocks boards the bus and then sits facing ahead, and to the right. From left to right I had the babe one seat row ahead, the male co-worker facing me offset from the babe, and then the dreadlock adorned negro woman, 8' further away. Anyhow, I was kept in conversation while looking at the babe and my co-worker, and then the assholes would force me to look right to see the fugly dreadlocks much more than I would by myself. Like anyone, if I see something I don't like, I avert my visual  attention and don't look there anymore. But this natural preservation instinct was overriden it seemed, as the perps forced me to look at the dreadlocks much more that I would of if left alone. Yet again, what is the reason for the perps to be totally consumed with showing me things I don't care to see, off the Unfavored list? If I don't like dreadlocks, red hair, white hair, crimped hair, curly hair, cornrow or corded hair, why is it that the assholes hound me all over town and on the bus, now for eight years, with these fugly Unfavored hair-dos, also named hurl-dos in this blog? They must be spending billions of dollars hounding my ass, and they persist with this insane and often abuse agenda.

Aug. 20, 2010

Bulb hopper loading, and two new workers who looked very much like two of the TI's I met last weekend, at least in body form. Same height, same build but different facial appearences, and they did seem to know each other. One seemed to know her way to the bottled water, but asked me for help, and then asked me how to get to the washroom which was in plain view. The management never let on that bottled water is availible for us peasants, but instead direct us to the well water which is a bit skunky. Then this pair managed to get themselves on the bulb sorting job, something they don't ordinarily do for newbies. One of them was also featuring herself, posing in doorways and excessively crossing my path. All too curious, TI's potentially cooperating will the sickos put me through living hell every fucking day. Or, is it a mind-fuck game? As always, it is at least, FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt).

Aug. 22, 2010
A day off (Sunday) from the 14 hour round trip to eat, work eat when doing the manual labor farm work.

Plenty of rage-ifcations (over 40 so far) this morning, a get-up time of 0730h, respectable and not too late. They have increased the crumb, lint and dog hair teleported inundations, especially on just-cleaned surfaces. The cleaning urge struck as it usually does, in parallel with the laundry on (separate room, 30' away). They pulled the swifter pad from my hand at least 3x, dumped quarters that magically arrived outside the paper wrapped roll (no spillage or falling from the roll), jabbed me in the finger tips at least 4x, poked me in the nipples at least 10x (a torture I have come to not notice much as it happens so often), invoked head pain pulses of short duration (usually while screaming at the assholes over a prior disruptive incursion), flicked water sideways by some 18" and a many others which I am not allowed to recall. And the assholes seem to be pissing with my recall more, making me "forget" to dust all the surfaces of the chair rungs until I thought I was done, when I had fully intended to get to that particular rung, and like perceptual "forgets" and reversals that never happened before.

When the fuckery gets intensified it is often coincident with new events or radical re-arrangements of my routines. I started a new jar of coconut butter this morning, replacing the peanut butter I usually purchase, and lo, if the assholes didn't make it goopy and unspreadable. So now, it gets a place in the fridge, when it was never refrigerated before, as it normally a stiff paste at room temperature. And lo, if that isn't kept the same location in the fridge where the peanut butter is usually kept. The Feb. to Mar. use of coconut butter was blogged, but it was stored on the shelf as it was plain that after one day's refrigeration it was too hard to spread. Now, we shall see what happens.

(And to divulge more of the peanut/coconut butter trivia, they had a full unopened jar of peanut butter on the cupboard shelf next to the coconut butter that was in use). I have mentioned the perps consumption with with various plant oils before if my recall hasn't been fucked with, and it seems that they are still on this theme. Which has been the case from the get-go, though I wasn't fully aware of it until staged shortages of my usual olive oil was plain, not to mention (in 2004) ripping a just-purchased grocery bag containing only  olive oil from my hand and smashing it on the asphalt surface I was walking on.

And I notice they denatured the taste of the coconut butter; I was allowed to "find" the Artisana brand that was so delectably sweet last time, and lo, the sweetness is now gone. Such taste "numbing" is nothing new I have come to find, and it seems they like to make sure that they know it is happening. They could of denatured the flavor from the first time I tasted it, but no, they allowed me to taste it in full (which I suspect is still muted from what most normal folk would find), and now make sure I know it isn't as sweet.

But, they did allow me a full night's sleep last night, with no recalled ructions or disruptive (and imposed) dreams. Meat aerial games were in place prior to awakening, and this is the pattern nearly every night.

An afternoon at the First Feral Family home, digging up weeds, loping low overhanging branches, raking up pine cones and digging buried plastic out from the ground. Each activity begat fresh rounds of noisestalking, and the odd plasmic flash as if it came off my glasses. The aircraft noise, (SAC and private single engine aircraft) was highly evident, as were the hot rods of the nearby street, and other loud muffler acts (motorcycles, ill-maintained passenger vehicle mufflers). Oddly, not much neighbor noise like lawnmowers, chainsaws and the like; keeping their noise at bay for a rare change. I hadn't done any gardening work for two weeks, and sometimes they come on real hard after a hiatus. But they did ramp up the head pains, these seeming beams of point source pain, often deep in my temple region where the amygdala is.

My mother retrieved my father from the old folks home for a visitation, they timing their arrival and greeting just five minutes into digging up the plastic 6" below the surface, the second set of it, as I had removed a sheet above it two weeks ago. Then they were in the house after that, presumably for detecting plastic-me interactions from a distance. This digging exposed the roots of the adjacent cedar hedge and the pine trees, and for the perps, it is just noisestalk heaven when I mess with plant roots. And they even added more plastic after the fact, a red bread tag, a styrene plastic, arrived on the dug area by dint of some fuckery. The perps have me loathing the sight of bread (packaging) tags, but there is no rational reason for this, as I don't particularly care about such trivia.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Back Online

I got the PC back and was busy doing many errands today (including getting this PC back), as well as meeting a local TI who is in neck deep on a whistle-blower situation. I am not sure what to make of it, though I am ferrying copied documents from her to a TI gathering I am attending in Nanaimo, BC. This will be the big news that I will report on (below), and it will also include my determinations as to whether they are cooperating or not. Doing the back and forths with a brown beverage in hand is a perp gangstalker trademark writ large, and this has already happened before when the TI was visiting me.

I will have to bury my cynicism over TI activism this get-together will take, as I am not in agreement with this activity for the most part. First, the TI's seem to attach themselves to other dispossessed groups for no other reason, and then it backfires on them when the group is engaged in public mayhem, like at the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver BC. They also go silly on splitting their resources on other causes like chem-trails and privacy and the like, and it is foolish IMHO as it dilutes the TI message. Only the Abductees and the UFO-ologists are similarly disorganized/disrupted.

A brutal week for perp harassment, as the perps escalated their fuckery to keep me enraged most of the time while at my place, and even some at the farm job. Their version of getting me ready for the two day TI get-together maybe. They also improved the lighting in the apartment lobby, and took out one elevator, leaving only one, and me humpfing it up and down six flights of stairs.

And what is with the dudes that are backing up in a public area, or one that is busy? At least three of these events in the past week, and it isn't over yet, as I get to take the train tomorrow.

The first live show, a play of a concert, Hank Williams; the Show He Never Gave was excellent, but what is with the seat banging from behind, some 20x? Fucking outrageous bullshit. Plust they changed the end of the play from when I saw it in 1980 in Vancouver, and made it a straight up concert, and didn't include his sorry end at the age of 30.

Later,. five of them on me when taking out the recyclable garbage, which includes brown boxes. Three unmovable dudes in the elevator as well as two at the lobby, doing the split couple act. That two parcels were picked up today was also exciting for the perps, as they cannot get enough brown color testing on me it seems.

They also had the brown shirts (gangstalkers wearing brown shirts) all over me at the local supermarket while waiting for the (brown) coffee beans to grind through the mill, five at one time, including those who come to look at me and then retrace their steps. All to put their disgusting mug in front of me, the Freakshow of the Unfavored; male skinheads, dreadlocked hair do's, large gutted males, brownshirts, "just standing there" Fuckwits and the rest of the infuriating insane assholes who make gangstalking so much fun to be the focus of.

Back from a train trip to Nanaimo, a TI gathering for BC TI's. Seven in total, and a whole lot of talking and then some of what seemed to be feigned or indifferent responses at times. Why cannot I be allowed to engage in a lively and free-form discussion as to what the perp objectives are? I get shut down on this all the time, and I expected better.

And too, the usual pattern of seat and table changing and the rest of the game that I have come to know, and even a "rotation" of some of them to sit beside me. The orange shirt seemed to be a big deal, just as it was on the train, and outside the train with an orange shirted jogger with his small child running beside the train for no fucking reason as it left the station.

Anyhow, two days away, among TI's, and most I had not met, seven in all, and all of them smoked great amounts of cigarettes, even if it was mostly outside, and it just seems that cigarettes is a long standing perp prop; the brown tobacco and the flame near the smoker's face, not to mention the smoke somehow finding me all the time. Anyhow, some sad tales, and it seems that no one is allowed to earn very much, and some are currently attempting to re-carreer, one been driven out of office administration, the daughter of a policeman even. So much for expecting any exceptions from the perps.

There is more I could get into, but I won't for the sake of keeping the TI community free from airing their laundry in public, but I did feel distinctly blown off more than once, even communally. Why cannot a single supported question get discussed and some answers get articulated? I just don't get it. Not to mention the seeming smirks while I am speaking, as if this fucking hell is one big joke on me.

Back to picking daffodil bulbs tomorrow and long days, with the predictable gangstalking and behavioral oddities that make this such a pill. And wearing my re-soled hiking boots, this time with Goodyear rubber soles and not the usual Vibram like I had, with the yellow label in the center. The Goodyear sole has yellow lettering on a blue background, doubtless of extreme importance to the assholes.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

Last Post Until Aug. 16, 2010


And what is it about shoe repairs that has the perps so cranked up? First, they prematurely wore the outside of the heels down on my hiking/work boots, and that began a notion to get them repaired. And lo, if in the local alternative paper that I happened to pick up and read at the doctor's office two weeks ago, didn't have a story on local shoe repair and custom manufacturing stores/businesses. So, on with finding a place to get my boots repaired last week (same day) before starting the new farmwork job, and lo, if I didn't get skunked at two of the two locations I took my boots to. One was on holiday for one month, and the other was closed on Mondays. Yet another senseless round trip.

So today, over a week later, after twice intending to do so but running out of time, I check out G's shoe repairs for the opening hours to see if they were open to 1800h. No such luck, save a big vehicle noise when I found out I cannot take them in after getting off the bus after work. I go to another location on the way to the bus stop, and there again, was my "hanger around" (shiftless gangstalker dude) when I walked by to check on opening hours, which weren't posted. Twice in two days I have attempted to find the opening hours of S's store, and had the same shiftless Fuckwit loitering around.

So, on the bus, and some two blocks N, and who do I see jaywalking ahead of the bus, why Mr. G of above mentioned G shoe repairs for crissakes. Another arranged coincidence IMHO, all over getting my boots repaired, which is a protracted exercise for at least two weeks, and will likely run two more before I get them in. I just cannot believe the amount of total bullshit over the most commonplace activities.

Other dufus/Fuckwit loitering has been when depositing a check. The assholes prevented access to the ATM inside the bank, outside of bank hours, and there was two ATM outside. So.... I go to deposit my check, and a Fuckwit male gangstalker, as a dayglo dressed tradesman, is standing at his mid-grey pickup truck at the curb, doing nothing much. A few days later, the ATM inside is still blocked, and I deposit a check, and lo, same Fuckwit in dayglo standing there, still doing fuck all.

And my Cambodian farm worker confreres of the last farm, have resurfaced at the new farm I am working at. And are taking the same bus, which would be expected, as it is the only one going in that direction at that time of day. My beef was with their bus selection at the last farm. They took a different bus to get there by a more direct route, and then later took the bus I was on, a less direct route. This is a male/female pair, no romantic notions at all, and sit apart each time I see them. The latest is that one sat upstairs and the other downstairs on the double decker bus. They seem to be involved in some distance dependent Cambodian skin color interaction games, along the length of the bus, and now from upstairs to downstairs.

The latest is that the 45 min. clusterfuck/marshalling at the farm, is that the male Cambodian sits in the crew bus for most of the time, all by himself, and then she makes small chat next to me, some 30' distant, outside the bus, and with the constant orchestrated milling and parading going on around me. She doesn't usually talk to me, or even hang around me, but somehow was moved to do so when her compatriot sat in the crew bus the whole time for no know reason. As there are two crews, the weeders and the bulbers, we never know which is going to go in the bus first, so everyone stands around outside the crew bus, but for some uncharacteristic reason, the male Cambodian was compelled to sit in it for the entire time, save one featured exit for 30 seconds and then gets back in with his ridiculous wide brimmed white hat on.

A run in with a regular Fuckwit on the floor at the elevator; the elevator rushing games are back. If nothing else spells orchestration, surely these elevator door way run-ins must. This is the Fuckwit I will call Smiley, as he smiles all the time when we pass in the hallway or the lobby downstairs. This time, his usual unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, he attempts to get in the elevator when I am exiting, the door still opening. I state that I would like to get by him, and he doesn't move, and makes out there is enough room, as there isn't. I have to wait untl the door fully opens, and then tell him that it is customary to let passengers out of the elevator first, before getting in. In every instance, these assholes don't move, but remain blocking egress from the elevator, and forcing me to go around them. The last spectacular jerkaround of this kind was a large native Indian dude who stayed right over the elevator-floor interface and didn't move, despite me telling him what elevator manners are for.

Then on the farm work, the tattoos are playing big. The "Tats", a he and she couple for the first time, and then at least six others on the crew, and countless ones in public. The Tats, had tattoos up their necks, and all over their forearm. She Tat even invaded my picking section for no reason but to appear deranged and expose me to her disgusting fine ink line tattoos all over her forearm. I fucking hate the sight of tattoos, and I don't understand why this is interest to anyone else but me.

The male skinheads are also playing big today; the bank teller I dealt with for yet more coin rolls for the laundry machines, another in the elevator, some new farm workers. Another of those Unfavored features I cannot stand the sight of, and yet they keep planting these fuckers for me to see in discrete short term views.

No work tomorrow, a Saturday, as it will be wet according to the forecast. So... I can get some errands done, and one includes an upgrade to this PC, getting a U3S6 card put in to allow faster communication with hard drives. Getting ready for a solid state disk, maybe in two months or more. Asus didn't list my motherboard as a compatible device, and the Asus contact wouldn't tell me why, he just stopped responding to my enquiries. A crap shoot to some extent, but then again, possibly pointless adversity for no essential gain.

A full day of bulb picking, thanfully less tattoo acts on the crew today, but lo, if there wasn't two women with big tattoos on the bus on the way back. One raised her arm at least three times for the overhead air flow control, and lo, if it wasn't loaded with tattoos. Like I said, I fucking hate the sight of them, and I don't see why I should be hounded with tattoo acts everywhere I go.

On my return the this apartment, above mentioned Smiley managed to arrange himself at the elevator again, the second day in succession, cigarette dangling from his lips, but this time he backed off some and let me out. Surely one of those "wonder coincidences" as the bus was on time today, and 20 minutes late yesterday, so how did he know I was coming to arrange himself at the elevator doorway two days in a row on my return from farm work? And a fugly bright green shirt he had with a brown colored vest, changing the color of his clothing from yesterday, and maybe the brown matched the color of the tobacco in his cigarette, his signature prop.

So, a week without regular internet access, and blogging. There is a Vancouver and Vancouver Island TI meeting next weekend, and I will be attending, so it should be interesting as to what transpires. I have mentioned this in the past, but there seems to be some TI cooperation with the perps among this crowd, if the brown drink back and forthing is clue, and so I am in significant trepidation as to how much of this will be orchestrated. Overnight camping in the backyard as well, surely a perp highlight for the year, as they haven't allowed me to camp anywhere for over 10 years. (Not including sleeping in my vehicle, which was extensive in  2000 to 2002, before and after the onset of overt abuse.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Weekly Wrap Up


A day off tomorrow, and no 0445h get up most importantly. It was daffodil bulb picking all day long, and they assembled a single dedicated crew today. That included the E. Indian couple, he of the turban, and the "shove me" negro dude, still on the gangstalking beat, though he now drives his vehicle to work instead of shoving me or hounding me on the bus. These two prime Unfavoreds didn't last more than an hour before they had strangely disappeared from the large field. Thankfully they were kept well away from me, but I did not see them go and I am sure I would of heard a vehicle had it arrived to take them elsewhere. I suppose the Fuckwits are giving me short exposures to these particular odious Unfavored specimens, and they will incrementally build up longer exposure time over the next three weeks, the expected duration of bulb picking before the bulb conveyor line is set up.

Other oddities today inclued the crew bus being moved, with no apparent person doing it. Only the foreman is allowed to drive it, or else another supervisor, and why move it 30' anyways when we are in the middle of a 40 acre field? This has been going on for the last three days, these small moves of the crew bus with no apparent driver. I have taken these to be teleportations as I haven't heard the engine turn, and the foreman is usually on top of us daffodil bulb pickers. One time my pack that was outside the bus was moved next to someone's stainless steel water bottle along with a the crew bus moving a short distance. And I think we have done the teleporting pack stunt before at the prior worksite, also a farm.

I get plenty of daffodil bulbs popping out of my hands during the day, and they will even move by themselves, prefering to spin more than flick about. LIke I have said, teleportation is just another ho-hum office day for these assholes.

And the high clouds obscured the sum for much of the day, cutting down on any tanning I expected to get through my Tan-Through shirt. So much for that plan, but as the sickos have been hounding me over tanning, and sun exposures for eight years, I am not too surprised to see them jerk with the cloud patterns to limit my sun exposure. From 1999 to 2002 when I lived in Everett and Seattle I suddenly took on an interest in getting tanned in tanning booths, and it is very likely this was a run up to the current harassment and abuse that get dealt with over sunlight exposure.

July 31 to Aug. 02, 2010

A composite of these days, as I have been too rushed to do daily blogging.

One of my workmates was sleeping on the bus as we were approaching the bus top, and I wakened her by saying the bus stop was imminent. We got off, but there was no crew bus to meet us so we walked some 800 yards before it arrived. The crew bus driver said he was going back to the pickup location to wait for more workers on a later bus. I said I would walk on to the warehouse, and the woman said she would take the bus and wait with it.

As it "so happened", she fell asleep in the crew bus while it was waiting at the city bus stop for more farm workers, but none came. I learned this from her, and she told me she took a sleeping pill the night before, hence her inclination to sleep. The routine is that the crew bus meets us at the bus stop for the 0635h departing bus, and no other buses from other routes or directions. So... the charade parade was all about returning this woman to the city bus drop off (and crew bus pick up spot, where incidentally, a Masonic Temple building is located), so she could sleep in the crew bus for another 25 minutes, and then come back to the warehouse where I and all the other farmworkers are marshalling in a 45 minute cluster fuck before we get going to work.

On a city bus return trip to downtown I "happened" to meet one of last year's farm workers, a long time daffodil bulb and flower picker, though he wasn't present this year. This guy is a little on the sketchy side, though his heart is in the right place, and could be a for real semi-vagrant or an operative in this guise of living out of a camper on nearby church property. He is the kind of person that disappears for a week after payday, and wonders why he doesn't get more work. Anyhow, my name for him two years ago was Bandana Man, as he had this bandana on him, as well as in military-like fatigues.

And while deep in conversation, which means, moving in and out of cognitive comprehension as he isn't the most clear speaker, I get this blonde woman moving from standing, to floor seating, then seating beside me, and then seated opposite me, bumping into me. I am getting more physical contact from the gangstalking assholes of late, and the wretched negro pulling this shit was noted in my last posting. In her role of seated on the floor (steps) at my feet she bangs into me, and then again when she is seated beside me. This bullshit is totally infuriating, and I plan to shove back. Per usual, no "sorry" or any other acknowlegement or apology. Maybe the perps are benchmarking bad manners, from (Favored) blondes, to very Unfavored negros.

Yesterday, on my day off, I fixed my mother's Rainbird sprinkler which had been plugged up. It was only spitting water about 6' after I put it together, which I thought was piss poor, and I went inside to ask my mother if it was working properly. As it "so happened" she couldn't quite see it from the living room, but she wasn't sure if it was working. I went outside to relocate the sprinkler to a visible location, and lo, if it didn't flip around on me while suspended, bump on the grass, and then the water started to fly out of it, reaching some 14' or so. I went inside again, and my mother explained she had turned the front hose off to aid in the evaluation of the sprinkler, now back to its as-new performance. The message/coincidence/bullshit was that she had turned off the front sprinkler just as it was flipping around on me, and thereby disguising (for a time) what caused the sprinkler performance to improve; the flipping about in relocating it or the coincident increase in water supply. Neither actually; there was no front yard sprinkler on as my mother claimed, and nor did bumping or flipping the sprinkler do anything either; it was the sick assholes playing games and having my mother spin yet more lies. The perps won't let me adopt the perspective that 99% of what she says are lies or elicitations.

Then more bullshit at work about getting some cleavers sharpened. I and another woman, the above mentioned sleeper woman/gangstaller, were pulled off bulb picking and sent to work on cabbage picking in the afternoon, which also screwed us both in getting a later bus. I mention to the foreman that the cleavers are terribly dull, and it is very difficult to be precise when the cleavers are so dull. He takes two of the four, and departs for the shop where he says he will get them sharpened, mentioning the mechanic by name. (And I know who the person is and what he looks like). Later, at break, the foreman returns and the woman wants off the cabbage picking as the job is too complicated for her, and too, she isn't handy with knives. So... I get another woman to work with, and go through the training again, showing her how to do the job. The foreman comes back, claims he left the sharpened cleavers on the trailer where the cabbage boxes are, some 30 yards away. No problem, when break is over I go there, and he did no such thing. Like WTF; how can anyone get such an elemental thing wrong. He even claimed that the cleavers were sharpened while he was waiting for them. Last year, we had a machinist on the crew, and I asked him to sharpen these same cleavers, and he never did. And yes, tool sharpening is of intense perp interest, if not for the metals being ground or filed, for whatever EMF/energetics interaction that brings.

There was plenty of other perp action these past four days or so, and somehow it just doesn't come to mind. I will call this blog done for posting, and keep it going weekly while I toil away in the daffodil bulb fields, and do the city bus commute. I reckon it is a 14 hour round trip, from morning to returning and getting showered, fed and the dishes done.

-- Add on

A link to an 106 min. audio interview with thre TI's. I haven't heard this one as I haven't had much evening time, but I do know one of them, and trust her word. An in studio interview with three Targeted Individuals, Debbie Newhook-Nanaimo, David Smith-Gabriola Island, Carmen Markey-White Rock, BC