Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Post Monday Ructions

An 0730h get-up, and no seeming sleep, though I suspect I got some. The loud mufflered vehicles outside to serenade me while in bed, then a "need" to turn over, and the noise repeats when I thought it had trailed off. These nightime "rotations", turning over in one's bed are part of the imposed "usual" for any given night, but are especially noticeable for a Monday, at 0030h no less.

Then the noise assault from outside to keep me company before a forced pee to get me up. A big siren show at about 0700h when the coconut butter was being spooned out from the jar onto the small size tortilla. The coconut butter (of the same source) is now crumbly and unsuited for spreading on normal leavened bread, so the tortilla solution, aka a wrap, works best, and cuts down on the crumb mess the perps foment at every opportunity. The assholes will even place crumbs in advance of the coconut butter being taken to the table, a few in place in advance, which is the same thing they do for kiwi fruits at lunch and dinner. The coconut butter application was also jerked around by having crumbs fly out from 2/3's down in the jar and onto to the counter. I cleaned these up with my finger, and lo, if there wasn't more coconut butter crumbs that had arrived on the countertop after having breakfast. I clean these up, and then I have chocolate, and get up for another cup of coffee, and lo, more coconut crumbs arrived again. I get back to the table where half the chocolate remains, and lo, if another coconut crumb didn't arrive in my absence from the table. Just another day of the crumb inundation, which has escalated since Oct. 01, 2010 when the farm work ended. Often, when dealing with some crumbs they will re-direct my vision to either more crumbs, often of a different color and/or opposite tonal quality, or else a simulated crumb by way of the small divots they dug into the formica countertop. Call it "crumb continuity" for whatever purpose this fucking insane abusive side show serves a multi-billion dollar covert organization.

Other bullshit this morning was getting faked out to put laundry on, and at about 0810h when there is normally no use of the laundry room, why, someone had just put on a load and the washing machine was filling extremely quietly for a rare instance, ensuring that I only discovered it by opening the door of the laundry room. Normally, I can hear the washing machine from my doorway, some 30' distant and around a corner, but "somehow" it was in quiet mode to suck me into going there and having me retrace my steps. Just like a Fuckwit, retracing one's steps, though I don't do that in public of course, but they do, and seem not to mind looking like total batshit crazy Fuckers off their meds.

Other bullshit in addition to the above laundry caper was to script the dude talk heard through the wall while I was begining to shave with a new razor insert, what I typically do every Tuesday morning. And it was a full frontal shave, having not done so yesterday at the First Feral Family home. The perps have an inordinate interest in me shaving, likely on two accounts; one being that I am cutting a substance with a steel edge and they cannot get enough of that (e.g. intensified noise stalking while cutting up chicken meat), two and three, that I am dragging a plastic item over me as well, the blade insert/mount, and it also has a teflon strip in it, another plastic variant of intense interest given the goretex (teflon membrane) anorak crowd that clusters around me. No doubt the assholes will be all over me when I head out to the city bus to take to my in-town brother's place for leaf raking there.

This should of been posted yesterday, another forced "forget".

Monday, November 29, 2010

Monday Plasma and Freaks

A stayover at the First Feral Family home last night, and I got fucked into a 11 hour sleep, waking up at 1100h, and I was duly pissed about this, as it was three hours longer than normal and totally fucks up my day. My mother was out when I got up, and I assume that particular timing was a big part of it, as she is now maing more excursions when I am at her place while working on landscape maintenance duties. It was leaf raking again, recovering from the snow storm of last weekend when I got caught for an extra day of staying there. The bamboo rake situation is under sabotage; the older one is suddenly breaking more tines, and the new one "happened" to fall apart after using it for an hour. I fixed it, applying a tight wire to the location where all the tine heads cross, and lo, if that didn't work for more than five minutes. Back to the old rake, and a better fixit job on the new one, possibly drilling the tine heads and putting a wire through all of them to secure them. Then some hose clamps maybe to cinch them all down, wide enough to exert some grip maybe. As always, the real plan is scripted to the enth detail, down to the microsecond, and could be obviated by getting a decent built leaf rake, but that hasn't come up for some reason.

I got my neighbor noise as usual when I stepped into the FFF backyard, this time leaf blower whine, and my overhead STRATCOM flights with  their characteristic noise. Though the biggest noise eruption was after I finished the leaf raking, and applied some brown paper tie material to bunch a plant into more vertical form so the surrounding chicken wire cages that I build last weekend, (inside, while the snow was flying outside) could be effective in preventing the incessant deer browsing that erupted on these four Ocean Spray plants. The plants were purchased with my support by my mother to be the replacement plants along the E. backyard border, and the deer (or a facsimile thereof) have been intensively browsing these landscape plants. So... getting the chicken wire with my mother got me lots of attention last weekend, wrapped up in plastic as it was, and it wasn't too much of a surprise for an arranged snowstorm ot be on outside while I restled with the wires and ends to convert them into 30" diameter cages to go around the four Ocean Spray plants. So it would seem that having me touch these chicken wire cages after a week of sitting on the ground, was a big deal, as that is when the noise flurry started. The seagulls, crows, vehicle speeding past the house and a few more erupted at once the instant of contact with the chicken wire. It has long been apparent to me that the perps like wire mesh of all kinds, as some kind of energetic radiator, and I suppose having said "radiator" sitting on the ground for a week, through the snow and it melt, was a big deal. Just don't ask me why, but do note that a sudden eruption of domesticity in 02-2010 brought the delivery of a wire mesh colander and a coaser meshed scoop made of stainless steel, and they both sit dangling from the kitchen cupboards, sentinels for the continued energetic studies IMHO. The first item hasn't been used to date, and I didn't have a reason to even procure it. The second item has been used a few times, but the home cooking and other domestic needs haven't materially changed at all this year, so it is mighty strange as to why I needed them at all.

Then the city bus freakshow was a minor epic, as it was very negro-centric. There is only 3% or less negroes in this city going by the last census, but lo, if there wasn't 25% on the bus when it came. This is the whitebread suburban route outbound end, before it loops back to the same inbound arterial, and lo, if two of them didn't get off at a bus stop they must of passed on the outbound journey leg. Two got off and were seated apart and made out that they didn't know each other. Then in few minutes a load of 12 year olds got on, chose to sit around me at the back, and two were negro. One was about to sit on the opposite side and kept dithering for a minute or two, and then crossed the bus to then sit in front of me on a transverse seat. So.... jibbering kids all around me for the latter five minutes of the bus trip before I got off.

I stopped at the LD store and what an intense freakshow it was, and they skunked me on getting both a USB cord and a styptic pencil in the shaving section, so off to the cashier, and finally when it was my turn, I had to back up to the hoodie dude behind me as it seemed he wanted to get close enough to see my PIN, and then a parade of freaks flushed out while transacting on the debit card reader. A tall negro dude was making his third in-store gangstalking, then the ponytailed elder man was on his second of three gangstalkings (eventually leading me out on my usual route which I abandoned), then more shiftless males in their ridiculous ball caps, and a blonde fat girl was in the mix. The assholes were all over me at that store, and it had to be one of the all time thickest gangstalkings at that fucking hole. I never would of gone in if I was left to my usual predilections, as just-off-the-bus gangstalkings are always intense in that store, especially on Mondays.

Once I got into this apartment lobby, why, another negro "popped out" from the stairwell doorway, head lowered for some reason, maybe to have is way fugly dreadlock hair swing about, yet another Unfavored feature on an Unfavored specimen. And a new-to-here negro, as I haven't seen this one, and there have been many loitering about the apartment lobby in the 3.5 years I have lived here. All part of the spooky show, but I sure wish I knew what it was all about and why the fuck am being abuses and assailed by this arranged bullshit stream which has these undeniable consisitencies.

And a sudden need to start "ripping", a term that pisses me off some, as all it is "copying and compressing" audio files, and yet somehow it begets a new name that has no relevance that I can determine. But maybe this started long ago in the audio business, though it is a strange term.

Ripping through ripping my CD's tonight; I have about one quarter of them upstairs in my apartment, and the remainder in the locker. I reckon that this too, in whatever way serves the assholes, is a big deal, as they have had me sitting around for over a year with these CD's (since I purchased a bookcase in 09-2009), and now I am allowed to copy and compress them (into FLAC format, not served by Windows or iTunes -convenient), instead of putzing around. Small things bring large contemplations as to how ripping CD's fits into the grand scheme of this long running abuse scene.

Blogging off, and hoping there isn't too many typos- sudden demotivation about editing started in 2009.

Laundry Obstruction

A sheets and towels laundering today, the first for the sheets in Woolite detergent, and lo, if the assholes didn't stop the laundering in mid-cycle, leaving the load soaking wet. So... duly mind-fucked, I shifted the load, even if it wasn't unbalanced, secured more detergent, and restarted the same cycle. And by dint of magic or fuckery, the load did complete the second time, though I have in past laundry Fuckover games, been dispatched to other floors and their laundry facilities to complete the task. And having been burned so many times with laundering in the past, I always ensure a balanced load at the outset, and this particular load has been successfully laundered the first time 90% of the time, but today, for "some reason" (read, malevolent fuckery), the assholes wanted to protract the exercise.

Other bullshit this morning was the continuing campaign to inflict lesions while shaving, not nicks as they are ovoid in shape, nor are they pulled hairs either. And they even treated me to a live lesion infliction no less, to show me how they do it. As I was drawing the razor across my tummy left to right, there was a lesion that erupted with a small amount of blood one half inch below the razor. So it would seem they wanted a blood sample to erupt just as the razor was passing by, in motion. And after two years of full frontal torso shaving, this is where they are at. Along with at least six more lesions they inflicted with varying blood colors, plus another at my lip to then blood-ify the fresh towel I started this morning. Just another day in this insane abusive Fuckover that now runs 8.5 years, and shows no signs of ending, given the more longer range plans they seem to be developing about returning me to more normalcy like involved cooking and longer term employment. In the latter case, they want me doing horticultural jobs for four months of the year, with two or more employers, so I expect the assholes to continue this penurious imposition for 2011, despite all the jobs that I have applied for in vineyards, local and other, not to mention other better paying work. As I have conveyed in the past, the perps put a huge amount of focus on the concepts and nature of employment, job applications, and all associated activities, especially paydays. And it seems to be especially important to the assholes that I am kept in horticultural jobs (read, low paid peseant wage rate) that involve weeding, pruning, bulb picking and handling, composting, flower cutting and the like. Whether this will be the year they allow me to return to IT isn't clear, but by the end of 2011 it will be, as my Oracle 11g upgrade training of late 2009 and early 2010 will be stale-dated by then.

A previous few hours expended on the wonders of metadata identification of music. I swore I wasn't going to get into this as the recent head-banging disfunctionality of MusicBrainz was plenty adversity for a long time, but "somehow" I forgot that resolve and stumbled upon TagScanner, and I could almost make my way around without benefit of the Help files. That high attention effort was also accompanied by overhead pounding, something that has occured before. Any new softare of any kind gets extra attention from me (like anyone) to understand it and what it does and looks like, and this moment of extra attentiveness (and paranoia as to how the assholes are going to screw my cognition as part of the exercise) is a BIG DEAL I have come to know by the process repeating 100% of the time, i.e. noisestalking, aka coincident noise at the moment of cognition or recall.

I even have the files renamed from the metadata, though I am somewhat pissed that the wretched Windows File Explorer doesn't show the metadata even if the TagScanner does, and even renames files so their lineage of song title, artist album name doesn't get lost in the shuffle of playlists and whatever else in the digital file music world. As one could tell, I haven't got into digital players as I don't have a pressing need to, even while doing dull farmwork jobs, as I want to know what is going around me all the time in public places. So.. no headphone wearing for me, which is just fine, leave it to the Fuckwits and all their hacks, especially those on the city bus show.

And so the above mentioned laundry came to conclusion; restarting the same laundry in the same machine after the washing machine obstruction, and lo, if it didn't launder normally and complete with a full spin cycle that drained much more water from it. And I see with this load, done many times, that the extra 15 minutes of dryer time amounted to fuck all; they still take extra drying when in with the sheets. I had this problem with a 45 minute drying time, and an hour long appears not to make a difference. Which means the towels got hung up on my clothes drying rack and are still drying, and we do know the perps like damp laundry to dry in all manner of places, and this is the latest one as it is by the room heater.

All the good and planted intention to go to the shoemaker and get the last pair re-soled turned to nothing, as the above mentioned music metadata games precluded such. It is always interesting to note what the perps promote and what actually occurs, as it seems they like to fill me with ambition and then suck me dry of it, even within hours. And as I type this the overhead pounding and concurrent squeaking noises have started up.

Other fuckery last night was zapping me within 5 minutes of getting into bed last night; an overhead clunk with a concurrent zapped sensation is a sure way to have me scream at the assholes, and that is exactly what they got.

I am being roped into the world of making compressed audio files, though in the FLAC format, not in the familiar lossey MP3 format. Part of the audiophile in me I suppose, though another attribute of mine that has never come to fruition owing to financial pressures even while working, long before the farm ownership sucked me dry in 2000, the quisling ex's last financial folly while associated with me, having been through a few of them before with her. And in retrospect, now I know why she was so reckless with money, as it was all part of the sabotage game that seems to be so important to the perps.

Anyhow, the clunky Exact Audio Copy (EAC) and the TagScanner software are what are enabling me to do the audio file compression and the renaming of the files with metadata respectively. And while in a high alert state to anticipate the clunkiness of each piece of software, why, the overhead pounding starts up. The perps like me in this hypervigilant state, anticipating either software clunkiness or their dynamic sabotage, as it must surely stimulate the part of the brain they are still working on, the brainstem region it seems. I don't know how many times the assholes have put me through the new software learning state, but plenty enough. Last night they had me screwed over Quicken, having wiped out all the renaming rules of the cryptic Payee names that come from the bank download. And so, plenty of renaming again of audio files.

Back in the days when I was allowed to work on real IT work, we did a big application that stored business rules, and dynamically applied them for data loading. It seems that this kind of activity/concept is very interesting to the perps, though I cannot imagine why. Though they do like me to quote the law, should I know it, and set me up with someone who happens to elicit just exactly what I know about a certain recent topic. Adhering to rules is a big deal for the assholes, plus anytime I violate them, within safe bounds of course, say, walking on the "Don't Walk" with no traffic. For them though, they like to have their Fuckwits jaywalking and getting in front of vehicles that have the right of way.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Mail Button Obstruction

After a ringing cursing at the sickos for turning off my PC when I thought I would be booting into my Windows account (by turning the PC off), the Fuckers are still at it by blocking my access to my email after one item was looked at. "Somehow", it hung on going back to the last page, and so I might have to shut that web-application down. Just more examples of the petty and abusive insanity (theirs) that I get exposed to all day long.

A late afternoon, ~1630h, nap attack earlier, 1.5 hours worth, and awakening with the sound of repeated on-off use of a seeming noisy faucet by the putative neighbor. No one in their right mind would operate a faucet this way, but as this noise and the on-off nature of it seems to be so important to the perps for the last few months, I wasn't too surprised it would erupt during the transition from horizontal to vertical. And of late, the perps have been adding a squeaky noise component in with the faux faucet noise, as if the putative faucets suddenly got tight or whatever conventional reasons there may be. And ditto for the overhead rumbling noise, it has also developed a squeaky component, as if it were some very large wheeled safe being randomly trundled around on a smooth floor upstairs. One of those No Ostensible Cause (NOC) noises that is patently absurd, never mind the fact that it can arrive overhead no matter where I am, and that the putative safe gets to ride on a smooth floor when they are all carpeted, kitchen and bathroom excepted. Besides, who would be pushing a safe around their apartment in the first place? I do get the in-street pallet jack dudes, ones pushing a large steel device on wheels that lifts pallets up to transport them, a "ground hugging" object, not unlike the legions of wheeled luggage totes and grocery hampers that have erupted in my proximity in the last 8.5 years of this insane abuse stream.

It was a First Feral Family visitation and drive-around adventure this morning after getting up early to apply online for a few jobs. My perp-abetting mother claiming residual snow and wet conditions as well as the many stops as the reason she couldn't do the driving herself. And were they ever ready for gangstalking. Ready, as in props and partial road closures, though there were plenty of Unfavored Fuckwits loitering about. The even had deep green grafitti on the bus next to my seat as part of their green color fixation, and later accompaniment by same deep green colored vehicle, four at a glance at one point. The real story was the boom trucks, the ones typically used for high overhead maintenance work, on power poles and the like. There were two white boom trucks at the crest of Sinclair hill, constricting traffic for one flag person controlled egress. The booms were white with some yellow on them, and it seemed like it was a big powerline upgrade in progress. Then, at the bottom of the hill, why three clustered boom trucks with samed colored white and yellow booms, but the truck bodies in an insipid green color. They blocked egress to one side of the road that led to this shopping center, so I took an alternate route to then end up parking just below them, parking seemingly busy. We go inside the specialty grocery store to order a turkey for Christmas, and lo, at the rear of the store where the meat section is, why, a 12' yellow (same as boom truck yellow) fiberglass stringered stepladder is set up in the aisle, and right behind us. At first some dude was up the ladder, and he later disappeared. So.... here we have three similar colored props of two kinds (boom trucks, tall ladder), with personnel raised above me in each case, tracking me from hill top, to hill bottom and into the adjacent store. And if I manage to exert some effort tonight, and piss with the missing icons in Blogspot, I will put a picture in that shows an example of the boom trucks, which are considerably more frequent, by an order of magnitude compared to pre-overt harassment onset in 2002. There is something very important for the perps to discover about me that is elevated, above me, and I would suggest that this summer's close-in tracking me with helicopters and some other odd low flying aircraft is all part of these elevation related enegetic interaction parameters they appear to be researching.

I also had to suffer a supermarket shopping excursion with my mother and the host of freaks of the Unfavored Fuckwits, aka gangstalkers. There was the do-rag dude, the overtall cafe-au-lait negro, the deep green anorak (teflon membrane) and a few more that kept repeatedly buzzing by (5x at least per Fuckwit Freak) and loitering doing pretend shopping. Plus the kiddie detail; old enough to be in school, this a Friday, and here they were in on the gangstalking act again. Then the insufferable slow-down at the checkout too, as they have me spoiled with the usually fast throughput of the local supermarket I use. And then there was the plastic bag blunderer act; a 60's old man in white hair and a black ball cap (sign of the Fuckwits it seems) who "happened" to be totally unaware of the fact that the 7' suspended roll of plastic bags for produce was trailing a fluttering plastic bag on his hat, and he kept moving while under it, pretending that he hadn't noticed this minor choreography. He clears out, and my mother wanders down to the same location, and pulls a bag from the same roll, the one that he had blundered into, and tears it off and uses it for one of her produce items. In effect, a "pre-touched" and "pre-conditioned" plastic bag by way of someone walking into it with their black ball cap and the rest of their energetic being. And lo, if the same Fuckwit didn't reprise himself near the checkout, his second featuring, unlike the other Freaks who kept hounding me aisle after aisle. Anyhow, outside to a sudden car alarm going off that noisetracked me past the pair gossiping at the sidewalk constriction, whom I had to pass 2x more to get the shopping basket returned, and to loading the groceries, returning the shopping basket, returning to the vehicle and when inside. This noise eruption at many of the key moments the perps like to heavily gangstalk; building egress, vehicle egress, and having me do an extra back and forth for returning the shopping cart with the aforementioned gangstalkers in place.

The city bus freakshow was in full complement, putting at least 40 Fuckwits on for the event, for a 1438h bus from suburbia to downtown on a Friday. Give me a break; the previous bus was 15 min. sooner at least and would of picked up most of the passengers, yet "somehow" this ridiculous amount of passengers is heading to downtown in mid-afternoon on a Friday. I had three of them at the bus stop in suburbia, and it just kept getting stuffed with the gangstalkers. The freaking baggy shorts in winter no less, on this 270lb dude was next to me with a T-shirt (this is PNW winter don't forget) to show of his tattoos, an ongoing Unfavored item the perps like me to see and otherwise be exposed to.

Another dude, though non-freakish, was on the cell phone the entire time, and angling to get into my lap it seemed, slouching down low and leaning back in the transverse seat in front of me. One knee to the head wouldn't of been too difficult, though the perps have a way of foiling one's physical intentions, even in mid action. I had other dudes from the older loitering male class also seated a little further away, sporting the red hat bullshit again. And what is with all these elder ballcap waring Fuckwits all over the place, now worse than shorts in winter? But for once they didn't assign a tail on me when exiting the bus, or at least, not in the direction that I was headed.

I did have my police emergency light show on one block further; a burgundy VW camper van (called a Westfalia here) "happened" to be stopped in mid street with the police cruiser behind it and the blue and red lights flashing. Like WTF; who in a Westfalia is worth pulling over? But as these VW camper vans are gangstalking favorites as their engine is rearmost, behind the rear axle, the engine is spinning the opposite direction if viewed from the side. Or, at least, that is my theory on why they like to gangstalk with this vehicle, and yes, I did own two such VW vans, serial acquisitions and with much financial pain and grief as they were so breakdown prone. The final straw was replacing parts on them that were still under warranty, and of course, paying the mechanic the time to pull out the part and get the new one put in. I swore I would never purchase another VW, and haven't since. Even if the underpowered VW vans are no longer manufacturered.

Pissing around with paying bills, always a perp need, which was preceded by the usual crap-gone-wrong; three plungings and a shower to clean up is all I will divulge, the reality being much more fraught. They have done something like thin 99.9% of the time they script a crap, and often it is before or after my month-end Quicken accounting reconciliation. Go figure, but colors are important enough to script negro gangstalkers (read, brown) loitering around when I visit the ATM, or when my in-town brother got a $2700 pay out for his auction items.

The Quicken file got lost in the shuffle of the back up files being reworked to be on the new backup disc pair, and the most recent manual backups were in August, so I had to re-enter all my renaming rules to ensure the mangled bank debit card payees mapped to my readable Quicken names. As usual, more adversity with the infernal Quicken application, as its clunkiness is exploited to create further problems in what is being described in the pop-up boxes as well as each listed item. I was ready to toss Quicken about 09-2010, but because the downloading was different, I had to upgrade instead to keep my files readable and all the financial history back to 2005 when I was allowed to resume it again. They had me kill my hard drive in 2002 as part of the overt harassment onset, losing everything, by way of planted paranoia as to who was fucking and for what reason. Eventually I rebuilt with a new hard drive and resumed Quicken use, and even had it running on my Palm Pilot so the mobile device could synchronize with the Quicken records on the PC. I had my financial records up to date, by the day and item with my trusty Palm Pilot. That all changed of course, as in 2002 they broke two Palm Pilots, eventually getting a third that then had indeterminate battery problems that Sony fixed for $70. Then when fixed, masers were firing out of the Palm Pilot, and so I gave it up, and I have never been so "connected" since then, which is different now, as the organizer (PDA, Personal Digital Assistant) has now become the so-called "smart phone", and the world of apps that it brings. So no, I don't have a "smart phone" of any kind, and don't expect to get one, though in all likelihood, the assholes will build up my "need" to then get aligned with the rest of the connected world to then emulate and defeat what transactionsand cognitive functions that maybe associated with these devices. Not for some time yet it would seem.

The assholes have a number of items that were "needed", per planted notions, that have never been used, in keeping with their strategy of having important (to them) items "lie fallow", that is, not be used for a time. Of note are the steel toed boots acquired in 09-2008, and the measuring cups and spoons for cooking, acquired in 04-2010. There are others, but they like to remind me that these are for future use, and it sure gets fucking tedious to know that there are grand plans that have not yet been exercised. Like most TI's, I am fed up, and want to be told what the next gig is, how much it pays, how much I get to save, and how much torture it is. Better yet, I want to be left alone, and don't see why what I like or dislike, aka the Favored and the Unfavored, is a full time exposition for thousands of abusive and pandering Fuckwits who are traitorous quislings in need of the namesake's end.

Enough ranting and on with what I expect to be a slow Saturday, the worst day of the week as a rule.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Yoga and Fleece

Being a Thursday, but also with snow in the air and some down, converting to slush, I had a notion that yoga might get cancelled today, but no, it didn't, even if I was the only class member other than the instructor. I got a private lesson in effect, from the blonde who dressed in fugly brown pants and a black top after she removed her red sweater when she warmed up. Anyhow, I get outside afterwards, ready for Perp Primetime, and sure enough, a negro dude is sitting in a idling red colored minivan outside the door I take, seeming to be waiting for someone. (No negro or other class members today). I walk 80' to the corner, and lo, if the negro and his red van aren't crossing in front of me, running a just-turned red light before I was to walk over the path of the red van. The just-red light running seems to be about minimizing the amount of time between me occupying the very ground that the vehicle and driver crossed over. So, said negro wasn't waiting for anyone after all, just doing the gangstalking thing according to his masters; first stationary and outside the exit door, and then again while driving my immediately before I walk acrosss the street, and running a red light and not bothering to look to see what he might of been running into. Been there, done that.

I had my usual "dude walls", hoodie Fuckers and other loitering Fuckwits on the way back, normally more significant after the spine stretching of yoga. And could they get enough redcoats on the job, and failing that, red hats and red scarves? I don't think so. When outbound, I had my entourage loitering in the lobby again, at least three of them repeating from yesterday's exit. This time no Fuckwits standing behind the door, though the postal delivery criminal (as I call all post office employees who seem to have an unerring knack of finding me), was delivering mail again. The wheelchair act as well, the Scottish oddity/woman who seems to be on perma-stalking duty as she has now "gradutated" from cleaner to apartment manager, and is now a fixture nearly every time I pass through the lobby.

But I am wearing my black fleece pants today, and all in fact, as they are warmer than jeans I have come to find, and are suitable for cold or wet temperatures unless there is a high wind, which there wasn't. And I suppose that was also worth some extra perp drama, as I rarely wear these pants owing to their specialty application. And a black shirt on underneath, revealed for yoga, and I put on my deep green sweater since I got back to my apartment. All very critical these clothing color changes as I have come to know, the yoga instructor also doing hers in advance of the class. Anyhow, the rest of the day has been very dull, and I am now in shut-in mode for the rest of the day.

I am digital copying my music for the second time ever tonight, and then attaching the metadata to it from musicbrainz.com. All new activities to me, and the perps seem intently interested too, pounding the ceiling overhead and having the noise get through my earmuffs. Then my perp-abetting mother phoned to add her bit, along with all the EMF considerations at one's ear and mouth, that is, the reciever, and all the other importance the perps attach to their tactical timings of phone calls that I recieve. (Usually in the middle of some important event to them, say, bookmarking, file creation or deletion, and now, music file creating, compressing and then storing on this here PC. The biggest mystery is why they call this digital file copying so many names: ripping (thought that was for making a CD up), extracting (not really), and copying (which is what it is). Fucking bizarre, and the perps just love this nonmenclature confusion.

A screaming rage Fuckover in that the infernal MusicBrainz won't change the file names of the files once the meta data is assigned. And one two CD set got totally fucked, and the same deal. The plugins for cover art don't work, so after a promising start, no fucking metadata. I don't think I have seen anything so fucking clunky, and documentation adverse as this music metadata application, MusicBrainz. And with the pinging and tapping going on overhead as I attempt to pick my way through the logical incongruities. Just another jerkaround.

More annoyance when the perps wouldn't let me pick up a spoon from the drawer. Later to the same effect, they splattered soapy water droplets from the cleaning brush that self-ejected from the brush and onto me. No ostensible cause, just another of the water flicking games that are more frequent nowadays.

I get to do driving duty tomorrow for my mother, so I wonder what that will bring in terms of jerkarounds and stunts. This is how I percieve any new event; what are the possible Fuckover abuses and how public are they going to be? Most often the perps won't have me do rage-ifications in public, thankfully, though like any other parameter, that can change fast enough if they want to move me on to somewhere else. Some residental locations of the past might have had "complaining neighbors" (no neighbors in fact, therefore no complaints), and in this place no complaints even if they are getting me back to the level of the high abuse rage-fication locations.

Enough of the silly stuff, and onto what is scripted for tomorrow and all grim bullshit preparedness.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Nightime Wear Change Up

A cold night, last night, record low temperatures even, and even though I have the windows sealed with tape to stop drafts, I still got plenty of cool air swirling at my feet. So much so, I wore a pyjama-like combination of long underwear, a T shirt and a thick pair of socks to bed. And one can be sure this first-time change in nightwear was a BIG DEAL for the perps, who also kept me up for most of the night, also with meat aerial games, having me count them even. A black top, deep blue longjohns and black socks were the colors of my nightime wear, a similar color combination to my daytime wear, also enhanced due to cold temperatures; black pants, grey socks, black undershirt and a navy blue sweater. A bath was also scripted last night, so between clothing and color changes I got wet, and getting wet seems to be an important component of the perps' ongoing research games and abuses. But to be fair, it did warm me up before bedtime, and that helped me stay warm as well. But as this was the first time I had worn said longjohns for over 20 years, I am sure it was the reason there was a five strong contingent of Fuckwits in the lobby when I set off to the local supermarket.

I walked down the stairwell and entered the lobby, only to have two behind the door, the faux postmen attending to the mailboxes, the new manager was letting out the motorized wheelchair act by holding the door open, and then crossed in front of the closing door, and then another one sittiing in the office, the latter being the Scottish woman, once thought to be the cleaning woman, but seeming to take up near permanent residency as "staff" anytime I pass through the lobby, and twice on the street. A whole five Fuckwits when entering and exiting the lobby, with the wheelchair act in lead-ahead gangstalk mode, "happening" to be going my way and calling across the street to her vagrant pal in sunglasses no less, (no sun today). Why these loud street shouting "cheer-sing" start up in my proximity isn't totally clear, but having me hear human voice is always an important part of the harasssment, as that involved emotional processing of speech in the amygdala brain region, also thought to be the seat of where psychic energies are processed.

The assholes kept me awake for hours once I went to bed at 2330h, and also at least an hour before getting up. It seemed like I was made to be totally awake all night, but I figure I got some sleep in there. As always, don't lament for lost sleep time because nearly always I never have any tiredness reactions or napping need as a consequence. The fact that my sleep needs can be controlled was made plain early on in the 2002 harasment onset, as they could have me not sleep for three days to no adverse effect, which included working for my employer at the time.

A trip to the local supermarket this morning kept me aware of the gangstalking parade, the assholes even blocking egress into the store with a yellow coated male Fuckwit, faux security personnel walking out on the wrong side of the door. I was close enough to knee the fucker, as my knee was raised and kept still momentarily as he was in my way. No apology of course, just the usual rude Fuckwit Faux Security personnel, emulating police uniform colors of this area. All part of the insane games whenever building egress occurs.

Post tea time and chocolate, the second of three 100g bars I am made to eat for the Abusive Cause, and all that it related to their brown color research. But now the overhead scraping and tapping noises have started up, and most annoyingly, they somehow get through my earmuffs. Now the faked neighbor water usuage noise has also started up, doing on/offs, as if someone would ever do this repeatedly in their normal kitchen usage. Now 1605h and this absurd scraping noise has continued on the above ceiling/floor, and if all these floorplans are the same, which is usually the case, then they would have carpet overhead, and somehow, this noise, that which is familiar, should not be happening. The sickos have long given up on scripting an ostensible cause to their stunts, though for the most part they still do, just making it more ridiculous sometimes when a drop of water does a slow hop out of the toilet. And that happens almost everytime I take a piss. Similarly, "drop hop" also erupts from the kitchen sink when using it to clean the dishes. One can be sure that all "drop stalking", the placement of water drops around me from no seeming cause, is their doing, and it has escalated in the past six months here at Abuse Central.

Another managed fluke today was to phone my summer time employer for the job commendation the forman promised, but did not deliver on. And lo, by faux fluke, the foreman "happened" to be in the office as he no longer works there, and as I had phoned for him they put me through as he was speaking with the farm manager. So he promised that one of the senior farm staff would send the letter, though as far as I could tell he wasn't asking permission to make a promise on another's behalf, even when in the same room as the person. Another "go figure"; why tell me how flukey this whole deal was when it was stage managed for months, as the then forman had promised the letter at the end of September 2010, nearly two months ago, and didn't deliver, and I kept "forgetting" to pursue the matter until today.

And I see that it is going to snow tomorrow morning, a Thursday, which should be ripe for a third consecutive yoga class cancellation, in keeping with how they like to fuck me out of that once per week activity. And at no time, for as much as I like yoga, do the assholes ever let me do any in my apartment, as it would be so easy to do so, having a carpeted floor. I can never figure out how they allow such activities to be regular, and then put the kibosh on them for weeks or months. That goes for employment too, all the more of a consideration as I got my credit card statement in the mail, and I have spent way too much money, cleaning out my savings for paying my income tax in early 2011. Looks like I will be picking daffodil flowers in February again, just to keep my head above water into the spring. And hopefully I can get work before June, 2010, as the assholes hung me out to dry until then last year. That was a seven month unemployment duration, and they do like to script these each year, and also to impose financial contraints as well, not to mention mind-fuck games to have me expend monies when I really want to conserve.

The sirens and the chirping sirens noise ran for three minutes or so while reading blogs from other TI's, ones you will see on the right side. I get this through my earmuffs (that is, supposed hearing protection), and yet the Fuckers can still plant these noises in my ear at the same volume level as if I had taken them off. On the new noise front, the pinging sound of faucet leakage in a steel sink can now "get through" my earmuffs. They have harassed me with this obnoxious noise for over three years now, and the earmuffs were a certain method to ensure that I had relief. As of tonight, not any more. Back to the days of putting a sponge in the sink for the water to fall onto to limit the noise, but even this solution begat a new noise. I supposed it was called the Chinese Water Torture for a good reason if my knowledge hasn't been debased by the assholes, something they pull on me more often.

More troving through job postings tonight, looking in Alberta this time, as it seems so hopeless here in BC. It seems the perps like me to spend time in this futile fashion, attempting to get jobs to no avail or result. Like I say, they have constantly noisestalked me over terms such as employment, work, job, task, unemployed, and the entire gestalt. All the while they keep me contained doing squat, seemingly an important component of this harassment as they would of long had me working if it suited their agenda of total containment. Time to blog off and call this dull day done.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Snow Games

Just finished screaming at the assholes over Firefox not starting, three starts somehow failed. This is when I take the earmuffs off, and I suppose that it is the objective.

A cold and snowy day yesterday, incurring an extra day's stay at the First Feral Family house, and having me in my new Keela Scrubber pants while out shovelling the driveway, as none of the strong wind came through them. It is a source of complaint with the stretch cordura pants, they would allow strong winds to pass through. I wore the new pants the rest of the evening until bed time, and regular readers will know that the perps are totally beserk over new garments, before they ever get laundered, or maybe, only once. I was dressed in a combination of laundered-once underwear and sweater, not laundered pants, and a much laundered T-shirt underneath. And in black and navy blue, their most frequent colors for when they want to do some serious studies on me.

And lo, if they didn't arrange the heating fuel to run out during this cold spell, -8C last night, as "somehow" the fuel delivery outfit took my mother off the automatic weather algorithm delivery plan and didn't tell her. Sweet fuckers, and good for three phone calls, and one by me to ascertain delivery times. (And before I set off to the bus stop, a 10 minute walk).

The carpet layer was arranged this morning, the wonderful fumes of horrid glue percolating through the house, and even now, back at Abuse Central, the fuckers are pumping me with this same smell, even if there is no ostensible cause. But like with many things, the perps are obsessed over carpet colors, fibers, weaves and the ubiquitous pollutants that come with them, e.g. flame retardants like polybrominated diphenyl ethers (PBDEs) also noted to be in the air and in mother's milk. These ubiquitous pollutants seem to create problems for the perps, and they tell me that they are "cleaning me up", getting rid of them all in every last cell in me, especially neural cells. Like who cares; not my problem so why am I getting harassed all the time and routinely chased with carpets in pickup trucks and on streets? And too, some recent past apartments had new carpet installed in advance of my tenancy, but nothing too exceptional until the sickos went overt on me in 2002. Now, "carpet stalking" and like games of visiting the carpet store with my perp-abetting mother are routine. Not to mention being a flunky at carpet auctions, at least five of them.

Said carpet installer had his red pickup truck in the driveway all morning and into the early afternoon before I left. A crimson red body with the same red fiberglass top box cover that was propped open and facing the house. That wasn't enough driveway coverage it seemed, as my mother wanted the garbage out at the curb before departed, and even came to inspect it, read, gangstalking the brown cardboard and the rest of whatever transfixes the perps over garbage and its placement. I had my butt smoking and pacing hoodie dude at the bus stop before I arrived, normally I get the train of Fuckwits after my arrival. The usual surfiet of vehicles in suburbia again, passing by me while waiting, lo, if the bus didn't come on time for once. I even got my rear seat at the back of the bus, and lo, if a red clothing contingent didn't line up in the transverse seats in front of me. The babe with the red mitts, the brown coated girl with the same red scarf, then later a same red coated woman, so all three were lined up transversely (side facing) in front of me. And for the last three stops, and tailing me out of the bus, was a same red toqued male wierd who also line up but standing in the rear exit when there was plenty of seats availible. Four same red garment wearing Fuckwits lined up, arriving serially. Just another day on the city bus freakshow, though to be fair, the freak count was down, and just a few wierds in my corner.

Another round of rage-ifications after having got up for dinner, and doing the dishes. This is the trend today, and tonight, a post two-day First Feral Family visitation. The pattern is that they seem to obtain research benefits while I stay there, and my perp-abetting mother hangs around me like a puppy dog, crossing my path immediately before or after I have passed by. This goes on every time I visit, but the last two days have been worse. Which suggests the Fuckwits are desperate, attempting to get leverage from ever more blatant stunts. Which includes inflicting me with myriad faked touches tonight; a sensation, but no ostensible cause, even if there is nothing within 2' of my hand, I will get a nudge or jab from some unseen source. An tonight it is "thumb clashing", where one seems to contact the other as I am typing but there is no evident contact when I look down at the keyboard, but the instant I look up at this LCD display, why, it starts erupting again.

Winding up the evening looking at jobs online; the usual fuck all, and I am seriously wondering if it isn't a bullshit show, of displaying interesting jobs to catch my attention and then have my expectations dashed because of various qualifications or experience I don't have, especially after 8. 5 years of hounded out of employment, save the farm work jobs. And also, to catch my interest concerning industries that I am interested in, e.g. aircraft, machining, manufacturing complex parts, IT and the like. Other "baiting themes" might be local businesses, giving them some prominence, that is, name dropping because I happen to recognize them. My employment counsellor didn't return my email or my phone message last week, so I will re-start that again, though I have no expectations it will be much help, seeing that I led it last time. Just another despondent diversion for the assholes to keep up the noises through the earmuffs, fuck my mouseclicks, and generally piss me off with vision impairments and plasma light flashes in front of this LCD. So...., nothing will happen until after Christmas if last year is a prelude, which takes me to Feburary when I managed to get two weeks of picking daffodils for a few hundred bucks, until a horde of Mexicans came in and we locals were let go.

Enough for today, and maybe I will get a post-Feral Family stayover night of restlessness imposed on me, the usual Monday evening return treatment for this Tuesday, because I was snow bound last night for the extra night of cold blowing snow.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

No Saturday Newspaper

I just got back from the LD store, my second outing of the day, and while waiting in line for the checkout that was near the newspapers, I mused to myself (read, planted notion), that I should get a newspaper once I get to the cashier. And it so happened that the customer service was free, and the cashier called for the next person, though not me but the person ahead, they defered and I proceeded past the newspapers to the customer service cashier where my items were rung up. And it is only now, back in front of this LCD display, some 40 minutes later, that the assholes reminded me that I forgot to get a newspaper and that I had walked right by them and not picked one up. Well, we know who can fuck short term memory, and who routinely does, something they learned from their abuses into 2008. They can now fuck with my recall, or anyone else's, such that if they were reaching for an specific item they can make them forget what it was that they were reaching for. Less that two seconds between deciding and doing, and even this very short term memory can be fucked with. But the real question is, why did they even do this; planting the notion, fucking me out of getting a newspaper even while walking past them, and then now tell me long after the fact. And it is true I often get a national newspaper on Saturdays to pass the time, but today, they decided that I wasn't going to have one.

Ditto for when I was out at 0930h this morning, as I went to the drug store with the Post Office that had my parcel, getting a delivery notice this time, a welcome change. They had stamps under the glass counter and had reminded me that I ran out of them yesterday, so I better get some new ones, which I did. But why did I get fucked out of getting a newspaper there as well? Just more of the strange games that go on, all these recall tricks and jerkarounds.

I was dispatched for a shopping trip this morning, after seeing a good deal on technical outdoors hiking  pants in the newspaper yesterday, and looking at them online last night. A 50% off of $100, and after I found the clothing after I was duly gangstalked by the E. Indian woman in the outdoors gear department, a most unlikely customer too, as she was so overweight, but I suppose it was that brown coat she wanted to show me. Then a rude remark from the staff when I asked where the outdoor clothing was (not in the outdoor section as it turned out). And this seems to be another thing for the perps, having me take orchestrated risks as to purchases or like events. These pants were in S,M,L,XL sizes, and had zippered and reinforced leg cuffs so they couldn't be altered, and even the size S seemed to be too long, but I was duly mind fucked into getting them even I am a size M, along with my entourage of gangstalkers loitering around me. And the notion of trying them on in the store was duly dismissed for no substantive reason. I had my redcoat (red coated gangstalker ahead of me) escort me to the cashier, where they put on a male negro with a ridiculous red ball cap, doing his straight-ahead look. I got called over to the next checkout, and duly purchased the hiking pants. I suppose this was my black fabric reference item to go with the brown box I picked up at the aforementioned PO on the way back.

Anyhow, I get back to my apartment and the first thing I do is to put the just-acquired hiking pants on to see if they fit. They fitted nearly perfect, so much so that the notion of getting another pair has been duly planted and forms much of today's obsession fodder. I put the pants away, as I don't expect them to be used until mid-2011 for berry picking or other farm work they like me to do. But again, what was the whole point of the excercise; first providing me reason to not purchase them (too long in the leg), then mind-fucking me into doing so, then running the when-to-get-a-refund scenario in mind afterward in transit (before trying them on), and then upon trying them on, having me to think about (read, planted obsession) getting another pair as they were so comfortable and practical as well as being an excellent bargain. I just don't understand why I am being kept on this insane treadmill of trivial notions.

And the perps reminded me that getting the above mentioned hiking pants is a clue as to doing yet more farm labor work this coming year, and to no big surprise, as it seems they have my vocational trajectory mapped out years ahead. But as every TI soon learns, the deception plan is as important as the grand plan, and above all else, we are to remain clueless as to what the fuck is going on. Aka, the FUD (Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt) regimen.

An evening trip to the LD store to get my Rx picked up, and I had my usual, about five proximate gangstalkers swapping out with others, likely some twenty in the store in all. I had the most reptilian negro woman I have ever seen as the Rx counter assistant, and all the worse that she had dreadlocks and a white coat on. I was glad to get done with that, so when I went next to the chocolate section, why a male Caucasian gangetalker had to be hanging around. I suppose that I am supposed to be glad it was only one gangstalker and not the usual five in place they have arranged for the chocolate section, some hiding behind in-aisle displays even. But no, I resent being tracked and gangstalked, by one or more Fuckwits at any given moment of the day, anywhere. Once chocolate was acquired I went to the Christmas section, to get specialty chocolate for my daughter, and lo, if a older female Fuckwit wasn't planted there, doing her back and forths.

The perps had "brownstalked" me prior to the LD store, one erupting from the elevator in the lobby just as I exited the stairwell. Then when waiting for the traffic light outside, a brown hoodie gangstalker was loitering around and looking in on the adjacent window of the restaurant. And when I was crossing the street, why, he stepped out of loiter mode and headed along the sidewalk to then turn the corner some 12' in front of me so he could do his lead-ahead gangstalking in his hoodie in the dim lit area. So... I walk extra fast to get past this Fuckwit who suddenly found his mission to brownstalk me, and relatively few more before getting to the LD store. Lets just say, I was covered by the browners for the entire outing and back again.

Other nonsense was yesterday's city bus trip back into downtown after doing leaf raking duty at my in-town brother's place for most of the day. His comings and goings are strangely timed to protract the job or otherwise be unhelpful at times. I had raked a 5' high mound of leaves onto this tarp, and he didn't have an effective way to tie it all up through the grommets and take it to his van. I had to ask him for some rope, though all he had was a green string, so I used that. It wasn't enough as I had figured, the last on the spool, and I went back to find something else. By then he was gone again, and I got a spool of yellow string to finish the job. The instant I pulled out the yellow string from the spool all hell broke loose, noise-wise; the next door neighbor's landscaping staff started up the gasoline powered lawnmower and the string trimmer at exactly the same instant. I have never heard of any outfit able to start two different engines at the same moment, but that is how it happened, and it became the background noise for the next hour or so while I was raking leaves in the front yard.

Back to the bus trip, as my brother and I dumped the leaves off, and it was near the bus route, so he dropped me off there. A carmine red coated Fuckwit was at the bus stop, and the couple who "happened" to be crossing the street ahead of me were also bus passengers. I didn't get on first, but the male was ahead of me, and then putzed around getting his change from his pockets and counting it up, blocking my view of the driver. And when this Fuckwit finally got out of the way, why, a totally bald skinhead bus driver. And how many times have I mentioned this demographic group as part of the Unfavored freakshow that I get? Hundreds of times I think, but not as many as I get. And it was most strange that the redcoat dude didn't get on the bus there, as there is only one route at this location, and he couldn't be waiting for another.

Then two stops further, a negro male with a skinhead and white coat boarded the bus, but thankfully sat three rows in front and on the other side so he wasn't propped in my vision. He was on his cell phone, and withing three stops he got off, fucking strange to say the least. Then, with his seat still warm, another couple seated on board walks the length of the bus to then sit where the negro had sat. She sits in his spot, and he sits next to her. Another "musical seats" game also unfolded a few stops later, when the couple that preceded me departed, and then another dude sits where she sat, again, before the seat was cold. Then more Fuckwits filled in around me, the freakiest being the dude with the untidy shoulder length blonde hair sitting immediately in front of me on the transverse seat. This seems to be the pattern, having the freak come last to be placed where I cannot avoid him or her. He expended much effort in attending to his ridiculous hair, and got off with this couple pal inside of five minutes or so. I still had my entourage getting off the bus with me and crossing my path as I exited. A visit to Staples immediately followed getting off the bus, all to inculcate me with yet more freaking red clothing. The perps cannot get enough of showing me red colors these days, especially at dusk onset, which it was.

More troving to find how to import a file into the wretched Quicken application. Never was there something so clunky that lasted so long as that software. A former executive came back to buy them out and to amalgamate his startup with his old company I read somewhere, as he too was fed up with how Quicken's parent company was run. Quicken 2010 is an improvement, but not enough since I last got off the annual upgrade BS in 2003. But now that a backup got wiped out, I am stuck with the files to 08-2010 which seem to be missing a whole bunch of accounts. If there is anyone who knows how to extricate from this mess, please let me know.

Blogging off for one dull Saturday, with time served reduced by a 1.25 hour nap earlier this afternoon. Which was probably related to forcing me to put a sweater on afterward as it was cold in this apartment, even with the windows sealed up with masking tape to prevent breezes coming in.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Noise Procession

A procession of noises no matter what I do; plug my ears with my fingers usually works as the last resort, but lo, if there isn't a loud noise at the ready the instant I remove my fingers to attenuate the first noise. Even the earmuffs aren't helping as much as they could be, and of course there is the endemic ear-ringing, telekinetic mouth and neck noises that erupt, and now, ear popping from nowhere too.

The perps have been extra insane today, as they made no bones about being assholes by having yoga cancelled, and put me through 20 to 30 screaming rage-ifications while making lunch today. Then another round at this LCD display with disappearing files that could not be seen either in Writer or Open Office where they are created.

They put on extra Fuckwits for a brief sortie outside to the local supermarket. A wall of dudes, three abreast in two ranks, one behind the other, who seemed to have no legit purpose to be swarming the streets at 1130h just when I turned the corner after exiting this apartment building when outbound. Like WTF; no convention facilities nearby on this block, and no businesses, so who were all these fuckers, and especially the red-coat in the middle of the pack. Stick with blonde babes if you want to arrange these "wall of Fuckwits" you sick assholes.

Then the vagrants doing their meandering bullshit just at the sidewalk constriction, forcing me around and then over top of the recent bird shit that had been arranged on the sidewalk. The same Fuckwits were in place when I exited the store as well, covering a whole 40' over 8 minutes while I was inside. Then other dudes kept covering me at different locations, them and their stocking/stalking carts with lots of brown boxes on it, and the fucker doing senseless back and forths to keep me covered while in the checkout line. And it was a Chicken Run, the acquisition of hot cooked chicken is always a big perp scene, ever since they put me on this diet in 2003. (I get my once per week red meat feed at my perp abetting mother's place).

Then the resident disgusting overweight negro emanated from the elevator on my way back inside, wearing shades for crissakes. They backed off on live negro gangstalking this week, and he was the first of the week. Naturally, I get plenty of negro pics on the web sites I visit, and often the same pic will be persistently kept in place on a news site, when these stories should be turning over every day, or few days. But no, the assholes decided that I need to see more, and so it goes. Even that 1100pp. catalog I got yesterday, totally free from an outfit from whom I purchased the $20 Kevlar gloves from, put a negro on the front cover. I never knew that such large catalogs were being printed any more, but I suppose the perps would want to keep some of those industries going as they get so much out of me turning the pages; color combinations, incremental paper thickness games, and of course, their abidding interest in having me exposed to paper from all over the world in varying vintages and paper types. I can always count on a paper bearing Fuckwit within two minutes of stepping outside, assuming they didn't fuck me into carrying some around myself.

And today's fuckery over financial transactions was to fuck me into using the wrong card, and of course they don't let me know that at first, going through with the transaction until the approval stage, and lo, if it didn't work, and then I was reminded of the debit card I have used every fucking day since 2002. Eight years of using this same color debit card for all my purchases, and "somehow" I got it wrong and used my Mastercard "by mistake". I don't ever make those mistakes, and haven't once before, and suddenly it "happens" today. And have I mentioned all the times that my financial transactions are held up by flakey card readers and other fuckery? At least twice a week, and this was in keeping with the insane perp harassment of making a financial transaction, which they have been totally consistent over for eight years of this depraved abuse. And justice won't be done until I take a bat to the head of the Fucker who screwed me over my use of my debit card today.

Other perp excitement today might of been over the inaugural use of a jar of coconut butter; opening up new jars or any other packaging type is a scene of intense perp interest, and they got me rage-fied for that too, one of my breakfast staples. This jar is the second of two that was purchased while I was on my road trip in October, visiting my out-of-town brother and family. I bought two as the perps only have this at stores that are less accessible, and my sister-in-law bought one at my instignation, and lo, if the store wasn't covered in gangstalking scum.

The Zalman USB 3 docking station continues to thwart rational analysis; it isn't seen in the file manager, and the drive isn't recognized. But a pop-up window said to use USB 3 port, as it is plugged into a USB 2 port because I am testing what the fuck is going on. Somehow, there is part of the PC knows what this is, but won't tell another; fucking bizarre, and good for moving hard drives around in two orientations, a constant game of fuckery the assholes like to play with, having hard drives in differing orientations. Then the assholes reminded me that they installed an important file on one of the drives, all my Quicken work since 2005. In another piece of fuckery, in concert with that fucking clunky Quicken, the one file ended up as the backup, and of course, it is the one file I don't want overwritten. So... the hard drives go back in the PC until I find out where these files are and copy them off to another drive. Which suggests the fuckers had this set up some months ago, as that is when I got the Quicken 2010 version, and lo, if it isn't as clunky/stupid as Quicken 2002.

I lost my Quicken backups, a total mind-fuck in that I didn't think of it before I pulled the hard drive out. The Windows world of installing a hard drive is so fucking fraught to say the least. And all the while this hassle is going on, why, more noise. Clunking and sirens again, both getting through the earmuffs. The bullshit never ends it seems. And why are backups so fascinating for the assholes?

More fuckery like fake touches and pulling items from my grasp to start up the rage-ifcation show again, before, during and after the tea and chocolate break. Fucking tiresome to say the least, as they have been riling me up all day. Big excitement tomorow when I head out to the in-town brother's place to rake leaves. So exciting in fact that he phoned up just as I was intently looking at the online details of the Beatles mono CD set. Those intense interest moments are of significant interest to the perps, likely because they haven't been able to remotely fuck me to that level yet.

Job searching and responding. This next year will be fish or cut bait; off-on agricultural labor work or IT work, per training this year, but without any IT activity since. In other words, were all those courses I took in Oracle 11g just a cruel joke for perp reasons, or is there going to be a legitimate career path? I don't know, but what I sense from the past, is that they like to have me exposed to certain work, and then doggedly obstruct me so I don't get a job for the training I took. One example was in 1989-90 when I took a full term Geographic Information Systems training for one year, and then when I got back to work, no GIS work ever materialized, my employer being in a state of permanent ineptitude (for 10 years, at any rate) about embarking on this corporate information need. Therefore, I became an Oracle DBMS data analyst and project manager. So it just may be that the assholes wanted me to take Oracle 11g courses as one of their exposure games, and then they put the lid on me and wouldn't let me study for certification exams. Just one more example of the insane fuckery that goes on and the extent and planning they engage in.

Blogging off to do leaf raking tomorrow; more of those horticultural jobs for my mind-keepers.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

New TrippLite Power Strip

As mentioned many times in the past, the color of wiring and the insulating jacket as well as the connectors are of intense interest to the perps. And so today was the installation of a new power strip to accomodate an extra AC plug, a new TrippLite to replace the generic one that replaced a perfectly good TrippLite before that which mysteriously went on the fritz. And oddly, somehow I "forgot" about the lifetime warrranty on the first one, all to have the generic replacement power strip come in white plastic with small sliding grey shields to go over the open AC outlets. It seems the assholes wanted to change up the colors of the AC equipment, the original TrippLite with its white metal box and its deep black outlets. And with the extra outlets on this new dark grey plastic bodied TrippLite with black shields on the AC outlets, I get to plug in the Dymo label writer, and have its two bright lbue LEDs shining forth, after some two months of it being unplugged all this time, as it wasn't needed much after all, despite the planted "desire", and so in its own way, it had "fallow time", to sit around unplugged until now.

Other bullshit that went on as the "warm up" to this momentous event for the assholes was that the Purolator outfit delivered this parcel this morning in mid-breakfast, forcing me into a clothing change, from bedtime underwear to clothed to meet the delivery man. I get some advance warning with the intercom buzzer to get dressed. Then I finish my breakfast, did the dishes, and got undressed to shower, shave and do dental hygeine. And lo, while doing the latter, and in mid flossing, my mother phones to tell me she is on her way downtown for a nearby appointment. (I get the honors of parking her vehicle when she gets here, some 20 minutes later.) And so, a phone call to answer with nothing on this time, though curtains were closed, as is usual until I am dressed for the day.

A screaming rage show over the fact that the also-arrived Zalman docking station won't work; the hard drives aren't powering up and Windows cannot seem the drive. In RAID 1, it should one drive, but it doesn't see anything. These two were pulled from inside the case and put in the docking station, and maybe the assholes want some "away time" where the PC, and now with docking station, is to be taken to the local PC shop. Even the most boneheaded repairs, like dropping in memory isn't allowed to be done, and that is fucking easy. The USB 3 port might not be working as it seems the power converter is.

And plenty of brown box unpacking today, and the perps cannot get enough of that. A big parcel box for the Tripplite when it could of held at least 8 of them, and again for the docking station. In the latter case, I had to go through 15 minutes of "holdup" time at fucking Purolator's office, as I didn't have the tracking number, having got out of the habit when the PO parcels didn't come, and they forced me to pick them up, but didn't need the tracking number. But Purolator does I found out, and that was the excuse they could keep me at the counter while the dude parade rolled on behind me (faux customers), as well as one woman opening up her parcel at the counter and exchanging ooohs and aahs with the staff member. The fuckers couldn't get enough parcel games in today, the substrate color being brown of course.

The faux neighbor fan noise has been going most of today, noise tracking me as it would seem. And at 2040h it is still continuing. And it gets through my earmuffs.

The evening time tea and chocolate break. Also on the brown box capers today was my mother, in town for an eye appointment, which incurrs my time to drive her about as she cannot drive afterwards. And as it "happened", she was interested in a countertop electric cooking grill, and of course that was packed in a brown cardboard box, albeit white printed over with color graphics. I got to take it to the checkout for her, and of course a swarm of freaks arrived just then at the moment of her financial transaction. Then lunch at a nearby restaurant, one we occasionally frequent, heavy on the dishy blonde babes, but that was OK. Then I drive with onto a suburban shopping mall to Toys R Us, one of my least favorite places to visit. Her grandchild wanted a Disney doll and so we had to wander around to find them, and lo, if there wasn't someone on top of us fore and aft as well as cross path gangstalkers. And all these skeezy dudes as cashiers and staff in their infernal red shirts or vests. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, a seeming modern day fantasical Fellini event gone wrong. I don't think I have noticed a store with more antithetical looking staff in all my life.

So,.. summarize the brown box unpacking games today; one in the morning (arrived during breakfast), then one of mine at my perp-abetting mother's place (the fated Zalman USB3 docking station), and then I upacked her countertop griddle. Then I got to take the Zalman box into downtown on the bus, that turned into a multicultural zoo; all these (about 20) Spanish speaking kids arrived at one bus stop, and after that it was Standing Room Only. This at 1520h, and it was a total mystery as to where they came from, as the countercycling bus on the same route was only a few minutes ahead, per schedule  How all these male Spanish high school students got themselves arranged for just this bus I was on is a total mystery. Some of them had some fugly hairdos, and lo, if they weren't the ones hiding behind the one babe who was seated in front of me, acting as a screen until the fugly haired dude thrust his head forward or backward for me to see it in greater detail and presentation. All part of the basic perp game; show the fugly Fuckwits by incremental amounts only, and hide them behind others or structures for limited exposures only. And what is with all the hoodie fuckers out today? That, freaking shorts still, and white panted Fuckwits patrolling about. WTF; I thought winter was here, but no, the Fuckwits insist on wearing summertime gear if its deeply Unfavored.

And yoga got cancelled tomorrow, a rare advance notice, which leverages from last week, as it got cancelled due to a national holiday, Rememberance Day. And do I ever do yoga on my own when I got all the time in the world? No, and I am fucking pissed about this as the assholes won't let me, even if they know I want to. Spine bending exercises has to be on their schedule, just like listening to music, watching movies and everything else. This life is fucking tiresome.

And an all time dangerous driving stunt by the perps today, this after the restaurant meal, usually when they go fucking beserk with street shutdowns, emergency lights and sirens. This was a woman who came from behind me in the next lane and accelerated ahead of me, cutting me off. I braked and swerved, she kept accelerating, and by dint of unexpected miracle (read, perp managed fuckery), there was no collision. I have driven in LA, London UK, Seattle, San Francisco, etc. and I have never, ever seen something as to stunningly and purposely brazen by an seeming unimpaired driver. It just shows how fucking desparate they are to place a black colored vehicle as close as they possibly can to the space in which I am about to drive.

Another piece of stunning driving fuckery was when I was about to cross the street outside this apartment, where my mother was parked in the curbside stalls. A white vehicle was preceding and a black and red pickup truck was beside it in the opposite lane, seeming to pass for crissakes, but no, they travelled the length of the block, side by side. Fucking beserk.

The overhead ceiling/floor whacking has started up again; this is a new sound as of today, and it is at a 1x/sec. frequency, as if someone was whacking a shoe against the floor at the same beat and intensity.

This posting is done, and time to blog off and ponder what fucking games they are going to put me through before allowing sleep. Last night they kept me awake for over an hour tossing and turning, usually in the same direction, and usually after I had plugged my ears from an outside noise they had arranged. And they kept up their vision fucking by adding red plasmic spatter in my vision when my eyes were closed. I don't like too much fucking red things coming at me, (kid dressed in red PVC fireman outfit today at the LD store), and the Fuckwit seemed to be testing out what my limits are and how the visual pattern is to be arranged. And when my eyes were open, why, red point sources and sheet flashes erupted all the same.

Post Shave Noise Onset

And how many major perp obsessions are there, and how many supporting activities that disrupt the proximate physical environment are there? Countless, though the marked increase in vacuum cleaning since this all began in 2002 hasn't gone unnoticed, especially now that the vacuum cleaner in the hallway has started up. It used to be a rare event, but all of a sudden, the seeming management has begun a cleaning obsession. I suppose the perps like the vacuum cleaner for the EMF disturbance with the motor going, the noise (as always), the movement of dust and dirt and the vacuum condition itself. If long neglected Russian science of Kozyrev is to be believed, there are etheric vortices all around us, and what better way to create more investigational vortex perturbances than delivering a running vacuum cleaner outside one's door? As usual, this will then begin a distance dependent series of decrements; vacuuming on the other side of the building, then up or downstairs, in the lobby where I exit, and then the "suck trucks" will be sucking up the plentiful leaf fall that is about and so it goes. Never mind what I cannot see in adjacent buildings, including residential ones, and that seem to be mostly empty.

All to accompany me after shaving this morning with a new razor insert, the usual day I start one for the week. As the perps are totally obsessed over things being cut, (meat, hair, paper, anything in fact), and that I am dragging an extra noise-augmented razor blade over my face and front, why, it is primetime for extra attention from vacuum cleaners. Not to mention the gangstalkers in force at the local supermarket this morning; the light blue coated Fuckwit loitering where I get the light blue packaged chocolate was in place, and after she made her protracted and dithering departure with her mouth hanging open, why, another light blue coated Fuckwit was on my ass.

The salad purchase and consumption obstruction continues for a second week, with no local salad mix, just that California mix in huge quantities that always go bad after a week. I had some yesterday at my perp abetting mother's place, the First Feral Family house, and that might of been the reason for legions of gangstalking vehicles out when I was driving for her. So it would seem my once-weekly salad consumption is done, and I would not doubt that the perp's carefull metering of my salad intake continues. And I see my perp-abetting mother did a red handbag troll immediately before eating the green (mostly) salad leaves. The notional scientific research objective is that this is the digestion of phenolic compounds in the leaves, and for whatever reason (along with digestion of any food), they have a phenolic compound and interaction fixation. And phenolic based glues in plywood explain the plethora of plywood stalkning that goes on, often in the form of box sides for trailers and pickup trucks.

Lets see, I have covered vacuums, shaving, plastic exposure, steel cutting and salad and phenolic compound digestion in three paragraphs, all insane perp obsessions, and that isn't even close to 10% of their fixations. Though in fact, everything I do is a fixation for them, from eight years of fucking me over when typing the word "the" and on up; every concept, object, preposition and structure of speech as well. Then they ran this scenario in mind; the huge numbers of displaced peoples in world history, many of whom learned a second language, and here they still are, fucking me and all other TI's as to every mortal thing that I think of, speak about or interact with.

A fire alarm noise, but no accompanying sirens or firetruck bullshit that I usually get. And they are yellow and white fire trucks in this city, and that is used to great effect when they want massed colors arranged for me to see. And all the more important that they be with large physical objects, and better yet their extension ladders, as if nothing else, this entire Fuckover has been about a plethora of ladders in pickup trucks and every other possible juxtaposition of ladders, what I term the "ladder patrol". A morning of squeaky noises, from faux neighbor water usage to brake squealings outside, and now a faint fire alarm, now some five minutes worth. A near shut-in day looks to be the big plan, and hopefully Purolater will deliver the parcel they have been sitting on. It made it to Vancouver by Nov. 12, and has somehow "got stuck" in their system, this being Nov. 16. Such are the vagaries at Abuse Central, though for some TI's, they don't get to have a location they can call their own, being tipped out into the streets to hang with the homeless, the biggest cover for gangstalkers going.

And before it gets deleted, here is the history of my parcel; note that no delivery attempt was made, no contact was initiated, somehow it is up to me to find out what the fuck is going on and where it is. Been there, done that, with the post office parcels three times this year. In perp mentality, it is now Purolator's turn to make a "non delivery"; that is, no notice, no delivery attempt to my address (their address at 811 Vernon Ave doesn't count), just come and get it without any phone or written notice. And no explanation of why the parcel goes missing for three days between Vancouver and Victoria, a Friday to a Monday. OK assholes, I get it; I am to pick the parcel up tomorrow while driving my mother around as that will be the plan, and we will be in the neighborhood for a mutal "brown event", and fuck you for having me sit around for this today. And I will never send anything by you van gangstalking assholes if I ever have any choice in the matter.

Scan Date     Scan Time     Status     Comment
2010/11/16    08:03    Available for Pickup at via VICTORIA, BC depot  
2010/11/16    06:59    Delivered to RC64301 at RECEPTION of RC64301 VICTORIA RETAIL at 811 VERNON AVE V8X2W8 via VICTORIA, BC depot  
2010/11/16    06:11    On vehicle for delivery via VICTORIA, BC depot  
2010/11/15    08:42    Scheduled Delivery Appointment Required via VICTORIA, BC depot  
2010/11/15    07:55    On vehicle for delivery via VICTORIA, BC depot  
2010/11/12    19:15    Left via VANCOUVER, BC depot  
2010/11/12    18:47    Shipment In Transit via VANCOUVER, BC depot  
2010/11/12    18:46    Picked up by Purolator via VANCOUVER, BC depot  
2010/11/12    10:23    Left via SEATTLE, WA depot  
2010/11/10    20:16    Left via LOS ANGELES - LAX depot  

A serious round of emo-trashing while reading two chapters of And His Lovely Wife, by Connie Schultz. They have been fucking me to a teary eyed wreck by the end of two chapters each day, and tonight, they then had me do a marathon resume update, still not recovered from this fuckery. I cannot wait until I finish the book, as it is clearly a method to screw me over not very much. I don't have much invested in US Senate campaigns, nor that of Ohio where the senate race of her husband, Sherrod Brown, was taking place in 2008. A good book, but for crissakes I am not emotionally moved by election campaigns. But someone decided that I had to be, to get me "prepared" for their next round of abuse, screwing me over getting resumes updated. I am particularly pissed with this, as I could of been doing resume updates and posting over six weeks ago, and apart from one week away, the assholes kept dithering and pissing me around. Six weeks of job search impasse as directed by an insane organization that seeks some kind of benefit from this mind invasive depravity. And does this for over eight fucking years because they lack the gumption to front for themselves.

The Star Whackers came to roost again, I see a prominent LA plublicist, one who got the job done and made friends in the process, Ronni Chasen, was murdered while driving back from a premiere. A significant tragedy by all accounts, as all the A-listers knew and respected her genuine talent and support. I cannot say that I knew who she was until now, but it fits the "star whacking" pattern, taking someone out who knew so many stars, though not a celeb actress herself. Very clever that, altering the target group but achieving the same end of empotionally rattling the said target group. And the perps manipulated my news, as I was reading the tributes at length, and only did the last one mention that she was murdered. Nice touch that, keeping some of the news back. Not to mention that I read the news this morning at 0900h and there was no reference to her demise at all, another adroit news obstruction that the assholes decided I needed.

My movie review evening, something I do once per week or so. A kick ass review about a kick ass actress, Frances Farmer. I sticking with the Pacific North Westers (PNW) on this one, and very possibly Frances Farmer was an pre-WWII target to render one disposessed, a prelude to psychiatry's rampage of abuses of the 1950's; Cameron, Sargent and the large scale MKULTRA abuses that led into the in 1960's with LSD that somehow "escaped" the CIA's grasp and became of wider distribution, so to speak. And an interesting revelation about Kim Morgan's family too, adding some sobering grist to this piece. The perps have me in an actor retrospective mode tonight, reading film review blogs and bookmarking films, many of them of decades ago. All part of the layered emo-trashing manipulations and the latter theme that evolved, with me the last to know by way of blatant web page manipulations and excisements.

And so, blogging off after having something useful to do, after six weeks of getting fucked around over getting resume's online again. Not that I expect a deluge of interest, as my job opportunities are highly circumscribed and the fuckers like to keep me broke.

Monday, November 15, 2010

New Right Eyeglasses Lens

A new right eyeglasses lens wasn't the only perp managed excitement today, but it may well have been the pivotal event for all the other feints, dodges and ructions. As mentioned in a recent posting, the lens was to be ready in a day (a Friday), but somehow it got delayed over the weekend and was ready for today (Nov. 15, 2010) this afternoon, in conjunction with some back and forthings on account of driving my mother to and fro for her eye appointment. All very clever, to have me at the First Feral Family home this morning after a Sunday night stayover, doing gardening work there, and an early afternoon eye appointment that was within a block of this apartment. All wearing my old glasses of course. But while waiting for my mother's appointment to finish, why, a message on the answering machine indicated that my eyeglasses were back from the lab. So... off I go, but a delay in the lobby and and then the dude force walking out of the elevator to pass me by while talking to one of my farm work mates who now "happens" to be living in this apartment block, one story up. While chatting with her briefly, there were three or four dudes of the ongoing in-building freakshow all lined up and marching in file, like I see all to often as a signature climatic moment of Fuckwits on parade. Then plenty of Fuckwits on my one block trip to the optician, and they even brought in the Big Brown, a UPS delivery van flanked by a white tradesvan on each side, parked along the curb of a in-street turnabout, all three of them on a yellow line no less. Can we say "arranged" and "police exempt" any louder than that, save their incessant obsession over showing me brown colored objects, culminating with a UPS van.

And lo, if that UPS van didn't show up two blocks away some 30 minutes later, after picking up my mother at the eye clinic. It was parked on a yellow line again, and at the corner where I made a right turn next to it, and with the traffic held up by an seeming over cautious Fuckwit ahead of me. More brown exposure time it would seem. That made it the second UPS van stalking today, but the assholes put one on a third time when homebound. Them and the red postal vans that "show up", one time at the Ikea parking lot at 2000h  for crissakes.

Other related bullshit was my mother making a donation of clothing in plastic bags that we took with us, and lo, if the intended donation site didn't put up a notice in front of the store just as we pulled in, to say that they weren't taking any more donations. Like WTF; straight out of a bad movie. So.. when I dropped my mother off and parked the vehicle, after her putting on a dumbshit show over the centralized parking meters and seeding faux confusion, presumably to get me talking, I walked the three plastic bags of clothing donations to the next block and dumped them there, the same block where I live. This was prior to heading out to the optician, so I can only assume that they had me "plastic bagged" over the route I was to take again some 20 minutes later. Earlier in the day, for two hours in the morning, I was hauling around the new blue plastic tarp over the lawn to pick up my raked leaves at my perp-abetting mother's place, how I keep myself in the extra chocolate they compell me to purchase. And there was a surfeit of plastic bag toting Fuckwits everywhere I went today, even on the bus. I have never seen so many bus travelling grocery shoppers in all my life, and they will even travel past supermarkets they could of visited, but for some reason chose to go a longer distance instead. Beats me, save the perp imperative and the plastic bag games.

And so what does a new right side eyeglasses lens mean for the perps? These glasses are 22 months old, and they gave me a free warranty replacement when normally the warranty last only 12 months. I have been using the blue tinted lens cleaner for the past two months, so I suppose it was time for them to switch lenses and determing what effect this has on my neural processing, and more likely, their remote detection of my neural processes. As these long planned events evolve, one has to appreciate their tenacity and capability to isolate this particular variable, eyeglass lens cleaning with tinted cleaner, to now test it over the next few month, though, more likely, years. In other words, the L lens will have had blue tinted cleaner energetics, and the R one won't, and presumably this makes a difference in some downstream psychic/chakra energy signature that the assholes can detect from a distance. Or, supply a comment as as to what you the reader might think this serves.

And did I get enough pit-lamping today? The stopped vehicle with its headlights trained on me as I am walking toward it, twice now that some Fuckwit forgot to turn off their lights while seated in the vehicle, doing squat. Add a third one with its running lights left on in the driveway and nobody home, and you can imaging the attention that I get anywhere I go.

And so I drove my mother back from downtown to the First Feral Family home, she not seeing straight because of the pupil dilating drops in her eyes, and me, with my just-new lens in my glasses. I am sure the perps got great comparative data out of that, but what it all means and how these two situations are compared is beyond me. Just more of the same insane abusive high fuckery as far as I am concerned.

The city bus ride to downtown wan't too freaky today, but just ridiculously over populated. At least 30 on board heading into downtown at 1637h. The wierdest one was the paint splattered dude in the red shirt who sat down at the other side of the rear bench seat, though thankfully they put an intervening woman between us. Two in fact, having one switch out for another of similar age, build, and neutral attractiveness. Another almost wierd was the heavy dude in white baggy shorts for crissakes; we are talking wet, windy and temperatures of 9C today, and this one was dressed for summer it seemed. The trend seemed to be having the iPhone LCD looking passengers around me. I have had the laptops around me before, so I can only assume they are now sizing the LCD and whatever benefit that brings to them.

 I will call this one done for today, and ponder tomorrow's pissing around. Maybe I will be allowed to post my resume after six weeks of enforced obstruction/mind-fuck games.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Short Sunday Post

A 0930h get-up for a 9 hour sleep, one hour more than usual, but not as bad as the 10 hour sleeps they have put me through for the last week. It is mighty dark with the rain and as it seems, the managed dinginess that goes on all too often. There were plenty of provocations to keep me vocalizing this morning, aka rage-ified or else as caustic diatribes to their jerkarounds. They keep up the poking and jabbing with forcefields, inside forearms, on the fingertips and nipples most often. Pulling objects from my grasp is another stunt they like to pull, and then there is the crumb games where they come from nowhere it seems and arrive nearby to be cleaned up, or else even evasive hopping when being picked or cleaned up. The overhead tapping noise started up when I was in the bathroom doing the usual shower, shave and dental hygiene routine. That, and the faked water-in-pipes noise at all gradations of volume.

The usual reaction to this round of increased abuse, though only a small increase, is to look at what is new or different. Starting a new bulk bag of cereal might of been one insane reason for the perps, as this is usually a three month cycle. Another is that I started on metal foil wrapped chocolate this morning, the first in 6 weeks or more. There were 8" plasma emanations in white parallel lines coming off the metal foil, and no ostensible cause, being a first time event. I have had plenty of this kind of chocolate before at breakfast, and never seen any plasmic emanations, and there are no lights overhead as if it were reflections. (Which is what they do everyday in the bathroom, have 3 to 5" plasma beams emanating from the reflective faucet). So it would seem that the assholes are escalating the abusive bullshit some, and it remains to see if this will be permanent. They seem to have me cycling for months on differing kinds of chocolate wrapping as well as color variations thereof. They cut me off lavender colored plastic wrapped MIlka bars for over four weeks now, and have kept the empty shelf space at the LD store all along. Not to mention covering me with four or more gangstalker assholes each time I visit the LD store, such as yesterday. As part of their study it seems that they also want to understand the energetics of the dinner plates as well; the plastic wrapped chocolate gets put on a dinner plate (with recent variations of new crockery),  while the metal foil chocolate is kept in the foil wrapper on the table after being slit with a knife, which also begets a round of fuckery in its own right. (The foil slits into wire pieces as well, which makes for two parallel cuts when I am making one).

One affronting crumb game this morning was to fly a 1/8" crumb of coconut butter, from inside of my wrapped tortilla, and have it take an impossible trajectory and arrive on my upper legs, on the leg hairs. (No reason to get dressed up for breakfast when on one's own). This was all the more provocative as I was leaning over the table and the dinner plate to prevent just such an event, and somehow, it just "happened". And I cut down on the crumb fucking games by having unleavened bread, a tortilla in fact, in which I wrap the sometimes crumbly (another jerkaround) coconut butter. In other words, I take all the precautions of crumb prevention, e.g. wrapped tortilla, low crumb nut butter, lean over my plate, and lo, if a crumb doesn't suddenly erupt onto my leg. Other crumb hopping games, from tortilla, to dinner plate as I attempt to pick it up with no fumbling have also erupted in association with the coconut butter. Not to mention, coconut butter crumbs come from nowhere to "join me" for the next breakfast course, the chocolate they so like me to have. In other words, they want a coconut butter retrospective test for the next course, as in energetic interaction testing. And yes, coconut crumbs have also arrived elsewhere in the kitchen on sections of counter some 3' away from where it was handled and taken from the jar.

And it is the first time use of the Woolite laundry detergent today, another major perp obsession. More interesting in that they had me using Tide for over two years, every day when cleaning clothes after farm work. But because they choked down the Tide at the LD store, a substitute detergent was needed, and lo, if it wasn't one from long ago, in the intense fuckover days of 2002.

I expect this will be a post for this morning only, as my First Feral Family contact and visitation duties will be duly impressed upon me, and leaf raking seems to be the big perp deal these days. And even yellow leaves in the hallway this morning as I walk past the elevators to go to the laundry room. I suppose it wasn't enough that they painted the hallways yellow earlier this year.

Not quite, my perp-abetting mother has a lunch event on, and so I may be making my own way to her place later this afternoon instead of getting picked up. That means, "take the bus", the single most important gangstalking vehicle as they can have the Fuckwits and Freaks coursing around me while it is moving. Not to mention the Crotch Dudes, the now commonplace event of these dudes with their legs splayed open to release all that kundilini energy it would seem. And they do like to pack the bus with the most unlikeliest bus passengers; the one stop travel nutters, the raucous dudes, the well dressed women and of course the more regular Fuckwits and vagrants. And why is the bus so full up on Sundays, as I just don't get it, save the orchestrated games. Who knows where the bus might of been beforehand, and how many practice runs the assholes will do before and after.

Wrong again; in-town bother will pick me up instead of the public transit  gangstalking vehicle. Or at least, that was the content of the latest phone call, adroitly timed while folding laundry that was "forgotten" for 45 min. in the stopped dryer.  I had the towels put away, but still had the one olive green shirt wprn yesterday to be put away, along with a white tea towel, both lying on the bed. So... a 10 minute phone call with relevance, and then back to the remaining laundry items and then to have lunch.

I am going to post this now, in case I get "forgetted" to get this online. And still no movement on applying for work or getting my resume online, a six week thwarted exercise, and still in progress.