Vocational BS Blues

1345h
Ahh, the noise of motorcycles outside, driving fast in the rain that has just come on. As in NOT; very tricky to ride motorcycles in wet conditions, not to mention getting wet, and to take on fast driving when wet conditions are their worst, early rain onset, is perverse as it is suicidal. As mentioned many times before, I get noisestalked, that is, the noise generated of such events, but no actual motorcycle. And the perps have a total obsessional agenda over this particular vehicle, from setting them up as props on my walking beat, to the horrific noise of the Harley Davidsons, to all trail bike and Vespa noise variants. Not to mention, Fuckwits posted outside the LD store this morning, a different one for in-bound and outbound journey legs, but none the less, a Fuckwit putting on his motorcycle helmet when I was in close the proximity of the LD store. Though, I suspect their motocycle obsession, and making sure that I am exposed to every facet of it, from noise, to sight to the dress of various classes of motorcycles, as well as the leather garb and the dumbshit logos on their backs. An entire socio-economic tour of the motorcycle culture is what I get, in gangstalking form, not to mention the motorcycles on parade, or even parked, without noise or rider. They even parked a motorcycle in the entrance of this here apartment building, totally illegally of course, closer than the sidewalk was for crissakes. Don't ask me why this is such an important obession for the Fuckwits, though it may relate to subconscious traumatizations of the memory deleted years, age 2 to 5. And it may relate to the fact that there is a tank of gasoline at the rider's crotch, invoking the perps' obsession over exposure to petrochemicals of all kinds. That hands-off oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico for months earlier this year and the hubristic stupidity of BP and the Deepwater Horizon drilling platform, just may of been part of the perps' ongoing petrochemical and petroleum obsession, as in fouling as much environment as possible. More of the "who knows", as even the fundamental (conventional) understanding of physics is at a dead end as we watch the world's physicists do their denial thing, lest they get bumped off, which has happened.

Anyhow, a ten hour sleep for no reason, when eight is sufficient, all to put me on a late morning LD store visitation schedule. The big excitement might be that this is the inaugural wearing of the new underwear set that arrived earlier this week, an order from WI, USA no less, in keeping with past long distance underwear purchases they have forced upon me. Then these riduculous planted vocational ideations over working in a remote construction camp again, right down to clothing and food choices for crissakes. If nothing else, the perps have made it abundantly clear that any working gigs are short term and are not to be in construction. The last three years have had gigs doing farm labor, and gardening work, all those plants and composting that they want me to be involved with. And besides, they haven't let me send a job application for over six weeks of this purgatory, this current at-home-doing-squat spell they have arranged. There was one job that I was interested in, but it was already taken, and I didn't even get a phone call in advance before it was posted, which was my understanding with one recruiter outfit that I met with.

The now usual nonsense for transacting again; the cashier "happened" to miss the four chocolate bars I had on the counter, and so another transaction, this time paying in cash, two blue colored five dollar bills. (Regular readers will know that I am perturbed or harassed at every financial transaction I make, anywhere, any currency, any method). And that might of explained the dude parade outside on leaving. One after another, four serial ones, and at least one with the erstwhile brown color reference, coffee cup in hand. The perps like to get me immediately following a "color change" most notably by paying cash. Another example would be when changing clothes, as they have their Fuckwits do this no end of times in public, and winter be damned. And so my gangstalked walk of a half block back to Abuse Central, and lo,if the perps didn't put on a negro couple at the door, performing "door service" (holding it open, a long running gangstalker feint/need). And new-to-this-building negroes no less, not the usual flop-around dude.

And the perps reminded me of a long string of planted ideations related to vocational aspirations over the past two years or so; truck driver, fork lift driver, excavator operator, chain saw operator cutting line, oil rig worker and a few more. And what is my experience or training with any of that; exactly zero, so WTF. Why do they continue to ply me with such bullshit all day long, though a day off most of yesterday? Don't know, don't care, just leave me the fuck alone. Not to mention six months of 2x/ week Oracle database classes that ended 03-2010, and not a freaking peep from anyone contacting me. The only contact I got was a freaking joke; an in-town outfit phones me about VMS, an operating system I last touched in 1986 for crissakes. Back to farm labor in mid-2011 is my prediction; picking daffodil bulbs for three months, and a gig somewhere else I reckon, usually first. Maybe orange colored carrots next year instead of red fruits, strawberries and raspberries.

1755h
Dinner is over, one quesadilla slice and one apple, with apple remnants due to arrive in my mouth in two hours time when I get up for shutting the PC down and heading to the kitchen to put on the kettle. The remanants either flush forward off my teeth at that particular moment, or get teleported into my mouth. At the very instant of turning off the lighted red power switch I get a one inch string of apple remnant in my mouth, noticed by being on my tongue. I don't know how it got there, as I eat all of the apple up.

2025h
Text resizing games continue tonight, the assholes changing this very text as I come back to it after looking at a link in another tab. An interesting book review (A Terrible Mistake: The Murder of Frank
Olson and the CIA’s Secret Cold War Experiments, H. P. Albarelli, Jr.) and extensive footnotes in Lobster #59 (The Dr Strangeloves of the Mind, Anthony Frewin), indicating that there were three interconnected initiatives undertaking nonconsensual human experimentation (aka "treatments") of a similar nature in the 1950's, in the UK (Dr. William Sargent, Dr Ronald Sandison and Professor Joel Elke), Australia (Dr Harry Bailey)  and Canada (Dr. Ewan Cameron), and that they were in frequent contact. The unifying thread was that they were impatient for psychiatric results, and prescribed ECT (electro shock) and the drugging of patients for long sleep durations of months, and that this was done at the behest of military or secret service paymasters. And some LSD "treatments" as well, as Sargant was said to be the UK expert of the 1950's. A long read, and a big file as there are many other book reviews and interesting dissertations in this 1.5Mb PDF.

2310h
The overhead rumbling erupts through the earmuffs as the perps force me through a jerkaround over back up files and directories, along with obstructing a boot-up of Firefox, stopping it and not even allowing the Crtl-Alt-Del to get Task Manager to sort out the problem. I do a shutdown and then a start up. All to get more jerkarounds as they then fade out some of the backup application to a light grey for the text, and this seems to bring on more rumbling, even as I type.

A blog to post I figure, as I may get more sabotage as I type this, so best to get this one posted.

2400h
A working PC; time enough to indulge in music, a rare treat, Pieta Brown. For the blues and folkies, and no heavy metal on this channel.