Saturday, December 04, 2010

Leaf Picking

I am still without a watch, having got screwed twice today by the store being closed when I thought it would be open, and when I got off the bus, why, it was plain out of mind. Like I suspected, this watchless, or watch in pocket, stunt has a few days to run. Even if there were multiple watch ads in the newspapers this morning, though I would not consider it to be a coincidence, being Christmas time and all.

I did the gangstalking show again on the city bus, my "pals" slowly forming around me while at the bus shelter when outbound. First the shiftless dude doing back and forths for no reason. At first he looked like that he was getting to the head of the bus stop zone for the bus, but none came. Yep, you read it correctly; the perps will parade a Fuckwit by who is looking totally stricken with urgency, and being at a bus stop, one assumes that he is moving past the bus shelter because the bus is coming, he having a better view as he is in the bus shelter with the unimpeded view. But no, he paces back to the bus shelter and sits down again.

Then comes the native Indian woman in a freaking wheelchair and stops 3' from me. Regular readers will know I hate the sight of wheelchairs with a passion, as it ranks high on the Unfavored list, which likely has something to do with the three missing years of my life, two of which were in Montreal, 1956-7, 1958-59. What they did is unknown to me, though other children were abused in this city then. Then a brownish Phillipino woman arrives, first in the shelter, then standing outside it, and a few minutes later a Caucasian redcoated (anorak) woman arrives 3' from me in the shelter. (Cannot stand red these days either). Then another woman on a cell phone. Plus others were circulating behind the shelter, doing the senseless restless thing they like me to see. After ten minutes the bus finally comes, and all these Fuckwits are getting out of the front door, where all the signs say, "Please leave by rear doors". Front and rear doors, at least 20 gangstalkers got off the bus, which is large for 0930h on a Saturday, before the stores are open by 30 minutes. Then the bus driver puts down the ramp for the wheelchair person, she wheels on and then the driver goes back to the area to get the seatbelts secured. The next passenger boards but stands there at the pay kiosk. Normally, people pay even if the driver isn't at his seat, so the bus can be boarded by everyone. The redcoat, the Phillipino, the shiftless male cluster around (me), outside the bus, waiting for the driver to get back into his seat, per the lead passenger's choice. So... at least two minutes of this fart-around goes on when a second bus with partial route overlap arrives, and I got mind-fucked into taking it. It was a #25, and I got mind-fucked into thinking it was a #24 when I never make these mistakes. I asked the driver of this second bus about "Lampson Street" and he goes into a hesitation mode, and then I ask about "Head Street" and he says he crosses the bottom of it. Close enough, as these two streets converge anyways. I have been on this route before, but I got totally turned around, and lost my bearings altogether. The bus was on Lampson street when I figured out it had gone to far, and when I got off I had no way of knowing which direction to head. Though, thankfully, I was allowed to pick the correct direction and although a longer walk, I got to my in-town brother's place at 1010h. But what really pissed me off was that the asshole driver did not tell me that he drove on Lampson when it is a major component of his route. Nor did he call it out to me. If I didn't know it before, I am in a total adverse informational environment (among other things), and even the supposedly helpful bus drivers will fuck me around. Past experience with my complaints about the bus service have gotten me nowhere, so I won't go through with that bullshit again.

Four hours of leaf picking by hand was what my toil amounted to, getting the leaves out of the beds and off the lower growning junipers. This at my in-town brother's place on his steep slope property. I got the aircraft noise in lessened amounts, which was true for all the "regular" noise, save the hot rods and Harleys which were every minute or two for the latter two hours. More of them on the way home (by bus), and more of it when I got back to my place and making and eating dinner. I suppose the big perp deal was that I had two slices of pizza in me that my brother had offered, having recently arrived from his shopping trip just before I was to depart. I don't usually eat pizza as the perps put me off it at least 15 years ago, cognitively clobbering the day after and having it and then attribute the problem to the dough or the cheese. But it seems they wanted to test me on it as they put the dudes on me some minutes into my 10 minute walk to the bus stop, these furtive Fuckwits loitering around their vehicle and excessively putzing to keep the doors and/or trunk open for longer. Its the shades that I think are hilarious, as who would need them when the whole street and hillside is in shadow?

The city bus freakshow as assembled at the bus shelter; yet another negro, this one dressed in soccer gear, shorts as part of it in a biting and cold offshore wind. But as he was decked out in black, white and silver colors, why, it is the perfect set up for this ridiculous get up when there isn't a soccer field for blocks. And when did any of them start taking the bus for crissakes? Or, maybe I am answering this from my own parenting experience when taking my daughter to soccer games for at least four years. None of them ever took the bus to games or practice. I had my dudes lineup on the bus again, at least five of them, then later infill with a Caucasian woman (who later made this strange backward smiling glance at me when we were both getting off), another cell phoning dude, and at least one more that I cannot recall.

An evening I cannot recount entirely as what happened. I have got all 60 CD's ripped into FLAC files, and am listening to music off the digital files for the first time. No CD playing in the disc drive. I have yet to full appreciate the convenience of this as I don't have any portable devices to download to or play. And I don't have any idea as to why this is all important to the perps, as they have governed my music interests over the decades, and especially over this duration of overt harassment since 2002. In fact, only a half dozen or so CD's have been purchased since they tore up my life and haven't let go.

Enough plasmic games on this LCD for a day, so to blog off.

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