The Freak Seat

03-22-2011, 2015h
Another day of picking daffodils in the muddy fields, this time with another low bunch count as there is slim pickings now, and plenty of pickers leaving by mid-day. No more 600 bunch days, as it seems I am fortunate to get half that now. Soon it will be over, maybe another week or so, and plans change every day as to if they are going to take a break or continue with a late field following these heavily picked ones.

Another screaming rage show when making dinner tonight, such as it was, and then continuing when making tea in the evening. The usual provocations; pulling items from my hands, noises from nowhere, touches from nowhere, telekinetic/unconventional gravitic games like moving the mug on the counter by itself, sliding a  1/2" along on the counter, having the tea being poured down the drain run uphill onto the bottom of the sink, and others. They have put me through over 40 rage-ifications tonight so far. Two days ago it was the same deal when making dinner for two days of leftover lunches and dinners. But four days ago, they totally backed off for the first time since this escalated abuse erupted when flower picking resumed Mar.09, 2011. I wonder why they let up and then re-applied this higher level of abuse for this particular occasion.

And the crew bus came and picked me up at 0650h, as it has since the same date, and lo, if the Fugliest Negro didn't return and reclaim his R. side seat at the front of the bus, displacing the former freak, the skinheaded lug who was rotated out and not picking today. Said negro was back gangstalking me as I exited the locker room, a 3x event now, batting about .500 for this one particular location and event. And same deal as always; he stays in his seat while we all file past him, making a R turn to the door and down the stairs in front of his seat. Perfect for gangstalking; elevation difference and an orthogonal turn.

I also got the return of the guitar stalker/faux flower picker again, two days in succession. And it is most odd that he takes the bus in the morning with his guitar, not in a case, and then somehow disappears for the rest of the day, never seen in the fields or in the bus at the end of the day.

A week or so ago, another guitar stalking Quebecois dude brought his guitar in a case and seemed to know exactly where to go on his first day and tail me to the locker room where he left the guitar against the wall, still in the way of through traffic. He lasted a day, picking beside me for some two hours and not doing a very good job, and then was gone.

There is a French and French Canadian aspect to the stalker community. An attractive blonde woman is also Quebecois, as is another guy, the one who "happened" to get off the ferry, see the pickers in the fields and get himself a job, though he is an excellent picker to be fair. Another Quebecois from the summertime also arrived and was picking for two days or so and then somehow leveraged it into a job being the tallyman, recording the boxes in the field and tagging them. The farm manager is French, and also seems to do some kind of limited gangstalking role as an entre before other scum arrive and circulate in my proximity. I haven't figured out his role, though he knows me back to 09-2008, and in fall of 2009 I worked for three months as one of his field pickers. As to why they had a negro from Montreal in 2009 as a laborer I have no idea, but there he was humpfing the harvest along with the Mexicans. And he gets a flight home no less, quite the exotic treatment for us regular farm laborers.

03-24-2011, 0930h
The irradiation off this LCD display was too fierce to do much last night, and so the flower picking season is over after a third day of scrounge picking, being directed to go anywhere we like/think to find more to pick. A low bunch count, half of which was from a field to the N. of the very busy (read, vehicular gangstalking- arranged vehicle colors, serial color themes, types, and spacing) Mt. Newton Cross Rd. to extract the last 100 bunches of what I finished up on the day before. That was half my bunch count; so in other words, finding 20 to 30 bunches per 800' runs of daffodil rows isn't getting me much, some 208 for the day. A few others claimed to be getting 400 and 600 bunches, one of the first times this most germane topic was spoken about on the crew bus yesterday, coincidenaly my last expected day. There is the bait of another field coming on stream in a week or so, b ut with 20 Mexicans on the payroll, I am not expecting much. But one never knows; just when all the gear has been cleaned up and put away, a sudden need can erupt. Hard to know.

And yesterday was the Freak Meet, wher they put on multiple freaks, after seeming to switch them out as mentioned above; the Fugliest Negro, the skinhead were both there, as was a blonde Caucasian case of dreadlocks, and the lesser (but regular) Unfavored freaks of the male ponytail, red hair were also on the crew. The Fugliest Negro unveiled his atrocious dreadlocks yesterday for the first time, quite the disgusting sight from my perspective, keeping his freak quotient high. Normally he stays well away from me except for posing at the senselessly protracted marshalling area, but today, he did a "walk at me" stunt as I was getting off the bus. He had uncharacteristally got off the bus first instead of his usual sitting in the front seat and waiting for everyone to pass by, and I was in file with a Mexican in front of me and another behind, and he comes the Fugliest Negro walking straight at me as I exit the bus for no reason as anyone could see that there were plenty of personnel disembarking. On the crew bus ride back he later did posing behind the redheaded woman, sitting exactly aligned behind her, and later offset so to be partially seen, and then she collapsed in a sleeping heap so her head was below the seat back to then reveal this Fuckwit's dreads in their unobstructed fullness. Her hair color was an interest almost red; not brunette and not a full redhead, but at the boundary coloration where I wasn't totally sure what it was. Enough to be leery of at any rate, and on the way to the picking fields from the farm in the morning, she was sitting directly in front of me fo the first time for the 5 minute ride, so maybe that was a "warm up".

On the blonde hair side yesterday, the blonde woman in dreads was featuring herself enough to be sitting directly in front of me on the outbound bus, and not offset in the seat, so along with peripherial vision games of injecting her dreadlocks into my vision, while looking sideways which would normally would of eliminated this fugly hair-do, or hurl-do as I have called it in the past, I had to move seats to get this planted dreadlock bullshit eliminated from my sight. An unequivocal case of one's vision of not being one's own. And it happened to the the one morning where one supervisor couldn't make the bus and it turned back and drove into Fairfield, and past the very apartment building I happened to live at in 2004 to 2005.

Other hair presentation action was to cross the two similar blondes up, aligning their heads and hair up and then offsetting them and then having them wholly separate and then removing one from the scene. This tall guy with unkempt blonde shoulder length hair (almost dreadlock looking) has been circulating around me for about the last ten days of flower picking and then a woman with a similar color of blonde hair started work, attractive and in her late thirties. Her hair was looked after and in a loose wave, and lo, if these two didn't begin to align their heads so the dude was behind the woman, and then begin this predictable game of having "hair doppelgangers" slowly offset to partially and then later, reveal the dude's unsightly mane. Partial and incremental reveals of Unfavored sights, in this case, male long hair in a near dreadlock state. Is this not familar to regular readers, the ongoing placement of the Unfavored behind the Favored and a slow incremental reveal of the former? Like maybe thousands of times now in the near nine years of this insane depredative abuse?

The expected end of daffodil picking, and at least, a rest day to wait up and retrieve my rain/mud gear from the farm and get it cleaned up. The new rainpants will have to be taken back as they leak at the knees, "taking over" from the same model pair that erupted breaks in the fabric at the same location that begat the same problem. Funny how that goes, and that someone wants these rainpants so bad after all their soil contact that would pull this stunt.

And the athletic kneepads that I wore under my pants also self-erupted and the elastic portion disentegrated sending whitish chips down my leg and onto my black socks. Another item that might need replacement.

Yesterday was the first day of wearing a black scarf, after the perps planting this notion for the entire six weeks of flower picking, as the wind kept cooling my neck down. It "happened" to be on a display at the LD store the night before, hanging next to a brown scarf, the same tone of brown as the elastic bands that we carry and use for bunching the picked daffodils. It isn't the first time that a just-new garment gets extra one-time attention, and without being laundered in advance. The scarf was plenty long enough for once, but somehow it kept incrementally moving on me and needing at least four re-adjustments during the day to remain useful.

More typing sabotage as I write the above, and extreme rage-ification to got with it, so time to post this and close the 2011 daffodil picking season.