Monday, April 25, 2011

Rare Monday Morning at Abuse Central

I usually stay at the First Feral Family house on Sunday evenings and do garden work or driving for my perp abetting mother in the morning, returning Monday afternoon or evening. But as the weather was closing in, meaning rain for this Monday morning, I left Sunday evening, getting a ride with my in-town brother who was over for Easter dinner, minimally celebrated. More like it was an enlarged First Feral Family gangstalk, going the artifices he contrived to have both his cell phone and the wireless phone in front of him on his wood TV-table. Both are EMF devices, and his cell phone was on the fritz, beeping anytime it felt like it, all by itself.

But what is with his sudden escalation of waving his hands around while talking, in front of his face mostly. My perp-abetting mother suddenly adopted this ridiculous habit when the harassment started in 2002, but my in-town brother hasn't been so consistent. I even asked him aloud why he was waving his hands around all the time, but that didn't stop him.

Othe bullshit on the way back was to drop off his engine oil from his vehicle, having changed the oil earlier in the day. Regular readers will know of the perp's obsession over petroleum products, and that they seem to involve this extensively in their stunts and set ups, e.g. heating oil tankers, gasoline tankers delivering on a Sunday evening for crissakes.

Today is Easter Monday, a half-assed holiday here; government workers are off, no one else it seems. The perps are heavy on outside noise all the same; heavy duty vehicles, bus noise and beepings. The rain didn't stop them either.

Then they dug a 1/8" hole in me while doing the full frontal shave this morning, having skipped this perp inspired regimen while at the First Feral Family house yesterday. That might be why they are extra abusive today, cranking me up with jabbings from nowhere, including one on my dick; no towel or other possible casual object in hand, just a gratuitous whack from the assholes. One never knows when they will stoop this low, but they will. Said hole in my skin was deeper than usual and bled a whole lot more, and it was the most unlike a razor cut of all the hundreds of times they have cut me. None look like a razor cut for that matter. But only one lesion inflicted, not ten or more like they sometimes do.

And while doing the news troll for the first time in three days, they went beserk with incessant clunking and thumping heard through my earmuffs while reading a forest industry blog. That was my former industry that I worked in for 20 years, and the perps seem to be fishing for something when it comes to that topic. I had my earmuffs on, but that doesn' matter if they want to get a specific noise through with the timing arranged to what I am seeing or reading online.

A lunch made from scratch, and it is always an event of extra adversity, arranged by the perps/ Crumbs dropping in from nowhere, water slopped onto the countertop by some mysterious means, faked touches, sending me to the wrong cupboard etc., all to crank me up to a rage-ification level. Invariably a loud noise from outside is timed while screaming at the assholes.

And for the past two days while at the First Feral Family house, eating far too many cookies and cakes, I got the usual proliferation of noise from the faux neighbors. It seems that there are no real people living in most of the houses around the FFF house, much like this apartment and all the ones beforehand. The most ridiculous moment wasn't the six or more STRATCOM bombers overhead over the day while outside, but an Dehavilland Turbo Beaver aircraft, no more than 150' above, that was timed to fly past exactly when I picked up the box containing the plastic bags that I had used to put weeds in after sifting the soil from them for three prior hours. These are the same aircraft that do the commute runs from harbor to harbor, Victoria and Vancouver, and to have it so low on a Sunday was quite exceptional. They have been frequently arranged overhead while I am working in the bulb picking fields from the last three years of farm work, seemingly at their assigned altitude. But yesterday's low flypast was the first one. They once arranged a similar float plane to buzz me once when hiking near a ridge line. The aircraft lined me up from over a half mile away and cleared the ridge top by some 20', it was that close. This in a park and well away from the standard flight paths. Just another means it seems in extending the role of aircraft, for whatever service they provide for the perps' games.

Regular readers will know that outdoor landscaping work at the FFF house has been accompanied first by the STRATCOM bombers (or, perhaps, noise only emulations), then overflights by scheduled aircraft (such as the one that came in low yesterday), then the faux neighbors and their lawnmowers, chain saws, leaf blowers and other two cycle gasoline powered engine noise. This progressive noise pattern of fuel burning engines occurs each time I am outside doing the yard and garden maintenance work, repeating after lunch, just as it does when start in the morning. But I suppose they needed an aircraft to come in close to augment this continuum of noise and fuel burning, from terra firma (lawnmowers etc.) to way up where STRATCOM B-52 bombers fly, what, 50,000' (guessing).

An interesting news piece I came across, a submarine sailor going amok and shooting two officers on board a submarine that was in port for public visitation purposes. I didn't think too much of it until I read the physical newspaper article that visiting dignitaries were on board (inside) and the ruckus happened there, with a group of schoolchildren waiting outside, who were never threatened or even aware of what transpired. Well.........  I do get plenty of children gangstalkers with their parents carrying or pushing them along, and even school groups that "happen" to be downtown for whatever reason. And so it seems to me, the children are used as biosensors for psychic fields, and in the case of this tragic mayhem aboard a submarine with the children outside, might the perps be doing their etheric/psychic energy detection research with these children, while a deadly bloodletting went on inside? Could be, as it seems the perps were (two months ago) working on having the Fugliest Negro leaning against a wall while I was on the other side going down steel stairs. Though we are talking another order of magnitude, with a submarine hull some inches thick of steel. Lest one think I am extrapolating too far, many other TI's note some "coincidence management" around tragic public massacres, such as at teaching institutions, and suspect the deemed assailant might have been under the control of remote influencing technology. Funny how this online article dropped the mention of the children outside, and that they were not witness to the event.

Tea and chocolate are done; at five times repeating motorcycle noise was good for swearing at them once. Then a 1" red spot flash was good for another vocalized complaint, and while in mid-rant they put a 5"x1/2" yellow flash immediately in front of my face. The sickos are decidedly more disruptive today. Same for the dementia act father yesterday, he was decidedly more disruptive and invasive, and putting on the dementia bullshit way too thick. He wasn't dulled down like he has been so often.

Three more motorcycle noise events in quick succession that somehow get through my earmuffs, when I didn't have them on at above mentioned tea-time. Somehow, the perps like to deliver the same specific noise at the same volume level, seated at the table, and then at my desk, 180 degrees different orientation. No respite today, never mind how improbable it is to have the same motorcycle repeating so often.

And maybe this is why TI's get bright lights shone at them; headlights, night lights on in the day time and even the odd flash from nowhere. This article indicates that there is a magnetic moment created when light passes through a non-conductor (dielectric). And given that I am kept in a densified magnetic field, measured at 1600 Gauss two years ago, it would make sense that the perps are looking to detect the result of the magnetic interference, and in doing so, detect the magnetic, (or, electromagnefic, or energetic) signature they seem to know about in advance, probably from static testing of cooperative subjects. Long known to the perps of course, but we in surface-world were allowed to catch up on this one. Lucky us.

I see the font size games are continuing; each time I come back to this and write an entry (above), the font size gets a little smaller. Same old same old, and nine years of it now.

Here is a TI resource I did not know about until today, recieving an email out of the blue. Keep the Ethical Light Burning, or KELB, and they seem dedicated to what the real issue is, nonconsensual human experimentation. Full stop. It is what all this abuse is about, and is a continuation of past abuses (many of the same subjects, like me) that began in the 1950's under the MKUltra banner, though I suspect there was more, e.g., the radiological testing of US Forces personnel.

No mojo tonight, not even to get going on the job searching, a chronic situation as I slip into my line of credit this week, the first time in over a year. Maybe the gardening work can bail me out for $200 this month when it wraps up.

And nothing today about my oil drilling job application three days ago, the seeming culmination of three years of planted ideations. Hopefully this bullshit is now run its course and is over for good. And a decided motivational suck-down on getting a vineyard job in the Okanagan, another planted and impractical ideation that was planted at least two years ago, and seemed to reach a fever pitch about two months ago. I applied to two places and haven't heard from either, as the accomodation arrangements must work out as well. Hopefully this too will pass and the perps' grand plans for my late-spring job early summer job scene will settle down to what I was expecting it to be, the same as the last two years. That is, pick strawberries and then as the season winds down, pick raspberries. And when the latter is done, then I go pick daffodil bulbs from the ground after the tractor has lifted them. That takes me to September and so another year of "red testing" (strawberries and raspberries only) ends. And I see my perp abetting mother is already purchasing California strawberries, having served them last night for dessert. A harbinger of the daffodil picking job I did two months ago, when she was purchasing imported ones before the local picking season started? (Recall that I picked daffodil flowers for four weeks in Febuary and March 2011). Very likely, and perhaps this utter job ideation nonsense that has been planted in mind will come to pass for freaking good.

On that note, I will conclude this posting and dullified day, getting to do laundry this morning, so not at total shut-in.

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