Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Moving the House

A long day, not farm work, but helping the farm owing family move houses, using their trucks and with other co-workers. First, a "starter hoe-ing job", which seems to be some kind of baseline for the perps to have me perform for 20 minutes before I got called off for moving house duty.

A total day of FUD; the boss' son whose house we are moving and his inexplicable absences in managing the event, as we don't know one room/person from the next, and he isn't on top of it. Then I am working with a Punjabi and an Asian, neither of which speaks much English, and seem to be inherently oblivious to the obvious at times. Then do loony things like attempting to get an item through a door when it won't fit, after being told as much at least twice. I constantly had to ask what was to be moved where, where we were headed, and getting vague answers.

I met the woman of the house, and I suppose she was there to strut her gorgeous looking self, save the tattoos above her ass and when the cigarette was hanging from her lips. She seemed to be a nice person, even nicer than promoted, as she was made to seem a harridan over the marks on the furniture that were put there by the children, before us movers arrived. I suppose that was part of the set up; have the reputation of an ogre set in advance, and then find the real person to be quite the opposite.

And as one farm worker somehow forgot his lunch, she made hot dogs and slathered them with ketchup and mustard, the infamous red and yellow colors. And it does seem that there is subconscious traumatizations set up over this color combination (DHL trucks all over the gangstalking scene), but also hot dogs themselves. At least one of my former colleagues went on and on with this term as a metaphor to describe his healing chest wound from open heart surgery back in 2003. Hmm... somewhere during the recall deleted abuses of 1956-1959 I was subjected to, that hot dogs, or the appearence thereof, are part of the present re-enactment scene. Isn't normal to make hotdogs and then provide the condiments to go on them, much like the fast food places do?

Later it was the red Gatorade test, having me drink a liter of it when parched in the afternoon. I already seen a hugh increase in red colored vehicles and red dressed ambulatory gangstalkers, so I wonder if they are doing some other kind of testing.

red gatorade later when parched in the afternoon

And what is it about moving others the perps like so much? I have moved over 50x in my life, and have helped others, Ms. C in 2000, and an ADD colleague in 2003, and did a odd job in 2007. All the juxtapositon of objects, brown boxes, people moving back and forth, the slow incremental build up of objects inside a box (of the moving truck), and then their decremental oppsosite when unloading. Just plain exciting for the perps, as well as meeting all the family members whose belongings we were moving. Other oddities were some E. Indians arriving for some reason that wasn't made clear, and their kids hanging around me for no reason, then the neighboring male loitering around for no seeming purpose as well. All their to strut their dubious shifless selves at the right perp moment.

I get the city bus at 1930h and end up two seats away from this dude doing waving and pointing while talking to his pals. How this threesome ended up on the bus save for gangstalking and harassment purposes is beyond me, as they didn't seem to be the typical bus traveller at that time of day, on a Monday no less.

But this inane and excessive waving and pointing has increased of late, with my perp abetting-mother doing something similar the day before. First it was outside, and then the perps fucked me over how to use her phone, and that was a setup to then have her do this again inside and with the phone (read, EMF signals at the head) in hand. If I cannot stand anyone's fingers in my face then why am I getting harassed this way, now for over nine fucking years?

Then the bullshit at working at the First Feral Family house; weeding mostly as I rebuilt the compost pile the day before, always a big perp noise event. I had my usual STRATCOM B-52 overflights, then lower altitude Turbo Beaver/Otter aircraft, then private aircraft. As usual, the lawnmower noise, leaf blower noise and other orchestrated perturbations of suburbia followed.

Not as long as a working day, though the same format; weeding for 20 min. with the boss using my hoe that I had just filed (though not enough to make it sharp), to demonstrate the technique he wanted. Essentially, all weeds around the straberry plant, including hand plucking the ones under the strawberry leaves. Apparently, yesterday's weeding crew (not me, I was moving the boss' son's house effects) weren't getting all the weeds. I was hoping for a whole day of weeding to aid in recovering from yesterday's strenuous moving work. Though, today wasn't as tough moving, but it still involved being in the FUD-zone with the language/logic barriers (a Punjabi an an Asian), and the inattentive boss' son.

And the cable installer was there today, crossing my tracks right and left, and wore the "uniform" of the male in big dumb shorts to his knees. What is it about this look that so interests the perps? Even the professional basketball players have this same dumb look. Then when I was out at the pickup truck the cable installer was at his truck nearby, cutting leaves and branches with his cable cutting tool. And have I not roundly and relentlessly complained that the perps go to no end to have me using knives, hoes and other cutting tools to then noisestalk me with aircraft, lawnmowers, vehicles, kids screaming and the like? And too, the same, though with a different noise complement when I am cutting up cooked chicken meat, or any other food item for that matter. What is it that fascinates the perps so much over cutting actions, cutting edge sharpening, use of various honing devices and the like?

Another go-round to get my  Paypal functional again, and I am getting totally screwed; no email response for my unknown password, and the auto-respond phone system has my old number and cannot seem to get it that the new one is valid, not the one they have. Check your email Rachael O.

Time to call this one done, sketchy as it is, but I haven't had much PC time to get the details down.

Friday, May 27, 2011

No Hair Brush Use Allowed

A new development in the last week is that my post-shower wet hair magically forms into a head shape and doesn't call out to be brushed or combed. The perps have pulled this stunt off and on for some 9 years now, but we are into the third week of it so far. I don't have a complaint as my dried hair looks OK, and doesn't pull if later combed. So it seems that this is the latest research effort, eliminating the use of a plastic combed hairbrush in this long running saga of total life rape. IMO, it is totally fucking pathetic that after 9 years the abusers have only got this far. Naturally, I am not privy to their progress charts, nor their objectives, so take this statement advisedly. But it is consistent with the sudden "need" to get stainless steel lunch tins last year, along with natural bristled brushes for cleaning the dishes (2) and one's teeth (1). So goes the plastic elimination games, and citing the supplied "wisdom", they tell me that plastics are not only ubiquitous pollutants in one's person (who arrranged that?), but also they have unpredictable submolecular behaviors. NOT MY PROBLEM, so why am I neck deep in all these plastic bag toting gangstalkers, not to mention the plastic bag flicking cashiers, and the irrigation pipe (PVC) bearing trucks that circle the downtown block twice while waiting for a bus when there was no irrigation job? On with the abusive insanity, and don't fess up that the victim is intensely pissed at not only having his life totally fucked with every second of being awake (and sleep if the extra vivid dreams are also their doing, but also because this nonconsensual human experimentation abuse has gone for too long. A week was novel, but after that, it was, and remains, extreme tediousness.

And why is it that someone intercepted my Fedex parcel two days ago and hasn't told me where it is? I think we are up to a dozen like incidents, and are now in the third round of apartment managers who do exactly the same thing, assuming so, I haven't enquired yet.

Last week's bizarre phone encounter with the acting manager over the laundry dryer, has put me off; he of the "my dryer" bullshit. And this too is another orchestrated stunt/statement, as in 2000 when I was attempting to rent a vehicle for a day while mine was in the shop, the rental assistant got into a hissy fit and said, "renting MY vehicle with no insurance". Yes, for a day I said. It was my first and last encounter with Enterprise, and I was totally astounded at this asshole behavior. Since then (2007 or 2008) a former apartment manger was chewing my ass because I took a picture of an elevator barging Fuckwit, (attempting to get in before I could get out), and went on about "MY apartment building". Having a camera ready in the elevator was my reaction to this bizarre behavior that erupted then. And strangely, it stopped for a long time after that. Can we say orchestration? It is fucking ridiculous, this conflated extra possessive ownership of something that is clearly not theirs in the first place.

And lo, if it wasn't the new building manager who intercepted my parcel and "forgot" to tell me about it, as in his words, "I was away". Like WTF; he blames my absences on his lack of informing me about my parcel for two days, and not forgetting it was me who phoned him this morning. Another conflation of the facts to justify his interception of my mail. Like WTF; leave a phone message or leave a note under the door.

Said dude also strung me out for an extra 10 minutes, saying he would be by in 15 minutes when it was 25 minutes when I phoned him again, as I wanted to head out to work at the farm. The farmer said to come over and start work after lunch. When he comes he gives me this protracted stare; like WTF, he fucked me out of 10 minutes of waiting, and that makes him the freak/Fuckwit/insane psychopath abettor.

I get my freakshow on the bus, the 220+lb woman with semi-dreadlocks sat immediately in front of me in the transverse seat, as I was on the rear bench seat. Solution; turn my head more to look outside as this humungous freak was unbearable to look at. I get off at my bus stop, to find a Frito-lay delivery truck on stalking duty, unattended and as far from the store as possible, dispensing with the notion of making a delivery. One side of the box panel was predominantly yellow, the other red, and how often have I complained about red and yellow dressed amulatory gangstalkers? I get to the next block and wait for the pedestrian signal, as it is very busy there at McKenzie and Borden, and someone is sounding their horn. I didn't think anything of it, and was about halfway when my co-worker drives over the crosswalk in front of me, as in affrontive. She pulls over to tell me that the farm work is cancelled for the whole day, but that she can drive me to the farm warehouse to get my paycheck, the first one of this gig. I say fine, and she proceeds down part of my walking route to then turn the vehicle around. A 10 tonne flatbed truck is in front of her, with a large three wheeled red colored forklift. And it "happens" to precede her around the corner,very slowly up the hill, and then at the intersections, effectively reversing its direction, and finally turns off at the adjacent farm. I would call this my Big Red accomaniment.

And a clusterfuck at the warehouse, with the farmer's son telling me the fields were too wet, with me still wondering why they couldn't tell me this at 0710h when I phoned, or again at 1115h or phone me. He tells me it was a big rainstorm in the night that woke him up. Whatever, but the bottom line is that they intentionally never had their act together to keep me at my apartment with my lunch packed and ready to go all morning and then jerked me across town in my work clothes to then turn me around again. With this substitute day backpack I am using due to the ink blowout the perps arranged in my regular pack three days ago, means that the perps are going utterly beserk in playing games with my backpacks, the duration of my packed lunch inside it, and where it was. Not to mention them monitoring me while I ate from this same backpack when I got back to this apartment, also getting a ride from the same co-worker.

Continuing the above story, the farmer's son attempts to explain about the large amount of rain overnight, but doesn't explain how he and his father couldn't get their act together as to whether or not to call farmworkers in. But it is apparent the two Punjabi males got work this morning. Anyhow, the big deal must mean that picking up one's paycheck is the BIG EVENT for today, along with cashing it later this afternoon at the ATM. Not only did I have my flush of freaks and Fuckwits, but a negro came to hang around 10' behind me on his cell phone, loitering in the bank, and about the last place one should be loitering. Then a female plants herself 4' behind me, making out she is attending to her backpack. She is gone, when out of nowhere comes this red colored arm, and lo, if it wasn't an Asian male reaching in close for an envelope. Seeing that I had five Asian males strung abreast in the lobby, I wasn't too surprised to see yet more hounding my ass downtown. The perps are heavy on Asian gangstalkers of late, progressing up the brown skin scale it would seem.

And I get an extra $100 cash out because my daughter hit me up yesterday for her first phone call to me in over 10 years. She will be 21 next week, and for the record, the ex did exactly squat all this time as to facilitation or aiding the communication. Last week I got this shrill and vituperative email from the ex about how terrible I was about contacting our daughter. As if I didn't try for some time, and gave up when it was readily apparent that she was witholding vital topical subjects. And who is it then, that stops our daughter from communicating with me then? Enough on that topic, and the ex's grasp on the facts.

And another busy event for the perps was to have me take my backpack to the drycleaners one block away, and get the ink blowout/stain removed. And lo, if there wasn't a biddy act, going into extended irrelevant conversation, all so she could protract the amount of time her long scarlet red coat was being turned over on the blue formica countertop. At least five minutes went by, maybe longer, and when she made it time to go (me sitting on concrete bench all the time), the counter assistant had to go outside to hold the door open for this freaking doddering act and her walker. And a fugly red-brown hairpiece too.

And has there been enough of the back-and-forths today? The cashier at the checkout at the grocery store this morning, was compelled to go back into the adjacent aisle with item in hand where I got the salad dressing to figure out the price as it didn't have a bar code on it. I explained there was a red price tag on it, so she went back there too, all to look at these new red price tags the store introduced.

This hold-up finally ended, and I got to turn my backpackin for drycleaning, and lo, if the biddy act wasn't outside, some 60' away, not having got very far. And I suppose it could of been legit, given the walker excuse. Then two blocks to the alterations woman, but enroute the Freak du Jour, the long leather coated dude with the bandana and the shades in white frames did his thing, extending his arms to cover as much sidewalk width as possible, making himself to be gregarious. Before I knew it, "f*** off" came from my lips and I walked around him and his armspread. This same freak was at the intersection as me this morning at 0730h when I did my grocery shopping.

And the black hiking/work pants I took to have alterations done are to deal with this vinyl coating on the knees that is peeling off. The method is to put a fabric patch on them, and lo, if it won't be the same material as that which got put on the ass of my stretch cordura pants. And for some reason, the perps wouldn't let me mention that a sewing pin got left in the patch and was the deemed cause of at 4" wound on my left hand. This wound has been a constant source of complaint, as not only do the perps make it seem that everything proximate touches it to greater pain sensation, but they are also stopping it from healing by pulling it wider, foiling the healing process. Some Polysporin  has been applied, this glossy almost-gel, no doubt to serve the perp cause as has the glossy black and large wristwatch acquired two months ago, but also the aforementioned glossy black ripstop nylon ass patch on the stretch cordura pants. So, for $56 I get two knee patches that are only needed to deal with perp sabotage in the first place. More outrageous abuse.

This morning's grocery shopping at 0730h wasn't without gangstalking events either of course. A long scarlet red coated biddy was entering the other door some 50' away when I was, and then later showed up on sentry duty at the yogurt section, loitering exactly over the one kind that I wanted. I looked somewhere else momentarily to see the red biddy gone, and lo, if the stalking/stocking dudes weren't rolling in with their carts to replace her as the yogurt sentries. They weren't going anywhere fast, so I got the alternate kind shelved some 6' away. And why is it the perps keep me alternating between these two kinds, either having sentries over top of it or else arranging no apparent stock on the shelves?

I started eating yogurt about three months ago, and haven't had a break in picking it off the store shelf since; they put on gangstalkers repeatedly every time. The back and forth dudes, the hovering Fuckwit and all the other cast of characters. When I started goat milk a few years ago, they did the same; a total baragge of Fuckwits all over me, and even bringing out one of the former swim team members I knew, who did the year absence thing (meaning operative training program IMHO), and then came back to the club. (This was the swimmer known to me as the designated "whacker", swimming opposite direction and coming in too close in the swim lane and then whacking me with his hand. He was also on stare duty, or at least, prolonged eye contact for no apparent reason). He engaged me in some minor conversation at the time, dogged me elsewhere in the store, and didn't bother to respond when I mentioned something that he shouldn't of known, as I haven't seen him much. Most times when something odd or oblique is mentioned the person asks what they mean, but not in this situation. More public bizarreness.

Then there is the incomplete shopping intention games today, foiling me by way of remotely applied neural dithering to have me "forget", twice today. The first was tortillas, large and small, differing makes and in different store locations. First I get the frozen large ones, then proceed to the location of the smaller ones, but lo, if there isn't the bread delivery dudes blocking the aisle to the small ones. I call it "breadstalking", though this is a commercial delivery quantity, almost pallet sized and 3' high. Then in going around this obstruction, I "forget" to go back, and on the way to the next item I see another brand of large tortillas in the cooler display but think nothing of it. (Once, this would remind me, but those days of having cxognitive freedom are long gone). I get back to my apartment and realize I got screwed by the bread delivery aisle obstruction set up, but I did purchase an additional item to make for the item count as planned in advance.

Then again after the swarm at the door of the bank after the ATM visitation, there was another herd/swarm of six or more all crossing the road together and I passed on following this clusterfuck. In doing so I ended up on the wrong side of the street to get a box of pens, having been earlier screwed out of them at a stationary store I visited. I also got screwed out of visiting the intended gift wrap store next to the same bank, twice today. The first plan was at 1000h but they put an advance herd on me so I went to the stationary store instead. And it seems mighty curious that the perps had me re-visit some of the same route in the morning (aborted giftwrap shop trip) as in my second foray downtown to the alterations person (prior black pants in hand) and then to the bank.

Motorcycle noises have increased over the past month, hardly four minutes goes by without one variant or another e.g. Harley Davidson, Japanese high revving engines, trail bike noise. There was a biker's meet up-island this past weekend, but that didn't stop the HOG's noise from innundating my existence. And when out on the street earlier, they put on a 1950's motorcycle with a sidecar. Very strange.

I am being rendered restless for no reason than being remotely messed with, so I will call this one done and blog off.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Weeding in the Noisescape

Still weeding endless rows of strawberry plants at the farm, and have been all week. That is, with a hoe, and one they like me to sharpen periodically with attending co-workers doing the mooch-about while filing the blade. The aircraft noise is predictable; after each work break when I eat and drink fluids, water usually. The STRATCOM B-52 noise, then seaplane noise (way off course if going to Vancouver harbor), then the odd helicopter and airline jet. The latter aren't common miles south of the airport where the farm is as most of the connections to long distance travelling passenger jets are in Vancouver, which would not fly over Victoria. But some six STRATCOM B-52's in one day is ridiculous, as they are to be on an randomized routing. Or, it just may be the noise thereof, without a real aircraft up there, but either way, it is most odd that so many STRATCOM aircraft fly over me. It is quite plain the perps want a variation in aircraft cruise altitude, aircraft size, aircraft noise and type. The term refers to either  helicopters (rotary wing), where all others are called fixed wing, and it seems they need to mix this up too.

And it was a day for SPF 60 sun block when I use only SPF 15, as I "forgot" to put it in my substitute pack, as the regular pack suffered a ink leak in it, the same day I was seeding blue commercial pumpkin seeds that stained my left hand. The perps were all over me this morning when I had it outside and in use for the first time in 15 years. I see they also messed up the color and made some of it grey-ish when it was all jet black. Funny how storage will affect these modern heavy duty fabrics (ahem). I got some SPF 60 sun block from my co-worker, the only one who is Caucasian and speaks English. She has become a prominent shill it seems, even asking me out for coffee during prior non-work spells, when it turns out later she doesn't drink it much. I lent her some of my new SPF 15, the first from the bottle, so it seems the perps like to test me and others on differing SPF factors and the bottle age. Many of the daffodil bulb crew of last year wore high SPF sun block, while I stuck with the SPF 15 to get a tan. And the tanning and downstream vitamin D generation and other effects is a huge perp research topic, and especially placing co-workers around me if I take my shirt off at break time. Tanning booth activity was promoted from 2000 to 2002, even a few times after they went beserk/overt on me then, drilling me in the head with severe pain from above the last time. This throbbing noise accompanied severe head pain, also occuring in my apartment, and at work once too, back in 2002. End of tanning booths.

Though the perps did try me out at the clothing optional lake near here in 2003 and 2004, making me somewhat unfazed about it when I never would of gone before. This became a gangstalk show too, and I assume their interest in clothing colors/energies was also part of this research forum then. After that, the perps never let me get a tan until last year when the tan-through shirts were ordered and used. Now, they messed up the sage green tan-through shirt, so I only have the blue one. Again, I have no idea as to why they are so obsessed over tanning, daylight illumination and the associated clothing interaction. But nine years later, they are still at it.

Last weekend, due to the low counter and mirror in my mother's bathroom, I got to see that the perps have given me some weight gain, and it hasn't come off since doing more active farm work. In fact, I looked like one of the "Gutters", the new word for gut-struting males that constant swarm and pose around me. So... what can I do, when they sabotage my running by making me tired and fatigued in the first block? Don't know, but the perps have been very consistent about taking me off exercise over the past nine years. They won't let me run on a running machine for more than five minutes, that in 2009. They shut down yoga 02-2011, not long ago, and constantly screw me out of doing any on my own, not even for a minute.

A short post, even with plenty of news over the past few days, and maybe I will catch up when I get a two day weekend after tomorrow.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Planting and Weeding; Machine and Manual

Mostly a day of weeding by using the hoe to knock down and pull the germinant form weeds that set up like a carpet under and around the strawberry plants. This is the second time around in a week, as the first weeding efforts were defeated as a rain came on last weekend, and the knocked down weeds didn't get enough dry out time to be toasted.

And I picked up my just altered stretch cordura pants, a big patch on the rear to deal with the rip-stop nylon that not only lost its black color, but also ripped when there wasn't any appreciable wear time on them.

Then the tractor arrived with the planting implement on the back, which has four seats side by side, and a mechanism to take the hand-fed strawberry plants and insert them between an open clamp mechanism that then inserts them into the ground. Two people fill one clamping line, as these clamps come by too fast for one person to keep up. (We had a prior attempt to do this a week earlier, with me wearing a different kind of black colored work pants, but it was cancelled after I had been sitting down with everyone else examining the frozen planting stock. The farmer came along and declared no planting as it would be hopelesss with frozen plants.)

Four of the weeding personnel, me being one, got on the planting machine, and I sat next to the seat that I sat in briefly from the week before. I was wedged in between two Punjabis, and their incessant banter, even during this daunting task of loading the clamping devices for the plants, ensuring the root collar is exactly placed, and of course, oriented in the right direction. Plenty of physical contact to say the least, which included one's hands, when both of us would attempt to plant the same clamp at the same time. This was the back of the hands, contacting as we attempted to load the same clamps. Another Punjabi followed the tractor and the planting implement to fill in missed holes or re-plant if needed.

At a break in the action, coffee break (odd they didn't keep going) I get off the planting implement, and lo, if my seat didn't come off its mount. So the tractor drove off to get the seat fixed, and once resuming work, we were back to hoe-ing weeds again. About 30 min. into hoe-ing weeds, the tractor comes back and we plant some more rows to finish one side of this block. Then again after lunch, we resume hoe-ing the weeds, and some 20 minutes later the tractor comes back again for us to plant a new strip. Get the pattern?; hoe weeds, then man the planting implement behind the tractor, and repeat, three times over the day.

And have I not complained that the perps constantly hound me over where I sit and will place a Fuckwit while the seat is warm, as noted many times on the city bus.

And another feature of this day, was these useless drive-arounds while working this one block where we were hoe-ing weeds, interspersed with planting strawberry plants from the tractor implement. The Punjabi following the tractor did a "move the crew van for no reason" act; just broke off from the job, as it wasn't in the way, and he was moving it while we were seated on the implement actively planting. He later circled the farm and arrived back at the block we were planting while having a lunch break. At a coffee break, the farmer's seeming pal drove his brick red Tracker around an adjacent block for no seeming reason, and had someone else besides the farmer in the front passenger seat. Just another loitering dude from who knows where, of which there has been many on this farm.

Weeding all day, totally tedious. sunny, and the tan-through shirt was on for two days running. The perps like me to get a tan in discrete amounts, and ensure there are plenty of others around for the shirt of/on moments.

Then a shower when I got back, morphed into a hot bath to relieve cramped muscles, and then a nut shave was "needed" ; never done this twice in a week, and not in the early evening, always last thing before bed.

Some one was attempting to open my apartment door when I had the new tapenade tub in hand while in the kitchen, and was about to open it up. I call out loudly, "who is there", and the person keeps rattling the keys like they didn't hear me.Then I yell out louder and the key noise stops and a dude answers like he is peeved. LikeWTF; I reassert my request because he didn't answer the first time, and then he gets peeved. No such thing as an apology either. Bizarre.

A 3" skin rip when putting on my work pants, invoking a 20 min. rage-ficiation as the cut would not staunch even with prolonged application of a stepic pencil. I band-aided (read, fugly brown-red adhesive patch) for the part of the 3" cut that wouldn't stop. The ostensible cause was finding a sewing pin embedded in the rear seat area where is was altered. No, it wasn't the alterations tailor, it was the perps game, as they love to take blood samples, and the more the merrier. (See pic below). And when on the city bus freak show, extra packed at 0707h on a long weekend Saturday, the woman across has this dreadful hair dyed to a similar color to that of the band-aid.

They put the native Indians on me again; one beside me, another across, and a third got off in a T-shirt in the pouring rain. This was near identical to yesterday's bus ride; a native Indian beside me and another oppposite. The one beside me tailed me off the bus for a block. All that rage-fication Fuckover about the cut and bleeding, and then more of it as I was panicked to get the early bus as they are 30 minutes apart on a Saturday, instead of 5 to 10 minutes apart on weekdays.

I get to work, but the farmer says no work as the weeds will pop up again if hoed. They need at least a day to dry out depending how big they are. Some are like potatoes, having a big root mass, no doubt created by the application of past hoe-ing where the top was sheared off. The farmer gives me a ride to the bus stop, a closer route, and the #27/28 route I routinely take to/fro the First Feral Family house.

So,.. getting to another favorite perp jearkaround event, laundry when I get back. After an hour I check on the dryer and lo, if they didn't screw me again, pulling the hot laundry/steaming wet stunt again. A week ago I had the same problem for two loads in succession, and then took the laundry to the seventh floor, one higher. Once back down I phone the acting manager, and he says he will look into it. I get a call five minutes later, and he said it was the setting on the dryer, and then asks me if it was my laundry in the seventh floor dryer, and I tell him it is. Then he make the claim that it is "my dryer" and I tell him that it is "a dryer", and he explains he was about to load it, having put the money in it, turning on the light to indicate more dryer time. I said that there was no way I could figure out who was going to use the dryer as there was no one there. I tell him that I put money in the dryer as it was likely at the end of a load that had been removed. He acts all peeved and pissed off, smaking out that he lost his money on it, making out that he put money in and then walked from it. Like WTF; he is the acting manager and "happens" to be on the seventh floor, and happens to be doing his laundry at the same time as I am, down to needing the dryer at the same time. And then he claims that I scooped him on the dryer use, using the perverse logic that he stopped in the middle of doing his laundry after putting money in the dryer, but none of his clothes. Who does that, and is sane? Anyhow, when the dryer cycle was done for me, I phone him up and tell him there should be another hour on the meter. Then he asks me if my laundry was dry (well duh), and I tell him yes, and then he says "that was what I was most concerned about". Like WTF; another bizarre revelation that makes no sense; if I had inadvertently scooped him on the dryer, then surely his biggest concern would be to get into the laundry room before anyone else did so he wouldn't be scooped again. Analysis; just a big bullshit show to put on the peeved act. And where have we heard this before? BUT, at least on two prominent (never forget) occasions, the perps have used this aggrandizing "my" possesive term when clearly is was misapplied and not appropriate. Which then begs the question as to what this stunt type is all about? Don't know, apart from having me listen to this blatant BS.

My 3" gouge in my hand the perps put it, making it seem it was from the buried pin in the alterations, the shiny ripstop nylon patch added to the pants as it seems the perps want differing reflectivity of the nylon, not to mention its inaugural wearing when on the planting machine, alternating with stand-up weed hoe-ing.

Thats a wrap, going to the FFF house today, to watch a movie at a cinema, my first full movie in over six years, my perp-abetting mother as my company, and a friend of hers.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Double Appointment Shift

More disruption this morning, the assholes having me mess up the long established routine of breakfast dishes, now running every morning for some 8 years. The screwed me out of emptying the coffee carafe and rinsing it first, and instead, started me onto loading the dishes cleaning brush with soap which I never do when breakfast dishes are always done with the sink filled with water. Then the soap is added to the water, mixed in with the dishes brush, and then I proceed to do the dishes, loading them in one at a time, cleaning the item, rinsing it under the faucet that is turned on just for rinsing. The cutlery gets done first, but loaded all at once, save sharp knives. But as the harassment and noise stalking, including overhead pounding erupts nearly each time I do the dishes one can be sure this event is a hot topic for the assholes. Hence disrupting the process, and mixing in the running water cleaning method, not filling the sink, which is reserved for fewer tea-time dishes. Such are the daily slings and arrows of this infernal existence.

A new razor insert this morning, the once per week change up, and this too is of significant harassment interest, as shaving is a high Fuckover scene as past blog postings will attest. Since 2008 there has been the "need" to do a full frontal shave, and of course this presents a bigger profile to measure/assesss me. One can be sure there will be matching grey colored vehicles to the plastic razor insert once I step out, not to mention the dude flush, the shiftless semi-vagrant males that seem to cluster around me whenever I stop or egress this apartment building. And with the shaving, they had me emptying the sink after only shaving my face, which I never do. It was half full before I was allowed to know what was going on and put the plug back in. It would seem the assholes wanted a shot of face-shave water to go down the pipes by itself, separate from the chest hair shaving water.

At least 30 screamings at the assholes due to provocations of items being pulled from my hand, noises from nowhere, poked and jabbed from no see-able source, crumb arrivals from nowhere and a few more.They like to rile me up big time when coming in, and per usual, I had my dude posse in the lobby loitering around for no seeming reason, putting on another negro and not the couch dwelling negro.

Fortuneately, except for typo sabotage and noise from outside, the harassment action slowed down after that.

Two morning appointments went OK, the latter to set up yoga with the mentally disadvantaged, as they are the free yoga class providers after local yoga got cancelled. It would seem the perps want to send me to a new part of town on a regular basis, having done nearly every other direction. The attractive almost blonde counsellor was in her 40's, and lo, if the perps didn't arrange a skinheaded male outside, and directly behind her for at least 10 minutes of the 30 minute interview. This lug was putzing with the dumpster for whatever reason, and the perps fucked me into not recalling that this is their "blonde aura goodness co-opting". This is where an Unfavored demographic group member hangs about or behind (rarely in front) of a (Favored) blonde woman as some kind of spatial juxtaposition of their respective auras. This has repeated countless times over the nine years of harassment, and is one of the more perplexing questions as to what the perps are attempting to gain from this.

I had a 1030h appointment and lo, if one of the past yoga stalkers didn't arrive within a minute of me arriving for a 1100h appointment with the same counsellor. So not only has this woman covered me at two prior yoga locations, but seems to covering me today, and possibly for future yoga. I don't get it, as she only comes for two sessions or so, and then never comes again, only to show up at a new venue. And the next door halfwit who has an unerring ability to stalk me in the hallways and laundry room also "happened" to be there, and also making a point of loitering around in my presence some 10' away for no seeming purpose.

And the adjacent street was having a paving show, part of the goings on that regularly chase me all over town. There is something about asphalt  that the perps are totally obsessed over. They suggest that it has to do with the tar provenance (related to their petroleum products fixation) and that of the aggregate gravel as well. I think it is totally pathetic that the human race has been driving on asphalt for over a 100 years, and here the perps are hounding me over whatever it is about asphalt/tar that fascinates them.

Another moment of perp excitement today would of been arranging me to wear my Blacklader work pants, a light beige with black panels. Extra Fuckwits were posted on the bus in both directions, and when inbound, they had nine dudes clustered around me, a new record it would seem. On the periphery of this clusterfuck, came two or so blondes, and then some Asian females. I have never seen so many shiftless males seeming out of work and riding the Loser Cruiser, as one colleague once called the city bus. A mobile gangstalking platform is all it is.

More weeding today for the half day of farm work, weeding in the rows of the strawberries, and then the boss man came with the tractor and the cultivator implement to churn up between the rows. This seems to suggest that last year's potatoe picking machine that lifted the potatoes for which we gathered the small ones it missed, will be pressed into service again. The perps are also obsessed over soil, its genesis, color and contituents and whatever that confers to the crops that come from it. And the rototilling, rotating metal blades, churning it up seems to be part of their obsession, as is hand hoe-ing it with steel tools.

That is all the news for today, and time to blog off.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Many Monday Stalks and Stunts

A Monday, and the return from a stayover at the First Feral Family house, and all manner of feints, stunts and games have gone down. Most would seem trivial or absurd to the casual reader, but for the TI community, especially those who know they are invaded to every last thought and deed, and have seen earlier iterations of these games, it is of interest if only to track the perp progress.

Sunday being the "warm up" day, I packed my farm work clothes to work Monday, to the FFF house, taking the extra bag on the bus, and suffering the seat they had me take, one facing the rear door so I would get an exposure directly to the outside, and not just through the glass. This seems to be all important to the perps, not only what I see, but the nature any intervening windows or other materials. I have noted them parading the negro through the polyethylene greenhouse as one variation of this theme. And too, it is important as to the glass; tempered, safety (plastic fabric in it to hold the glass together), float glass, bottle glass, color and tinting and everything else. And if one to ask them, I suspect the source of the glass is important too; provenance, tinting agents etc. And for once it wasn't a crowd, this being a Sunday bus, and it still raining.

Then, a rare invitation to the in-town brother's place for dinner, so I did my driving duty and drove my perp abetting mother too. The in-town brother's Thai girlfriend didn't surface, making out that she was recovering from a night shift at her new job. And lo, if she doesn't work at the same place as one of my farm co-workers does, a newspaper that has flyer inserts. My farm coworker is usually my forewoman, but she also does some evenings at the newspaper. This circle of coincidences continues, as regular readers will note that three of last year's farmworkers followed me to the daffodil bulb farm after we were laid off from strawberry and raspberry picking.

And what is with this bullshit of someone, my in-town brother in this case, handling my wine glass when it was next to me and for no fucking purpose? I am sick fed up of anyone invading my personal space to do absolutely squat in net outcome, and who lacks the manners to even explain why they are doing it. And I am sick fed up of being a passive subject in these circumstances as normally I would scream in their face as to what the fuck were they doing anyhow? All I can suggest is that the perps needed him to contact the glass, with the wine in it, momentarily, and as close to me as possible. And WTF; I was the wine sommelier for the amateur wine club competitions, side by side with two or more judges, and sampling classes of 60 or more entries of red wine. And here we are over 20 years later, having family do something similar, invading my personal space as well.

After dinner the Thai girlfriend did surface and was sociable and talkative, unlike this depression prone story I get, though she has cloistered herself in her room many times when I visited the in-town brother for landscaping work. Her English is terrible, and I have a real difficulty in understanding her, but I suppose this elevated attention to her every word is just what the perps like; exercising one's alert centers, and making them more energetically obvious to their remote assay and detection methods.

Later in the evening I got my TV fix, if not for the news of all the floodings everywhere in the globe it seems. Worse yet are the controlled breaches and picking winners and losers along the river's path. It has occured in the Mississipi and in Manitoba, and who knows, maybe other places too. I have some suspicion that the perps like to flood land areas periodically, meaning flooding, as they like to use water as some kind of energetic sensitivity agent, going by the water flickings and drop hopping that goes on for me. That is, water is be teleported to arrive nearby, or drops come arcing in from nowhere while running or exiting a shower, while pouring or any other handling of it. It is too much of a stretch to extrapolate this tactical abuse and stunts to that of weather events such as rain and flooding, but I am suspicious of the perps methods knowing how they like to make things wet and juxtapose objects out of context (e.g. cars bobbing in a flood, boats cast far inland by a tsunami).

I got up at 0700h to make breakfast and then drive to the farm for an 0830h start. The deal was if it was raining then we wouldn't show, and it wasn't raining, though rained all the day before. But as it turned out, the fields were flooded and the tractor couldn't get in to them for towing the strawberry planting equipment.  I got totally blotto-ed by the perps in advance, not bringing my lunch food or boxes with me, and I had made lunch from my mother's food in her fridge. But because there was no farm work today, I put all the food away again when I got back. And this would fit the perps' plan immensely, having me use different food in different packages and place them in my pack and remove them within the hour. No wonder the vehicular gangstalking was so intense, even if an semi-rural suburban area. And they even put on some E. Indian or negro person on the gangstalking beat at the farm warehouse. There have been other collections of males loitering around, conveniently arranged to be at the warehouse when I go there, and I haven't figured out what any of them are doing there, save the odd possible truck driver for the many trucks that are parked there and stay for days with no activity. The strategic stationing of tractor-trailer (trucks) has been long noted in this harassment/abuse, but this year the perps have arranged at least six of them at the farm as some kind of color reference backdrop, and move the odd one every few days. One was next to the raspberry canes when I weeded there, and was moved 60' in an othogonal orientation in advance, adjacent to the strawberry field when I was planting the rows. In other words, no seeming purpose to these "tractor trailer stakeouts" and their odd relocations.

After visiting farm, and unpacking my lunch, I attended to some unfinished work at the FFF house, and that was to process some weedings through a sieve and extract as much of the soil as possible, and to bag the screenings. I had been doing this in prior weeks, but stopped when the farm work came on, and this was the event of visiting the farm and then going back to the house to handle weeds and soil there. The reverse of the prior arrangements in effect. But as the soil somehow got wet when underneath the plastic tarp, the soil sifting didn't go as well as it had, but I finished the job as best as I could. And lo, if the perps didn't plaster me with some soil mud on my pants and my shirt.

The arrangement was that my mother had a podiatrist appointment so I could cadge a ride with her and bring my bags and my umbrella back. The umbrella was "somehow" forgotten at the FFF house, and had been there for at least two weeks. And it would of been useful yesterday for all the rain, though it was diminishing by the time I ventured forth for the city bus freakshow. I was duly "prebrowned" on coffee and digestive cookies before we set off.

And it was interesting that I got a green flash in my lower vision just as I was putting brown cookie to lips, and I wondered what was that about. And lo, if in the plastic cookie jar, behind its smoky tint, there was a same green plastic tear-off from the cap of a milk container. So what was it doing in ther in the first place anyhow? Prior to this, only cookie package related garbage had been in the cookie jar, but it seems that someone wanted to do a green color differential test, between cookie jar and my lips.

So I waited at the reception area and read a fascinating article in Vanity Fair from 2006 no less, catching up on my cultural ignorance of the "slow food" movement of the 1970's and the goings on of establishing the Chez Panisse resturant, Alice Waters and co.

Then my mother pulls fast one in hndsight, suggesting a resturant lunch a block from my apartment. I forgot I was wearing my thick undershirt that I use for farm and landscape work, never mind that the perps had roughed up the fabric, one patch on each breast, though not obvious as it is a navy blue color. I got the male skin head moving into view within a minute of being seated in the restaurant, and he sat next to the window where outside, the passing one way road and pedestrian traffic was arranged. And what relentless parade of red vehicles, one after the other almost, and some every time I looked up. A red vehicle was parked next to black and white ones, and the traffic passed in front of this backdrop. The red food was also amped up, the red touches of the lobster didn't go unnoticed, as their has been some fierce battles with the assholes over putting red pimentos in the guacamole, and I just cannot stand red dots in my food. The lobster with the melted cheese was more muted, but it would seem that they are hard at work in attempting to understand why I cannot stand red colors in certain arrangements, proximity and patterns. Which is likely why mo mother brought her infernal red hand bag and put it in the empty chair next to me. Like WTF; I don't understand either, as my recall got deleted from 1956 to 1959, so what gives these assholes the right to invade later in an attempt to emulate the conditions under which they created the problem (for them only) in the first place? Not my problem, so why am I being abused so relentlessly for nine years? And as TI's well know, a right, whether established by state law or cultural code means absolutely nothing to the psychopathic assholes that come back to single out their victims yet again, even if 45 years later.

Plus, this dish was on bread which I studiously avoid, but lo, if it wasn't missing from the menu description. The perps have been busy in packing me with more bread and wheat foods, read gluten, and most of it courtesy of my perp-abetting mother.

So, as my daughter's 21st birthday is next month, and the ex has been kind enough between hissy fits to give me a serious present idea, I set off to the outdoor store. As part of this, I took my shoes in, the ones I had been wearing all the time for six months, as I had deemed them to be prematurely wearing out in the heel. Not unlike the pair that I wore, having their heels fixed, and wearing them for the first time with the fixed heels. Another big perp event, pissing with my footwear, and having me step out to take the recent ones back and wear the repaired ones for first time since the new heels were put on. Needless to say, it was another gangstalker clusterfuck event.

I had the dudes, their guts, hoodies, beards, ponytails and the rest of their assorted Unfavored ilk out in force. And too, the "swarm at the door", at least seven clustered Fuckwits holding me up from getting into the store past the first six feet as they were having a clusterfuck and sorting themselves out as to who went where. Anyhow, I got the present, took back my shoes with discouragement as to getting a new pair, "will have the same problem", and came out of it with $15 credit. Then out to the clusterfuck outside again, and now the LH drive pedestrians were out, the ones that walk next to the wall in some kind of deranged need to be totally stupid and get in one's way as much as possible. It was the big hat dude in yellow as one, another was a E. Indian sucking to the wall and at least a few large gutted males in LH drive mode. I have never experienced this before in any other city I have visited or worked in, and this insane bullshit over passing me on my right side all began with the organized harassment of their beserk/overt onset in 2002.

Once back, I had to get to the local supermarket and do the Chicken Run, the event of acquiring hot cooked chicken which becomes my staple for lunches and dinners in the form of quesadillas from sprouted grain (gluten free) tortillas. And what a clusterfuck that was; I had all these assholes coursing around behind me at the peanut butter section (read, brown colors), and couldn't wait to get the fuck out. I got to a checkout that was lighted as if open, but no cashier. Next one, then, and I get the almost-blonde woman who has been giving me the alluring stare of late, that extra intense look, though only to be taken as flirtacious. I can handle that kind of staring, but no more, for all the staring stunts I get in a week, this is the least to complain about. Funny that she wouldn't look at me when outside on the street a few days ago, just like all her past confreres, the attractive female cashiers who "happen" to pass by and look straight ahead and pretending I am not even there. At least four others, and all behaved identically, sometimes twice. Meet them again at the checkout, and they revert to their usual friendly selves again. Funny that.

The next person who arrived behind me was wearing a brown jacket with orange stripes on his outer sleeve and side. And could that be some kind of color reference to the the orange colored paprika covered cooked chicken I purchased? Have I not noted like orange color games on Chicken Run days?

Another clusterfuck at the exit to get out, where they "happen" to put the shopping baskets so incoming gangstalkers have an excuse to cross one's path, get in the way, at least three of them converging. Once back at the apartment building, the long-haired loafing males population went from one (when outbound) to two. And am I sick fed up of seeing the vagrants and semi-vagrants and the rest of the shiftless loitering males (all Unfavored) of no seeming purpose? Maybe they put me through this during the "lost years", 1956 to 1959, and are working on their "vagrant exposure" traumatization emulations just as they are with the intense clusterfucks and personal space invasions.

Enough venom to call this one complete and putz online, and hopefully get a reprieve from the typo sabotage, some of it unfolding with no fingers on the keys.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

High Disruption

A highly disrupted Sunday, a day off from farm work, and a First Feral Family dinner at the in-town brother's place later. And my perp-abetting mother adding to the Fuckover scene by playing on the rain  excuse that she claims impairs her driving, and so I am to take the city bus to go to the First Feral Family house. Regular readers will know that the city bus is nothing but a mobile gangstalk show, replete with the wierds and freaks of the Unfavored that like to present themselves to me, even if in fleeting glances.

The perps wouldn't let the laundry dry, so a second cycle in the dryer is running as I type this. A few screaming level "reactions" to provocations this morning, made busy by the sudden "need" to clean up the bathroom and kitchen floors, each with differing cleaning solutions, another all-time first. Normally they have me use Vim for both, but instead pressed on with the cleaning solutions that were stored in the respective areas. And a new box of disposable gloves might also be the perp excitement, and lo, if they didn't screw me into getting medium when it is size large I need. Somehow, they screwed me totally out of even looking at the size when acquiring the new box of disposable gloves three months ago. Another perp touch that.

And on the near-whole package toss out were the corn tortillas; a sample one blew apart at breakfast, leaking the extra runny (for today only) jam onto my fingers and on the plate, to make it look like blood, another one of their fascinations, or else the real thing. So the all-but one package of corn tortillas got tossed as they break up way too easy and are messed with to be a troublesome food item.

A short posting for this rainy day, and also with an increased amount of plasma flashes (light projections in various colors), and masers. In the latter case, the fuzzy ball types, usually paired and in formation, are bouncing in and out of my central vision, even if I look up or look at something different. The overhead pounding noise (12" of concrete and steel) has also been administered, getting through my earmuffs.

Other perp activity confluences are that they had me do a nut shave last night, and the razor got tossed too, and the garbage was put out as part of this morning's cleaning efforts. It seems the shaving disruption games are reaching a fever peak of late, though as always, they can make it worse.

And I am getting my finger tips removed of sensation as I am typing, and don't have to wonder anymore  where all those pins and needles sensations came from all these years.

Another, the third, round of attempting to dry my towels. I go to the laundry room to find them wet and warm in the dryer, about the same degree of wetness at the end of the first drying cycle (one hour). This time, I take the laundry to the seventh floor and use the dryer there as it is clear that I am getting royally jerked with over tumble drying my laundry. This isn't the first time that dryer time has been extended by dint of fuckery, but it is the worst yet.

And the in-town brother calls as I furiously writing down the details in my paper journal, and then he tells me about his flat tire problems. What was that all about?

A screaming session after showering due to lint and crumb arrivals from nowhere. Then the brown crumb flashed red colors when in peripherial vision, and that was cause for getting pissed some more. Nearly all of the bathroom has been cleaned today, and the assholes are back at it and dumping their debris on the clean surfaces. I had to take a shower to clean up and a forced shit that they made a mess of; four plungings and a shower to clean up. All to use the towel that I put there  minutes earlier, coming from the third time round tumble drying attempt, from the dryer on the 7th floor. So it seems they wanted me to step onto the just dried bath towel and use another in the same load to dry myself. Both dryers had plastic vanes in the drum, though different kinds as they were different models and makes. Such are the level of games with laundry and using it.

And soon I depart for the city bus, and no doubt is will be chock full of Fuckwits, aka gangstalkers, as they have me in this unique state of recently using a just dried towel to dry myself, a seeming "need" of theirs. There have been plenty of towel sabotage events over the years, and it seems they are utterly relentless as they are insane over finding out whatever it is that drives them.

I will post this now, while the funny pop up boxes and icons are nascent, and blog off.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Flasbacks of Weeds

I spent the entire day weeding strawberries with a hoe today, resuming where I left off yesterday. And tonight, I am getting flashbacks, even in front of this LCD display as I type this, of the weeds in their various states of repose while weeding. I get the green dots as a replica of the tops of the weeds, looking down. The perps even did this while I was looking at the floor, replicating the fact that they were on the ground. Then when weeded with the hoe, the weeds, mostly germinants with a single stem and two cotyledens (beginner leaves) showing, lie flat with their white stems. And so I get plasmic flashbacks of white stems this evening. And underneath the weed leaves, it was a copper red color, and lo, if I don't get flashbacks from that too. And I suspect most readers know that I get routinely hounded with red colors, and copper ones especially.

So it seems that the perps want to replicate the visual appearence of each of these prominent weed colors I witnessed all day today. I suppose the intent is to see what reactions I have in this evening time light conditions, (dark now), as well as bringing on the rain tonight when it mostly held off today. And of course, being back at my apartment, the perps want to test my color reactions to the same ones seen on the farm job. I do hope it is the last time I spent weeding all day.

And as a diversion, and as part of the ongoing games as to where I sit and for how long, they brought out the plant feeding implement that gets towed behind the tractor, and it has four seats on it, side by side, and the farm worker sit in them to feed the strawberry plants into the planting machine. So.. I got to sit in the seat, next to the woman who follows me on jobs and occasionally connects for coffee, while the others loaded the trays of plants, even if frozen. The head farmer happened to come by and see that the plants were frozen and difficult to separate and cancelled the gig. He made the right decision of course, but it did seem a little farfetched that it took him to see the problem, when the others didn't, and likely had some experience with this planting implement in the past. So it seems this was an interesting perp diversion to have me sit in a seat next to someone else who has been on my tail for a year and for a limited time, no more than five minutes. And I am sure that regular readers will know how beserk the perps are as to where I sit, and for how long, and what material it is made of and what color. Hence the musical seats games on the city bus I have noted in the past.

I am getting lots of visual interference tonight, and am getting this page to appear to undulate and lift up in places and appear three dimensional to a limited degree. Nothing new there, save the frequency, as these reading surface games have been going on for a year or so, when they learned how to interfere with my depth perception at the neural level and by remote means.

The same woman who sat beside me in the planting implement (above) also gave me a ride to the local organic store and then downtown to my place. I couldn't help feel "friend stalked", knowing that the perps like to maintain stalker continuity as much as they can, and what better way than offering a ride. Of course it was a total clusterfuck of traffic out, and ordered in greyscale colors with the odd insertion of a red or copper colored vehicle. All that vehicle color action after a day of weeding similar colors.

Anyhow, that is it for today as I am bushed and will retire to something else other than this here LCD display, and all the flashbacks I am getting.

PS: Adding something; at least 20 screaming provocations of the perps this morning at 0600h. It is difficult to know what started them, though it seemed timed for the opening of a new package of small size tortillas and taking out the small package of dessicant inside. I haven't had such a fierce battle with the assholes this early for some months. The usual litany of mind-fuck abuses; forced "forgets" sending me to the wrong cupboard/drawer at least 5x, pokes and jabs on my fingertips and inside forearms at least 10x, faked noise, teleported crumb inundations, and a few others.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Getting a Tan

A few sunny or high cloud days in succession is a true rarity this year, and now two, and looking to be three tomorrow. This all important event, to the perps that is, has got me a tan on my face, neck and arms. Or more like, red skin, though it doesn't feel burned, and it just might have something to do with the plethora of red colored vehicles on gangstalking, as well as the red hats, red shoes and the rest of the arranged red plague.

But even wearing my Tan-Through shirt today didn't buy me anything, no tanning allowed it seems. The perps have a preoccupation with how much direct sunlight I get, and my orientation, position and the rest of it. They even arranged co-worker cluster fucks when I would change up my orientation to hoe-ing my row of strawberries, from N. facing to S. facing. I spent more than half the day planting strawberries through this reflective polyethylene row cover, and the remainder hoe-ing weeds. Such it the lot of this TI and the perps' insane covert agenda of researching my every move, thought and deed.

Plus they gave me at least ten extra pounds this winter that has yet to come off. The near week long farm work hasn't made a dent in the cummulative body weight games the perps play. They seem to like it that my pants are too tight, having pulled this stunt off three purchases in succesion. AIt used to be that big ample jeans were OK, but not now, the close fitting ones seem to be the new perp need.

I got obstructed from posting yesterday due to Blogspot going down, and today it looked to be the same thing until I logged in through the home page. I shall have a look to see what the wreckage is, and if they nixed some of my postings.

And I got an beserk email from the ex yesterday, making claims that were outrageous as to how I feel about our daughter. So..., this issue, governed from the ex from the get-go, gets dumped on me. Here she was in a position to act as a positive broker and facilitator and instead craps on me. This is the same ex that had a sudden behavior change four months before our daughter arrived, becoming an asshole, and has never let up, And as one can discern, she is still at it. Anyhow, this long quiescent arrangement where I get deprived of access to our daughter now takes a different turn. So.. this issue now has legs, and may signal a reversal in the perp managed Fuckover games in constraining meaningfull access.What this means for the bigger picture in being perp managed is beyond me, but it does signal a reversal of one of the many restrictions they put on me when they first went beserk/overt in 04-2002.

A short posting tonight as I am being kept in an tired state, the seeming influence again, assigned to being outside in the sun, with sunblock.

Rain On

The much predicted rain came on while working on the farm, and so work was called off for the day. A three hour day doesn't pay the bills, but it would seem it was part of the arrangement, especilly given then number of ganstakalkers on the streets. More than Christmas time.

Another coincidental confluence was the hair salon manager phoning me up within 10 minutes of getting, back, and I had the opportunity for an earlier appointment, which I took. Had I not been there it would of been phone chase time.

And this afternoon became a laundry time; the work wear had to be run throgh the washing machine twice due to a load of dirt coming in from somewhere. I have done this many times, getting screwed for doing work clothes twice due to this flakey washing machine. And so, in parallel, and on the floor above, I laundered the bedsheets. Another first in the laundry Fuckover games, two concurrent loads one floor apart. Then later the perps made me very sleepy while online, still sitting in the chair upright. I couldn't lie down as there was no bedding on the bed. Even afterwards when the bed was made, they kept me sleepy for another session online after the 2x100g Milka chocolate was loaded into my tummy with tea. I suppose the outing to the hair salon was all about loading me up with brown food for being kept in a chair and having someone close by cutting my hair.

This wasn't the only test, as the usual stylist somehow got left out of the phone chase messages, and I ended up with a different male stylist. He was the owner, and went into great apologies as to the mix up, but hey, this bullshit goes down all the time. And besides, he had seen me a number of times before (playing it straight here), and could of readily recalled that I usually had a certain stylist as we had gone back at least two years. Besides, I have talked to him on the phone at least 3x, giving my name each time. But the real piece de resistance was to have the two stylists side by side at the sink bar, with each of us two customers side by side in the chairs getting our hair wetted and shampoo-ed simultaneously. I finally got my haircut as I had been feeling like a sheepdog of late. I also learned that I could go in for a free bang cut in between hair cuts.

And the shftless dudes were posted along the street for the two blocks when walking back from the hair salon. And lo, if there wasn't grass clippings on the sidewalk too, also abounding on the other side of the street on my way to the hair salon. I get it; cut hair = cut grass and can we find some energetic commonality between the two, and maybe we got the steel for the scissors and the lawnmower from the same foundry. Who knows, but whovever cut the grass did a good job of laying a skiff of it along my walking beat. And more obvious shiftless dudes hanging around for no seeming purpose on the way back, at, or after each corner like some kind of dystopic Fellini movie.

And lo, when I got into the apartment building lobby, there was a dude in the prerequisite fugly baggy shorts, and an equally fugly polkadot hat, and occupying center stage with some other dudes in a communal chat while blocking egress to the elevators. And lo, if one of them wasn't the former stentorian manager, looking fully disgusting as he always did, at some 300 lb. I always know it is a big Fuckover moment when they trot him out. And one more suprise, the fat dude was obstructing my view of the negro on the couch in front of him, only visible from the side when I elected to take the stairs. Yet another instance of "hide the negro", this being the usual couch loafer, and very likely the same one in morphover as the gormless security detail that erupts near the supermarket from time to time, sporting their barf yellow jackets.

And last year's farm co-workers are up to their tricks/gangstalk feints, having "forgotten" them, as in getting my recall deleted. The ass in the face, the head bobbing opposite to mine, the turban presentations, and senselessly clustering around me for no seeming reason, and then suddenly taking off to do something else. A new stunt is to come up to me and take some of my strawberry plants in my bucket to share them about for others to deffer them from heading further away to get to the box of  rootstock. Borderline rude I would say, not even to ask or explain, though I of course cannot complain that the rootstock was mine. I sense my personal boundaries are being tested again, under the guise of work.

Other nonsense today's shortened work day invoked, and might be the real reason for the rain onset and later haircut. I packed my lunch today in the usual stainless steel container, and after calling work over at 1130h due to the rain, I later ate that same lunch on my dinner plate that I would do for any lunch in this apartment. So it would seem that the perps want to test me eating the regular lunch (homemade quesadillas) that was packed for the field, back here after round-tripping from an aborted farm work day. And also, I usually have two kiwifruit packed in the same container, but for "some reason", the local supermarket ran out of the bulk kiwi fruit yesterday. This eliminated the kiwis fruit from the tin contents, possibly removing another source of variation for the assholes.

And regular readers will know that the perps keep me to much the same food day in/day out. These are quesadillas with an olive tapenade base, chopped chicken (acquired as cooked), and grated cheese on top. Same dish, with some variations, every day, save family visits and outings. Sounds like a science project to me, having the rats eat the same food. And it is most odd that I would put up with this lack of dietary variation, as it never happened before the perps went beserk/overt on me in 04-2002.

I am going to call this one done for the day, and ponder whatever gets fed to me next. It still might be an off-work day due to weather, continuing the lab rat diet research, and the effects of a stainless steel container separate from the food and environment. Such is the microscope I am under, infinite details and their permutations, combinations, juxtapositions down to every last morsel I put to my lips, and everything else too.

PS: wondering what to give a TI for Christmas or a birthday (hint)? How about acoustic dampening curtains, not that the perps would put up with this for a moment, and just re-arrange the noisescape as if they never existed. One can always try, and for other TI's, their abuse level might not be as much as mine.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Brown Board on Bus

Same time of day, half or less than yesterday on the homebound city bus. Still a freakshow, with the Crotch Dude in the rear corner seat, legs spread at 90 degrees and each one taking two more seats. I have never seen anything so fucking rude on a city bus before, but I am sure there will be something. Then the red dressed arranged themsleves around me, with a certifiable wacko next to me, moving his hands around his face like he was on a telephone and talking to himself. I wanted to get off the bus early, but lo, if the ramp didn't hang up and the driver spend five minutes pissing with it. All to keep me standing for longer at the rear exit after vacating my seat some 6' away, the wacko still at work. Other freaks of the Unfavored were skinheads, dreadlocks on a Caucasian female (still disgusting), and at least one Fat Girl. And a Fellow Traveller too, a gangstalker who gets on and off at the same bus stops as I do on a single trip. He was another one of those who "happpen" to be sauntering along when the bus arrives and board it without missing a step.

But the most blantant color games were the two women opposite, one with a 2'x1.5' cork board in her lap, framed with wood and backed with some kind of building board that was arranged to dump brown fibers on her black pants. Next to her was a woman in a scarlet red long jacket, a little overdressed to be sure, though it is a cold spring. And two seats away was the one-soiled-knee-dude. He had managed to pack a 1/8" thick wad of dirt on one knee of his brown pants. Having spent the latter part of the day working on farm land, and inexplicably getting some deeper black soil on my pants even when protected by rain gear, I am sure it was all about the dirt, and respective degrees of browness. And how anyone gets one knee wadded up with dirt in a 6"x3" patch and no other dirt on them defies conventional thinking.

A dental appointment for cleaning in the morning, getting the almost-blonde woman dental hygienist to scrape away at my teeth for 40 minutes or so. At the end, she talks to me for a few minutes with her mask on, and then takes it off for some kind of delayed reveal games that I am all too familar with. I have never seen so many twits covering their faces in my presence since the harassment began in 2002. But, the surgical mask is the best cover story of the whole deal, and so one has to play along.

And I got two new kinds of stun-outs "happen" today, that never have occured before. When waiting for the homebound bus after the dental appointment I spotted it two blocks away and was of course, more vigilant in waiting for it to arrive. Except that somehow, the perps stunned me out, and then plant the notion of that I forgot to track it, then remind me to do so, and lo, if it wasn't sitting at the adjacent traffic light. Had I not moved out of the bus shelter, and inadvertenly toward someone who was passing by on the sidewalk in the way, (likely scaring them initially just like the assholes do to me all the time I am out in public), the bus would of blown by.

Then when preparing to get ready for my stop, the perps stunned me out again and had me not even knowing, or wanting to know, where the bus was. And lo, if it hadn't been stopped at the traffic light immediately before the stop, I would of been fucked into missing it.

The perps substantially cut down on the abuse level when I got back compared to yesterday (see posting), though they still screwed me for sending me up to the seventh floor to get my laundry done.

Early bed times now, and short evenings too, as it takes 2 hours after leaving work to get back to free availible time after doing laundry etc.

One interesting change-up for the day was to shave with a black plastic insert body instead of the mid-grey colored Gillette Excel razor inserts I have faithfully (har, har) used for the past 20 years. I suppose this is why they had me run out, and only find that the second string black razor inserts were availible this morning. There has been far too many "forgets" in the past week, especially around running out of supplies. Onto dreamland, and hopefully without the vivid ones last night; being on the moon (somehow without space suits) and in an IT situation.

Monday, May 09, 2011

Back to Farm Work

A brutal evening on my first return from farm work to my personal torture chamber. I did an overnight stay at the First Feral Family house last night, getting the usual TV fill, save the show on the Kennedys that got pre-empted without any explanation, and for which the CBC ran the same news on two channels simultaneously. The never do that, and always ensure if the hour long news on Sundays is running on two channels, it alternates. As bin Laden news is a week old now, there wasn't any excuse unlike last week when they did pre-empt everything, and they did tell us so.

At least 60 screamings tonight since getting back from the overpopulated city bus freakshow; over 40 on the bus heading into downtown at 1745h when the Canucks Stanley quarter final hockey game was on, a Monday no less. I had the dreadlocks case opposite, then the almost male crotch grabber, a skinhead, the redhead and at least another six slimey dudes on their iPhones or other LCD display devices they must use for calibration and color testing, not unlike sitting and viewing this one as I type. And when I go to get off, why, three redcoated gangstalkers were sitting in a row, each on the aisle side to be seen, then one black coat, and then another redcoat/sweater. All were different reds, just to make it all clash, and the none in the center of the threesome was a carmine red, the most reviled red color of all.

Getting to the rag-ification show when I got back, I got countless jabbings and fake touches, faked noises, noises from faux neighbors enough to be annoying (overhead pounding and the water running noises), senseless water flicking by the perps, then again with coconut oil when heated in the frypan, gratuitous light flashes, and others that aren't allowed to be recalled. I also got screwed over in not getting the frozen tortillas out when they ran out, so I got delayed for 15 minutes while they sat on the never-used before cookie sheet to thaw in the oven, needing only two of the six. It was once a reliable habit of taking out a frozen package of tortillas when the one in the refrigerator ran out, but like all good habits, even if formed recently, they are to get routinely fucked with later in the abuse game.

And it was a day of farm labor, planting strawberries all day, into the holes on these 400' long plastic covered rows. It was a silver reflective color on the outside to reflect more light to the plants when they grow fully formed leaves, and black underneath. Seems perp planned, the silver color, and they even put silver color grafitti in the stairwell recently. Painting the local supermarket and adjacent buildings a silver color wasn't enough apparently, never mind the never ending parade of silver colored vehicles as their favorite gangstalking vehicle color.

And as mentioned many times, the perps are beserk over plastic in all its many forms and kinds, and esepcially with respect to packaging. So... here we have a 36" wide row of plastic going 400' and at least 15 rows of it. Naturally, the tractor implement that lays this down and a waterline underneath got messed up in some places so I was dispatched to help dig under the few humps to take them down, and likewise, fill in the troughs. I had a helper, the reliable old time Punjabi farmhand, to pull the plastic back so I could get the digging done.

 I also got to lay down some of the poly plastic row cover manually, as somehow, the tractor missed a section at one row end. I got a face full of leaping dirt dust coming off of the roll as I unfurled in, as my face was only 16" from it in attempting to keep it contained while my helper pulled it out. I am sure that was of great interest to the perps, having a the large roll unwind so close to me, and then applying some kind of static field to get my face covered in soil.

And I was on hole spiking duty, running a rolling drum with projecting spikes to hole the poly plastic every one foot in two rows, alternating the pattern. And it wasn't too much of a surprise that my co-workers jumped on the just-spiked poly fabric sometimes, nor one of them tailing me like a puppy dog when carrying the box of strawberry rootstock into the field. The strawberry plants come from California, and I suppose it was just too exciting for the perps in all their soil provenance games to have me planting these into black organic Blenkinsop Valley peat derived soil. Never mind that the rootstock was brown colored and the infinite and bizarre perp games that go on over that particular color.

Anyhow, plenty more I could go on about, but it is getting late, and the typo sabotage is fierce tonight, and today just goes to show that begining a new job or situation is a big Fuckover deal for the perps. Recall in 2008 when I started farm work the perps arranged a bed bug invasion and the first spray day was the first farm work day. I had to remove the furniture from the walls and in some cases, disassemle it and remove the shelf contents in advance, and this is what I came back to. In 2009, they fucked me on my first day back by sending emails out in my name, and having me explain to seeming friends as to the laptop promotion wasn't from me. Last year, I cannot recall what the abuse scene was, as I started the potato picking and strawberry picking in June at this farm I restarted with two days ago.

I need to get up for a dental appointment in the morning tomorrow, and then farm work in the afternoon, all part of the job re-start games I suspect. Imagine if it was a more complex job, and the degree of sabotage abuse that would rain down on me. So much for the oil and gas drilling vocational aspirations they plant on me.

Saturday, May 07, 2011

Noise Combinations

A duo of noises are combining and both strangely getting through my earmuffs. An overhead drumming or thumping that seems music related, and a low hooting noise from outside that seems to be randomized, though averaging 1x/second. Then they both stop at the same moment, and restart together. Now how can that be anything but arranged?

Reading about wines and winemaking in the Okanagan has got me some tapping noises on the other side of this wall. Yet again, ever since this insane abuse erupted in 2002, I have endless events of faux neighbors tapping on their walls. Not to mention the more inexplicable events of overhead tapping that then slowly travels down the wall to the adjacent faux neighbor. That takes at least two cooperating neighbors, har, har, so how can that be anything but orchestrated? Same conclusion as above; interesting that I had a meal in between.

And a fraught one it was, making quesadillas from scratch, having one quarter slice that then feeds me for three more meals. At least ten rage-ifcations over the usual provocations of sending me to the wrong cupboard/drawer for an items, mysterious slopping of coconut oil splatter on the stove top when it is a solid substance at room temperature so how did that happen?, then crumb arrivals of no ostensible cause, and a few more for which I am not allowed to recall. One other, the faux new upstairs neighbors have consistently made noise the same as the old ones, the seeming transition on or about May 01, witnessed when forced upstairs to use their dryer. And today, they again situated the overhead rumbling noise over me in the kitchen, and for the first time since the putative move in, the overhead squeaking wheel noise erupted. Which is to say, someone seems to be wheeling around a squeaky wheeled safe or other heavy object exactly overhead of where I am in this apartment, and has this same habit as the last putative overhead tenants. Big joke that. And like the former tenants, har, har, they also situated this noise over me when in the bathroom shaving, another high perp interest event, even if it is every day almost and full frontal coverage. Not to mention they also inflicted at least four blood letting lesions, which are not nicks as they are round and are never felt. One was at least 1/8" deep and required extra steptic pencil time to abate, and these protracted lesion abatements seem to be increasing. One reason seems to be that depending which side it is on, and almost always in my abdominal region, my hand that is applying the steptic pencil may obstruct my view of my genitals for a short time until the wound is staunched. And this seems to be important for the assholes, getting more "dick tour" time as I have come to call it. Another supporting stunt is for them to plant the image of my dick in my peripherial vision when it shouldn't be there at all, especially when looking forward. They like to noisestalk these events too, and this morning's nonsense they brought on overhead seems to point to the fact that they wanted extra noise for this extra deep lesion with its protracted staunching time with the steptic pencil. Such are the perverse vagaries of having insane and abusive assholes on top of one's every move/thought.

A round of screaming at the assholes after three rounds of overhead pounding noise erupted while cleaning the dishes from tea and chocolate. The perps go beserk with stunts and noise when cleaning the dishes, and when there is a small amount I clean them with the faucet water running. It is likely clear to TI's that the perps love to arrange events with running water, and add extra noise at that moment. Which includes urination of course, with the added perp attractant of yellow color. And all the running water noise has changed over the last few months. When water falls a longer distance, say 10' or more, it makes a crackling noise more than a splashing noise. And lo, if all the water and pee noises haven't been incrementally altered to have a crackling noise, even if dropping 12" or less.

More overhead pounding as I look over online job sites, and bookmark a few promising ones. This is the first time I have looked at these sites in the daytime in months. I could never figure out why I wasn't allowed to get on with this when I had the availible time. It seems to be some kind of exercise that like everything else, has some kind of non-conventional association with light sources. Go figure.

Science time;
And where is the seat of psychic energies and activities? Some say it is in the amygdala portion of the brain where emotions are processed. And here is a new study which uses a MRI to detect where in the brain one detects improvisation among musicians. Another name for a novel sound, and could it be the same reason that I get inundated with novel sounds when something routine is happening? The assholes allowed me to find this a few days ago, and are pounding the ceiling overhead as I type this up, so it must be important to them, and even describe what they are up to.
If a melody is perceived as being more difficult to predict, for example, because of fluctuations in loudness and timing, stronger activity is most likely to be elicited in this specialised network.
For melody insert "noise", and of course "stronger activity" in the amygdala means something that would be more detectable by remote means.

And after studying snails's neural cells in a dish it seems that researchers are looking to reduce or delete traumatization associations. Well, isn't that a good excuse for messing with someone's head? But if they can delete 99% of my recall from age 2 to 5, it shows that even regular non-traumatic memories can be deleted forwith. But it is the subconscious traumatization associations, not their recollection, that the perps seem to be working on.

Hence some of this morning's hijinx when making a run to the LD store when they fucked me out of recalling that my Rx needed to be picked up yesterday. All to extend their play games of having me go two successive days with no yellow medications, typically a Monday when I return from the First Feral Family stayover. This week, I stayed there Monday, and then Thursday night, missing Friday's (yesterday) Rx as they always screw me out of taking any there. So, with a recall deletion over getting it yesterday when I was sitting around all afternoon, they remind me of it this morning, after the usual intake time after shaving and dental hygiene. Maybe that is why they pounded overhead when I was in the bathroom.

Back to subconscious traumatization gangstalkers; first there was the lost construction workers when outbound, three of them seemingly unattached to any local job, one with a backwards hardhat on. The one with the limp jaywalked (go figure), took his time to spit in mid-street, and then at the curb did his bend-over, ass facing me from 10' away. A vehicle pased in between and then the able-bodied two began to jaywalk, though the traffic signal change and I got to cross paths with them in mid-street. And have I mentioned how often the perps do spinal stretches, most notably bend-overs? Many times, and many strange circumstances. One step from the "crapping position" they sometimes do in public, though pants on so far.

Then to the LD store and the bearded dude arrives ahead of me, who turned out to loiter around 2' from me when picking up the Milka chocolate they sometimes have there. The Fuckwit stopped right behind me, back facing me, all for the moment of being there when I picked up the lavender colored wrapped chocolate. The granny stalker was doing her loitering 4' away, and an aisle constricting display was exactly behind me. The bearded Fuckwit went on to do at least three more gangstalking reprises, almost sending me to the cloistered computer section to get him out of my sight.

Once outside, why, the Phillipino woman in white pants comes running around the corner for no concievable reason, as the store had just opened so WTF? I get many running Fuckwits as previously blogged, and I can only assume it is to increase energetic interaction, such as swiping a magnet past a copper coil; the faster and closer it is, the more electrical current is generated. And I have mentioned that I seem to be contained in a densified magnetic field, measured at over 1600 Gauss in 2009. (Over 180 Gauss in 12-2002). And too, the sight of white pants is particular perturbing of late, so maybe this gangstalker was there to mix up the Unfavoreds into and onto a single body; brown skin, white pants. It is unlikely that there were such when the perps applied what I suspect was unrestrained abuse during thoe memory deleted years, aged 2 to 5, 1956 to 1959. The theme of the Unfavoreds and their supporting gangstalker comportment and props is that it was clinical (hence white colors, wheelchairs), it was military (faux soldiers in town, sometimes consistently like after yoga class for 8 months), and clerical (round collars, nun habit look, earflapped hats). Though, I suspect there more to it, and the clanging and pounding noise that erupted while typing the above mention of "clinical" suggests the Fuckwits are attempting to deleter their own trail of subconscious wreckage they inflicted upon me.

And to complete the gangstalker-light outing to LD, was a wheelchair act in the apartment lobby, and lo, when about to go around it, why, the elevator opened up and a bicycle wheel was revealed of a about the same diameter and tire size. So, the Fuckwit must of been sitting in there for a while as I would of expected the elevator on "M" would of opened sooner. The skit seemed to be about revealing a wheelchair act, and having me go around it, only to reveal a wheelchair-like portion, to then discourage me from taking the elevator and go around the obstructing wheelchair act again.

Nothing like a whiff of ionizing radiation blowing around the world to aid the perp's games in their pursuit of the holy grail, which includes the use of Depleted Uranium (DU) ordnance in Afganistan and Iraq. But that wasn't enough, or was deemed to be a new baseline, so they added some more, by way of a nuclear plant disaster, the one playing out in Japan called Fukushima. That is a tad presumptive and cynical to be sure, but it does make me wonder what the nuclear industry is all about when it is founded and sustained by lies as to how safe it is, and in the event of an accident, how they minimize the amount of radioactive release. So here we have some video that won't show on my PC, but maybe it will for you, detailing Fukushima as the "greatest cover-up of all time". No, I don't think so, as we don't know what happened at Three Mile Island, and ditto for Chernobyl. In the latter case, there is huge variance as to how many suffered from it.

And just when the populace is inculcated with ionizing radiation from Japan, why, we got ourselves another nuclear substance accident in the USA, which "happened" just as the Missisippi floods disaster was unfolding, All the better to send the tritium to more places says me, the caustic cynic. And lo, if they didn't start up the overhead pounding noise when I linked to that one. More galling reports in the links to this web page. Funny, how they don't get reported much, and Fukushima has dropped off the world media attention span. And the EPA measures only iodine 131, not other radioactive forms and not cesium which has a substantially longer half-life. Go figure.

One more link, this time on Morgellon's; a decent article on it from the Guardian, and to me, showing the medical profession to be cowed-clowns, with a few exceptions, if they suggest this is a psychiatric condition. This completes today's disgust and contempt for the "authorities" attempting to claim scienfic credibility. Interesting that it took such concerted high level political intervention to get the Center for Disease Control to get off their ass and do something. Some 12,000 patients of an unknown disease is serious IMHO. My past ramblings on this topic have suggested Morgellon's Disease maybe some form of remotely applied nonconsensual human experimentation, as these fibers can readily transmit light if they are the same ones (brownish in my case), that I have come to see materializing from nowhere and poking out of walls and vehicle parts. Thankfully, not out of me, or at least, not that I know of. But I do know of a party that likes to flash light at me all the time, and maybe they want to flash light a little deeper into some of their subjects. Just speculation of course.

And no, I am quite sure that the Morgellon's sufferers do NOT want to hang with us TI's, ('cause we are crazy, right?) but maybe the CDC will arrive at some kind of conventional scientific rationalization/cause, and launch a new field of invasive disease research. I still think Morgellon's is a remotely applied and monitored conditon and that the sufferers are also subjects of a very large nonconsensual human experimentation experiment. And have I lost all credibility when I suggest, as I have in the past, that even war injuries and deaths are of the same cloth? I better quit while I am ahead.

A screaming reaction to getting zapped while reading about data protection hardware. Hardly the stuff of intrigue, but like I say, everything is under study. And a simultaneously tapping sound with the zap, as if the floor upstairs isn't carpeted for some reason. And as part of the entire electrical EMF equation, I was listening to the Baltimore Consort with my headphones on. I expect the phone to ring any moment too.

Starting farm work tomorrow, so the blogging quantity will diminish, and no posting tomorrow. Earlier, yet more noise as I moved from desk to kitchen, and again to the table for tea and chocolate. Another round of noise when I settled down again at my desk and got into reading about Oppo universal (all formats) players. I sense that someone is spending, or attempting to, my money before I get it. No audiophile indulgences on farm work wages.

An insane morning of at least 50 screamings or yellings at the assholes over crumb inundations, fake touches, finger fumbling, splatter from nowhere, drops hopping out of containers, animated dust from nowhere in my face, lint on my work pants and on the face cloth and countless other abusive incursions.

This, after keeping me awake for over 3.5 hours after going to bed at 2300h, and maybe longer as they like to plant the ideation that I didn't get any sleep. And relentless noise when in bed, loud mufflered vehicles, motorcycles, even heavy duty truck noise at 0100h or later. Plenty of color plasma games when my eyelids were closed, usually fugly colors or fugly color combinations. Once my eyes were opened to put an end to that abuse, they flashed plasma lights at me from the room, usually red lineal ones. And they got me up an hour earlier just to give me more abuse time, and now this LCD and the plasmic games that come off it as in readying me for my first farm work day today. And they went through all their ideation themes they are keeping current, some have been going on for eight years now, most notably the wife-to-be scenarios that are plain absurd. As stated many times, I want to be left alone and free from the swarms of quislings, abettors, operatives and the entire collection of psychopathis assholes. Once over, the first two questions I have are: where is the money and where are a couple of thousand assholes tied up to deal with the justice component.