Back to Farm Work

2145h
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.