Many Monday Stalks and Stunts

1855h
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.