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.

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