Thursday, June 09, 2011

A Thursday Like a Monday

A rare stayover at the First Feral Family house last night, also getting screwed out of planning it ahead and ending up without any toiletries to shave, though I did use a toothbrush that was new from the plastic package, found in a drawer. And I got screwed out of getting up as planned with the alarm clock, they having me sleep an extra half hour, and lo, if there wasn't enough time to shower. The night before, I laundered my work clothes in the FFF washing machine and hung them out to dry on the clothesline. Regular readers and most TI's will know the perps are totally fixated with my clothes laundering, and using different detergent (from a yellow plastic Sunlight bottle), in a different wasthing machine (the FFF house washing machine would be under total perp scrutiny of course), and so this new combination in conjunction with keeping me in the same clothes two days in succession was likely a huge perp event.

Add some more confluences, like it being payday today, and the perps are going all out to make this a high variation day. I was flower de-heading the everbearing strawberries in the field with the plastic row-cover and the irrigation tape underneath it. I was using scissors mostly to cut the flower bearing stems, and was duly finger and cognitive dithered to ensure they had me cutting the odd leave off by "mistake", though no cutting of my fingers yet. Another day to go before this job is done, so who knows what perp fuckery lies ahead. That the plastic row-cover is a metallic silver-grey sheen to it so it can reflect light back to the plant leaves is also likely a perp advantage, given the profusion of silver-grey vehicles that were in gangstalking formation when I exited the farm and took a five minute ride to the nearest bus stop. Plus, I got extra tanned from it today, even if I had Ombrelle on me.

I felt cognitively clobbered and memory blanked for much of the day, barely able to explain even the things I know well. Also, more names slipped out of recall, which is a piss-off, as it is tough enough to make them recallable in the first place. No doubt a stronger application of cognitively clobbering irradiation was applied, as if I never woke up properly. I had such days back before they went overt/beserk in 04-2002, and I could never figure out why I was so slowed down. Invariably these were exceptional days, say, when I had a trip to Vancouver planned, or some such unusual event/destination. Now I know, special Fuckover arrangements, (per above; laundry, mid-week, FFF stayover last night, etc.) demand special extra doses of being mentally rendering.

The city bus freakshow was up to its billing, picking up the laborer dudes who haven't been seen on a bus for decades until this contrived nonsense began in 2002. Two were sitting on each side of the bus in the transverse seat over the rear wheel well,  and each of them had one leg crossed over the other, in mirror image. Who writes this stupid nonsense? I had the "Plastic Bag People" next to me after the headscarf act got off the bus; two shoppers with their groceries, and who ended up tailing me for two blocks with a swarm of at least six after getting off the bus. Another wheelchair act on the bus again, and I have no idea as to why it erupts the stop before I get off, except to provide more "dwell time" before it makes the corner for my stop. They even had the wheelchair ramp sieze up for five minutes one time as this same bus stop.

Then the headscarfed woman with the 3 y.o. child came back to the rear bench seat again, their second such showing, and most odd as there was room at the front of the bus. I cannot stand the sight of headscarfs or any other tight head coverings, and I suspect this might have something to do with the years they wiped my memory nearly clean, aged 2 to 5. In the early overt.beserk days of 2002, I was party to overhearing someone speaking to another at length about nuns, so in the retrospective analysis of events, where nothing is chance but orchestrated, it does make me wonder if they put me in a Catholic institution where they might of also been murdering the Duplessis Orphans in another parallel scene of high handed systematic abuse. That would of been 1956-57, or 1958-59 when living in Montreal, the latter year being when my father graduated with his PhD in geology. As before with most other Unfavored demographic groups and features/objects, these fugly sights have only become objectionable, or even disgusting, since 2002. And too, I get planted with the notion that such headwear is plain wacko, and no opportunity to analyse this newfound meme/"reaction".

And more of the pounding stereo noise when I got into my apartment; it seems this noise is getting much more airtime, so it is likely they want full coverage of everything I do with that infernat racket going on.

And plenty more forced "forgets" of late; attending to getting the laundry was interupted to then have it "forgotten" and sitting in a heap for 40 minutes before I was allowed to catch it. Such things were never forgotten until recent months, and it seems ever last detail of every last function is under more scrutiny, back to screwing me over turning off/on a lightswitch again. Along with extreme typo sabotage, enough to call this one done for today, even if woefully incomplete in describing the games and stunts and noise that went down today.

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