Monday, July 25, 2011

Week; July 17 -26

Picking strawberries again, very mushy with the wet weather and the weeds in such abundance. Picker-
Babe manages to cough each time I change my attention while deep in (planted) thought to something else, most notably after a breaktime when I consumed food. Now nearly perfect record of thoughtstalking  when she is there, which isn't that often. It does make me wonder what she is about, touching on so many long running perp themes and claiming to have been raised in Nova Scotia and yet she doesn't have a trace of an accent.

I got to wear the new Felco #8's (secateurs aka hand pruners) in their holster, but not use them as I got called off the job before I had started it. I ended up wearing them under my rainpants for all day strawberry picking.

I finally got to use the Felco #8's, not at work, but on the sage at FFF house with my perp abetting mother next to me and directing how much I should cut it down for season, post-flowering, I took some sage sprigs home too.

Raspberry picking finally, with a "futility pick" for strawbs for the last 1.5 hours. More like a "red color check", one fruit to the next in the same day. They did this last year too. I got some kind of instant-on allergic reaction in one eye that drove me off earlier than planned, with the Punjabis staying behind.

The first time for street shoes worn to work, keeping the hiking boots at the farm to change into. This seemed to be the trigger for at least three wacko gangstalkers loitering around, and this pattern followed each morning for the next three afterward. As mentioned, one's footwear is under intense research interest, and having me keep two pairs of footwear at the farm is a big deal. Previously, I only kept the gumboots there and travelled in my hiking boots.

A major city bus wacko show on the way back; red colored clothing, which was moved out to have the four or five yellow clothed gangstalkers moved in to replace them. Some 35+ passengers on the #6 bus inbound to downtown at 1730h (reverse commute) is fucking absurd. And so many shiftless dudes all the time, as if they don't have real day jobs, and to be found on the "loser cruiser" in such abundance flies in the face of what they purport to be.

A farm work day starting in the everbeariang strawberry plantation, the one with the plastic row cover into which the strawberries are planted. I got to use the red-handled Felco #8 secateurs, the long vaunted acquisition and present tool the perps are obsessed about for cutting foliage. Then onto pulling weeds in the carrots, eating at least 10 or so that were "inadvertently" pulled out too. I wasn't alone in that respect. Then picking raspberries all afternoon.

The inbound (after the day's work) city bus sat at the stop for over 8 min. for no seeming reason. This seemed to set the stage for progressive red colored clothing acts to fill in around me. Then a vagrant act on the bus and his collection of plastic bottles in the steel mesh wheeled hamper that is the trademark ambulatory perp haulage device. Then the dudes arrived to plant themselves around me, two in incessant chat mode. A triple negro show when I got off the bus, and a few minutes, another in the hallway. Some 60 minutes later when in the LD store, another negro was posted in the chocolate section with a red hat for crissakes.

Two Asian girls were all about me when doing the 100g Milka chocolate bar pickup, and at least four others posted nearby, for the umpteenth intensified gangstalking event while picking up chocolate.

The first farm work was pulling weeds from the carrot rows, then after an hour, picking raspberries  for the rest of the day. The Mexicans didn't seem too moved by the 3.5Gb of MP3 music I gave them on the MicroSD card; some 1,000 songs, of 90 albums. Just the usual unusual; no demonstrable thanks or seeming usuage of the favor/effort. No good deed goes unappreciated in TI World. Which, to make a long story short, after six years of organizational dysfunction I succeded in building and validating a 500 entity/table database application with a small team that reported to me. And what happens, the users and their managers just sit around and don't use it. One of my colleagues said I "took away all the excuses" as to why they wouldn't/couldn't use the database application, and yet they sat on their hands for at least four years afterward. Now I understand it is operational and one of my team members leads the one man effort to keep it so.

At the farm one of the two E. Indian/Punjabi males wears a turban, and really hasn't learned much Englishf for the over 20 years he has lived in Canada. I call him the FUD Master, as most converstations seem to be circular, and without a clear outcome. He has taken a turn to be more rude of late and was waving his hands in my face at one point, making out that he was talking to someone else and "forgot". If that wasn't enough, the fucker then took a oint-box carrier from beside me that I had just made up with the 8 pint boxes. This is an exact repeat of what a Mexican did to me yesterday; talking the filled out carrier from beside me when I was momentarily distracted. One cannot find such coordinated rudeness outside of TI World.

And extra noise on the farm all day long; an adjacent excavation company shop and yard, talking hikers and bikers, distant loud mufflered vehicles, overhead aircraft (at least 12 single engine fixed wing private aircraft) and a white helicopter making two passes, roughly E to W, some 40 min apart- a oldie, likely a Bell 47-GB2.

More weed pulling, first in the carrots, this time with a separate crew of four or so on harvesting nearby; digging, bunching and washing in the field. Interesting that it has taken the perps some nine years to arrange proximate crop weeding and its harvesting at the same time. I cannot count the number of times I have done one or the other in the four years of farm work they have put me through, and so this represents an all time first for the assholes to arrange this one.

Then raspberry picking began before the first break (1000h), and I note that I have attained a new higher
"leper status" in terms of no one sitting next to me, save the "starter" shill. This act has one of the Mexicans sitting or lying on the ground curled up for crissakes, for two to five minutes of the break before they take themselves off to the rest of their colleagues some 20' away. The Punjabis don't even sit together on breaks, but now disperse themselves 30' away on each side, and sometimes one 12' in front. Most curious. But they do go into extensive and loud converstation while I am picking raspberries nearby, often cranking it up when I change rows and begin one anew. This is also the occasion when extra vehicular activity erupts, with plenty of drive-bys and berry pick-ups. Also, the overhead aircraft activity picks up when changing picking rows.

A predictably sunny day, so I decided I might pick raspberriw while wearing shorts. I had them under my black pants as I would need the latter for weed pulling, but we started on raspberries. I wore my tan-through shirt on top, a rare clothing combination, for getting direct sun exposure on my still-white legs (and still keeping up the newly acquired leg shaving habit) and my torso at the same time. The perps often start from the most difficult combinations (clothes in this case) and work me into simpler combinations later. This new clothing combination of shorts under pants and the shirt seemed to be the impetus to screw me out of getting the first Saturday bus, and lo, if the next one isn't 30 min. later. I make a phone call to the farmer to tell him of my later arrival, then a forced shit. Not until the perps made themselves apparent did I ever take a crap before 1000h, and suddenly all such past "habits" changed, including the time of all bodily eliminations. So it would seem the perps wanted me to sit around in this different (never before) clothig combination for 30 min. (shorts that hadn't been worn for over 8 years under pants). The totally screwed me into thinking it was a Saturday #6 bus time of 0722h when that was the Sunday time. The perps can now govern the "for sure" recollections.

It was picking raspsberries all day and wearing shorts. As one picks raspberries standing up mostly, it make for better tanningsituation than picking strawberries where one one is scrunched up and between the rows of foliage. I was a luchtime leper again, every one staying a minimum of 15' away, and the normally socializing Punjabis strangely dispersed and each one sitting alone.

A major confluence around me when I changed back into pants as the sun was behind a major front coming in as it seemed at the afternoon break time. And lo, some 10 min. later, the entire cloud front (3/4 of the sky) was entirely displaced N, and sun was free and clear to beam on me while picking raspberries and back in my long pants.

This seemed cause to have 30 min. of constant motorcycle noise in distance for the last picking hours of the day. And some 20 or more aircraft over the day.

And the inbound city bus/freakshow; heavy on the tattoos, with a major set arranged in front of me for me to look down to the lower floor section. And after getting off the bus, walking one block to this apartment, why as tattooed Fuckwit attempting to barge into the elevator before I got out And get this, he was attempting to barge into the elevator while looking down at his feet, and not looking forward to where he was going. Like who in the fuck ever enters an elevator when looking at one's feet; not only do you no know which direction it is going, but you don't know who is coming at you. All to show me his ridiculous tattoos on the heels of seeing a fugly set for the prior 20 minutes on the bus.

A day of picking raspberries and a much appreciated relief from strawberries, which save the everbearing plantation, are likely over for the season. And it was predictably sunny so I wore my shorts and picked in them, applying sunscreen at 1300h as lunch finished up. My legs are still a ghastly white, though later I did note a mild redness to signify tanning at long last.

I see they also put on a local picker who has jet black hair, and she too came in shorts with ghastly white legs. I was told this girl had been let go as she left too many berries behind, but there she was again. The seeming showdown with the supervisor over her berry picking was said to have occured, but I was on the other side of the row of raspberry canes and I didn't hear a thing. It seemed faked to me.

They shut down the picking at 1530h, which screwed up my plans to have my mother pick me up at 1700h. And lo, if she wasn't availible on her landline or her cell phone. The Mexicans were also going back to their places in the new crew van, and they gave me a ride to my mother's place, the FFF house, which wasn't too far from the farm. I suppose the big deal was that it was my first trip in this new crew van, a min-van, that had powered rear sliding doors, a new feature I was exposed to. We had dropped three of the Mexicans off first, and another three were in the van, and somehow the perps eliminated my awareness, which they could do since 2006, and I didn't seen how the doors opened when we first lest the passengers out. Only the second time, when I was getting let out was I allowed to see that the doors were powered for opening and closing. And part of the deal might of been that the one Mexican who knows reasonable English was able to convey the instructions to the driver who doesn't know much, though he has his international driver's licence. This same driver took me to a different drop-off location three weeks ago, and I had to use extensive hand signals to direct him, though thankfully I was in the front passenger seat then. But it seems very important to the perps as to whom and how I convey my instructions, and by what means, and I suppose travelling with Mexicans in these varying states of communication seems to be part of the perp informational transference reasearch component.

A Monday, and a return from the First Feral Family house stayover. I drove my mother about for lawn sprinklers, as she had a brass sprinkler head for a base that self destructed. So got to carry this around to the two stops we made, the latter a specialty irrigation supply house, a seeming favorite of late for the perps to arrange events/stunts there. I frequented this store in 1997 through 1999 when I had a small farm and the water and irrigation supply was in atrocious shape. So now I am visiting this store again with FFF members and of course the "hold up" stunts of keeping me there longer and having the Fuckwits fill in around me while waiting to be served, during being served. A junky yellow plastic base was what my perp-abetting mother wanted, and with a 20" riser pipe it works OK, save that it doesn't have an independent tightening ring to secure the hose to it. This means spinning this wrteched piece of yellow plastic around the end of the hose for it to mate. I though this bullshit was over some decades ago, but no, resoundingly bad industrial design never goes out of perp favor for all the problems and protractions it offers. I assembled it and ran it, and no doubt having water go through a yellow plastic channel and then through the dark grey riser pipe to the brass sprinkler head was too exciting for words (for them). I wonder how long this will last, and I will be back to the store for something better.

This is a no-yellow-medication-intake-Monday don't forget, and in addition to the above nonsense over the yellow plastic sprinkler base, there were more than the usual yellow gangstalking vehicles in abundance. Also, having a banana at breakfast, and half a one at lunch might have also fuelled the yelllow color nonsense that is their stock in trade.

And lo, if not a near normal city bus ridership on the way back; five other passengers on the  #22 route instead of the 20+ on the #27/28 route that also goes downtown. I still got a stare from this fat woman for no reason, and it does seem that Fat Girls are getting much more prominence on the gangstalker circuit of late, and especially today. The "gut strut" of the overstuffed dudes has been a given for years, and is now made seasonally all the more absurd of late as they have taken en masse to wearing these dumbshit baggy shorts that go below their knees. I haven't figured out what this particular gangstalking dress code is all about, but just as I was about to pay for my items this morning, why, a gut-strutting male passed by the store hallway for me to see. My mother had also given me two $5 bills, blue in color here, prior to the transaction as she was reimbursing me for one of the three items I purchased at this specialty tool and gardening store.

I did a similar beat with my out-of-town brother and his family two weeks ago, going to the specialty tool store, having lunch, and then going to the same irrigation supply store for parts to repair my mother's soaker hose that gets a break in it each year of the last two (My brother repaired the soaker hose almost exactly with the same parts as I did, save the difference of using 1" hose clamps instead of 3/4" as they were out of stock). So it seems the perps are still testing water and its properties as it passes through hose and repair segments and is taken up by either landscape or food crop plants. In the latter case, the perps have been testing me on food crops fed from aluminum pipe, plastic PVC pipe and various other plastic types that are used in water containment and delivery. And too, the ownership of the hobby farm, also cost me some $3,000 in digging a trench and putting in new 2" PVC pipe as the old steel pipe was rusted out. The old water supply pipe had some blue plastic segments in it as well, and the local irrigation supply expert had never seen this type before. This blue plastic pipe had destabilized and appeared to be deforming and then breaking. That cut the 600,000 gallon water usage to a tenth of that consumption for a quarterly billing. In other words, the perps are still at work over what water supply I use for what purpose and what color and material the delivery pipes are. Presumably, this water supply is structured with the energetics of the delivery pipe and the soil in which it resides, and they are still at testing me for all the downstream energetic effects it has on me and my laundry.

More sirens the second round in 10 minutes, and not the last given the usual extra fuckery they lay on each Monday I return from the FFF stayover. And plenty of noisy motorcycle noise today, and even arranging one in traffic to ride beside me with the driver holding out his closest (R) foot outboard of the motorcycle. Maybe it was his new white sneakers and all the glues and fabrics with remaining shoe-box residue as well. And what idiot rides a Harley Davidson in new white sneakers? One can get dumped anytime, and leather riding boots are a near necessity. But in this arranged world I am kept in, they needed to have noisy motorcycle noise to accompany this ridiculous exposition of new sneakers at speed. Which wasn't too different from another wierd event two weeks ago; a motorcyclist (seeming) walking with his motorcycle clothes, and holding them up at chest level. Fucking ridiculous, but yet more examples of how the perps seem to need to leverage motorcycles (noise, and fewer parts and size) to enable further research on four (or more) wheeled vehicles.

Back from a tanning salon visitation; a sure magnet for more gangstalking action, which I did surely experience in the local supermarket on the way back. The freaks were out, and making multiple passes at each end of the store. The supermarket has been out of guacamole and tapenade for the last week, either of which I regularly use in the one dish they routinely have me make, quesadilla with chopped chicken. So an alternative tapenade, from Italy, and colored the dreaded brown color they so like to selectively expose me to. Brown colored clothing hasn't been allowed since early 2004 when it kept getting more frayed with each laundering until it was unrepairable.

But they finally allowed me to have salad tonight, the first time in a week, and even had me add some sage leaves from my mother's garden that I cut from there last week (Monday, with the new Felco #8 secateurs). As mentioned many times, the cutting of food and plants is of considerable perp interest, which includes the particular knife or shears. The sage sprig stems were kept in a glass of water, recharged three times over the week, and were added to the quesadilla. The first time the taste was sensational, and after that it was mildly pleasant. This denaturing of taste is something I have attributed to the perps in the past as they have put me through this scenario so many times. Basically, all my taste sensations have been blandified for whatever aims the assholes have in eliminating this sensation from my existence.

More sirens and an amubulance doing its emergency flashing light show when I was walking on my way to the tanning salon. And after some 15 sessions, I still do not have tanned legs out the deal. If the perps can screw with so many elemental physical properties by unconventional means, I am sure they are meddling here too. After all, their brown color and brown colored skin obsession has been made clear from the very first months of this insane abuse, so I am not too surprised they want to slow down my skin turning brown.

Way late for a farmworked to get up at 0400h, so I will call this one done.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Visiting Family Fuckery; July10-16

Unplanned stayover, at least by me, at the FFF house last night. No offers to drive me home, and I wasn't invited to stayover, and so, I came without my backpack and contained toiletries. So no shaving this morning, always a HUGE deal for the perps when they arrange this, and only a toothbrush was supplied for my unintended stayover. (Plastic and animal hair toothbrushes have also been of intense perp research). It was on a new bed in the den, the room that has been slowly cleaned out this past year, me helping. Somehow, my furniture scrounging youngest brother "found" a bed, and so it became the one I slept on. Extra deep matress and boxspring, and a plastic sheet integrated into the matress cover.

Which might explain why the perps were so nuts in tailing me as I traveled about town with my visiting brother, sister-in-law and neice, now 6 y.o.. Part of the arrangements this morning and into the afternoon were to visit the LVT tool specialty store, and pick up my pre-ordered parcel containing the Felco #8 secateurs and holster, the same models I took back to the CI store only yesterday as they were double the price. (I was mind-fucked into paying twice the prive as ordinarily I wouldn't of done so). And lo, if after lunch, my brother needed to visit the same section of the CI store and get herbicide, claiming that he cannot get it in his town, needing environment-friendly roundup. There were plenty of feints and dodges to get out of the store, as he was malingering over hot-tubs, barbeques, patio furniture and the rest of it. Some of it was inside, some outside, and all the better to have me kept milling about for the perp critical moments of building egress at the doorway.

Then onto repeat last year's minor acquisition of parts at the irrigation supply place to fix the soaker hose at the FFF which magically broke again. Last year I went there with my mother to get the same identical parts for the same reason and same curious fragility of this soaker hose. So this year my visiting brother gets to fix it as he dropped me off after this.

"Salmon season" again, having whole salmon last night for family dinner and travelling all over town (per above) with leftover salmon in the vehicle. Ditto for two days ago at my place, opening the last of the canned salmon. Not forgetting my mother usually brings one on the annual driving holiday to see above brother and family in September-October.

And at both the LVT and the irrigation supply, a E. Indian male of the same height and build was loitering at the counter while picking up or paying respectively. Funny how they like to make my financial transactions a multicultural gangstalking experience. And I suspect, attempting to leverage my associating with my sister-in-law, E. Indian herelf.

And a major swarming of weirds downtown when I took my new Felcos and its holster to a leather shop to get the latter modified to hold the tool more securely.  (Read, a red handled tool in a pinkish (natural) leather holster). They will keep them for a day or two, today's acquisition, for the leathermaking boss to return and pronounce the task as doable or not. Funny how they like me to have them hanging about, then to return them, then to pick a replacement pair up and have it for a few hours before handing it over to the leathermaking store two blocks away. This long-vaunted tool that the perps have had me lusting over for at least three years.

Said Felcos have red handles, a vinyl coating, and lo, if the red dressed gangstalkers weren't out in force to walk on my R side where they had been in my R. jacket pocket on the way to the store. And a herd of at least 20 8-10 y.o. kids "happened" to be passing by the leathermaking store when I exited, and I had no choice but to join this herd and walk among them until 60' away where the sidewalk widened. This is the second time this week that a kid herd, all going one direction, has "happened" as I exited a store. Yes, they are out of school, but why are they all together like this, as if on a field trip?

Both my exits from this buiidling today were with a crowd of at least six dudes loitering around for no seeming reason, one being a regular Fuckwit, presenting himself as a halfwit, who "happened" to be waving his arm in front of the door as I was about to exit and making sure his arm occupied the space I was to pass through some seconds later. When exiting the building for the second time to go the grocery store the dudes were strung out across the sidewalk, effectively blocking it, and forcing me to do a mid-block jaywalk, much like what they usually do. It was the second time today I was faced with a string of Fuckwits across the width of the sidewalk, pretending to be oblivious to this flagrant fuckery of public egress obstruction. Even the young Asian girls are in on it, a population I associate with being particular mannerly in public. That bullshit would get them mowed down in Tokyo.

Strawbery picking most of the day, and integrated me with the Mexicans and not the Punjabis for whatever reason. A new Mexican worker joined over my last two days off and has reasonable English. This should help the learning curve; they learning English and me learning Spanish.

The one Mexican that picks the berries from my row when adjacent to mine was on my case again, intruding to take the ones that I was to pick and making sure he was ahead of me. He kept returning to pick the side we shared whenever I was picking it, as I pick the opposite side when he is picking next to me. Plain fucking abusive that I am not even allowed to pick berries without encroachment on what I am to pick. This same fucker keeps this up, and it cannot be a fluke any more that he keeps doing this and "happening" to be my adjacent row neighbor.

Another annoying trend is for the perps to assign a characteristic smell to someone, and have them pick strawberries in the adjacent row, and when they within a certain range, usually 4' or less, the smell comes on. One elder Punjabi smells of oil or grease, the Picker-Babe's woman friend consistently stank of something, and one Mexican has this "man-smell" that I find unpleasant. So it would seem, if the perps have wiped my recall from the abuse years aged 2 to 5 y.o, I likely have abreactions to the smells of certain abusing personnel just as I seem to have with the colors and freaks they present in their daily parade.

A mostly cloudy day with some sun, especially at the noon lunch break, leading me into applying sunblock. The sunshine didn't last longer that 30 min. after that for the whole afternoon. And we do know how utterly nuts the perps are over sunlight exposures, sunblock usage, tanning (and tanning salons), and what clothes and their colors I have during the varing outdoor conditions.

The first leg hair shave in five days got the perps excited last night with extra noise; yobos calling out, elevator cables and movement, fake water-in-pipes noise and so it goes. A shave in the bathtub and a shower afterward to remove all scuzz.

Tanning in the salon tonight again, and purchasing a new package as my legs haven't browned up yet. I reckon the perps can control this if they want to, though to be fair, I haven't had tanned legs for decades.

More gangstalking coverage is getting plain obvious; an exiting bus passenger "happened" to be in lead-ahead mode from the bus stop and into this apartment building (one block). She went to look at her mail, and I got in the elevator to go up to my 6th floor, and lo, if the elevator didn't get delayed somehow and she came in too.

Another in lead-ahead mode on the Mt Douglas trail I take to walk from getting off the city bus to the farm.  A policemen was doing lead-ahead gangstalking on this trail four days ago, walking down the trail and eventually pulling out a plastic bag and putting leaves and things in it. Totally perverse. A negro woman is now tailing me off the bus and for two blocks in the morning now on the 0615h bus. Lets make it obvious shall we?

Gangstalkers at LD in force after tanning ("lit up"), tonight, and screwing me over for getting any service to get a micro SD card as I want to put a album on some for one of the Mexicans who has a card in his LG phone which he uses for a music playing device when picking berries in the field.

And what is this about getting extra live cleavage shown? One of the pickers had one breast partially exposed while sitting next to her. The farmer's son's gorgeous girlfriend came in a low cut blouse and a skirt into the picking fields two weeks ago. Tonight, the tanning salon attendant had ample cleavage showing while explaining tanning lotions to me.

Alternating picking strawberries and weeding; two different fields and berry types, with last minute change-ups after sending us somewhere else, we get to go back there again. Lets see if I can explain all this; Field A (which I planted, and helped on aisle heribicide spraying), has weeds coming out of the plastic row cover, usually in the same puncture hole as the strawberry plant is growing through. Field B was picked last year, and is still productive this year. First we weeded Field A for two hours and then there was a sudden market need for strawberries as there was none in the cooler. So we go to Field B to pick them, but before we got actually picking (we were setting up tables and the boxes) they drive up and say, no, we will pick Field A as the berries are harder in the wet conditions. Back there and we pick the few that are there. After lunch, everyone but me and a Caucasian woman picker (Picker-Babe's (see below)  friend  apparently) seems to know where to go; upon asking I get told to help washing potatoes where everyone else is, save a crew that was sent out to the field to pick them. Then before starting I get told there is too many on the potato washing line and am told to go weed in Field A, and to train the remaining woman on how to do it. But before I get to do training, the farmer's son arrives, makes that he isn't involved, and then when I ask him if he wants to train the picker he says yes. As well, he wants us to stick together, clean up some of the unfinished work of others, and so we do for some two hours.

The potato washing crew is done, and return, but this time Field B is assigned as it has more strawberries, so we all go and pick there. At some point late in the day the potato washers are needed again, and so we wind up at the warehouse again, and the few remaining pickers weed Field A again for a half hour or so before the work day ends. This theme of alternation of strawberry fields and racial mix is most curious to say the least, but as it "happens", it isn't the last of it

07-15-2011, 2100 h
Worked all day picking strawberries, this wretched planting in its thrid year and weed ridden as well. The berries were left too late, and so many are rotten, which we must scrutinize when picking and not place in the pint boxes.

A rain came on as I finished one row and helped out on the adjacent one for the last 20 minutes. The perps like to have the "co-workers" close in on me when I am switching to a new row, whether starting, aiding someone else in mid-row or switching direction. This time, instead of the aircraft, vehicle noise and the increased background chatter, they puled a light rain that has continued even now, effectively covering me for the last 20 minutes in the new row, the walk to the warehouse to clock out and change footwear, the 15 min. walk to the bus stop and after dinner when making my tanning appointment.

Both the Mexicans and Punkabis left at lunch from unseen direction; they all seemed to know where to go and what vehicle as no one came to collect them and no phone calls to the field supervisor seemed to initiate this redeployment of personnel. They away for some two hours, leaving me with two Caucasian women and one Asian male who is a regular at the farm.

Much more cleavage on show with the loopy attractive woman, call her Picker-Babe for now, coming back after wehn we were led to believe we weren't going to see her again. No extended trips to the porta-john this time though, but maybe her coke trips were to boost her stamina last time as she had no sleep. I don't know what to make of this babe; she says she grew up on a strawberry farm in Nova Scotia but doesn't have an accent, doesn't pick good berries, has a 8 y.o son under psychiatric care for ADD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, OCD, Tourette's, Sensory Integration Disorder and a few more, who has already been kicked out of a number of schools. And now she mentions his sociopathic traits. And she says that she was in the broadcast business, TV and radio, for 20 years, but couldn't handle the political scene. All told, she touches so many bases that intersect with either what I have (ADD) or read about (all the other diagnoses), and it seems she has a "made for TI victim (me, that is) rap sheet". But she is a dtiz at times, so there is no interest on my part to become any further involved than polite worktime banter. And she says one boyfriend of hers has a running Rife Machine. Hard to know if any of this is true. The supervior doubted her strawberry picking cred, so its all up for debate as to what this babe is about, save plentiful cleavage reveals while leaning over, and arranging herself to be some 4' further away before the next round of cleavagef reveals were arranged. And she had the most bizarre get-up; leggings in mid-grey, and short blue shorts on top, so to expose her shape but no actual leg skin color until the lunchtime when she had hitched her leggings up over her knees. The perps are really big on skin exposures of late, often arranging the body shape in swimsuit or leggings, hours before the underlying skin (color) is revealed.

And too, Picker-Babe continued this very slow striptease over the day. In the afternoon I made a turn to take in the carrier of pint boxes, turning around, just as she had somehow slipped and regained her balance, all arranged to have her adequate (but not unsightly) tummy shake in the process, having me catch it in mid-jiggle. She had arranged her blouse to reveal her bare midriff just prior to the "tummy jiggle moment", so it was another stage of the skin reveal process that she was putting on at the perps's behest.

I got sucked into putting on some SPF 60 on my nose and the back of my neck at lunchtime as the sun had come on just then. Later, I had my bucket hat on for the same reason. The Mexican and Punjabi pickers had come back by then, and I was again picking in their midst. They helped me finish my row of strawberries, an with twenty minutes left in my working day, I switched to a new row to help them. Then the rain came on lightly, so the hat served a second purpose just when I was about to fold it into my pocket.

The rain persisted for me exiting the field, walking to the warehouse to clock out, walking 15 min. along the trail to the bus stop, and waiting there outside the shelter at 1800h as there was a curious influx of gangstalkers wanting to go downtown at this time of day, a Friday. The bus came late so the vehicular gangstalking had a longer duration, and they twice put the same deep metallic burgundy red vehicles side by side in the opposite lane and have them travel past together. Five minutes later, same again; same vehicle color, same vehicle types, and side by side. Usually this bizarre nonsense is reserved for white, black and silver-grey vehicles, but here we have the first time for this rarer color to be repeating.

And the rain continued all while riding the bus, and what a collection of freaks, and these dudes wearing shirts or T-shirts in the rain for crissakes. And some young-girl legs on show too; both with cut-off jeans shorts and again dressed for show and not for the weather.

And still raining for my 1900h tanning appointment, this time I had my umbrella in hand. And for the perps, that is an exciting variable, having an umbrella in hand. And of course the sidewalk clusterfuck setup was to have two oblivious-pretending dudes in deep conversation partially obstructing sidewalk egress under a tree that was also constricting passage. There waa an oncoming woman in a yellow raincoat, and I was timed to then raise my umbrella over the heads of the faux-oblivious dudes, while the woman in yellow waited for me to pass through. And have I mentioned how often the perps like to have me gangstalked while passing under trees? I think so.

And of course, the usual extra attention of more gangstalkers all over me when in the LD store after tanning (as in being "lit up"), making my second attempt to get a MicroSD card, successfully this time. There were five of them in file to proceed me into the store, plus another partially blocking my usual entry, and more blocking the main entry inside. I had the gut strut dude, the skinhead dudes, a granny and a few more, and at least one on me as I picked up the chocolate, something they nearly always arrange to be gangstalked by at least one Fuckwit.

No early start due to rain, having phoned the farmer before I set off. The farmer has made it seem that he is doing a coffee klatch in the morning, so he often picks me up at the bus stop now. Incredible "service", saving me the 15 min. walk along the Mt Douglas Trail to the farm warehouse to clock in.

My lunch was made up, which meant that it stayed in the backpack in my apartment while I websurfed. Later, I put the food and drink in their stainless steel containers in the fridge in a rare re-direction of these items as normally the backpack goes with me to the farm when I head out to take the bus. This represents a major perp milestone attempt to somehow correlate their energetics research over my packpack, the stainless steel containers and the keeping of the lunch in the fridge for a whole 24 hours.

Another arranged "consequence" of keeping me waiting for the rain to abate was to keep me in my work clothes until noon, another rare re-drection of my normal activities, as I go to work in them of course. And I was websurfing in said work clothes until noon, for whatever color-energetic referencing the perps get from LCD monitors. (I am also including the ones on the ubiquitous wireless phones that the gangstalker view in my proximity). Another coup for unusual clothing juxtapositions they like to plan for me. And lo, if the farmer didn't call me back as I had just changed out of them and put on my street clothes.

No farm work at all today, attending to errands and things. Retrieving the Felco pruners and holster, as it seems it was a big deal, and then a 10 min. bus trip to a racquet sports shop to get grip tape. As it "happened", it was a pointless junket at the grip tape wasn't used as the red vinyl handles covering the Felco pruners won't come off easily. There goes at least 6 months of planted notions over changing it and useless grip tape to put into my supplies box.

And in true form, the perps like to arrange one project in the mddle of the other to force extra delays for each of them, having me alternate my attentions. The Felco holster leather was treated and lo, if I didn't find some hooks in the materials and supplies box and fix them to the back of the front door for whatever they maybe used for.

And the Indian Lake Project gets some almost mainstream respect in Creepy Things That Seem Real But Aren’t: The Indian Lake Project. Get it? The title is suggesting that this "creepy thing" (event) isn't real by suggesting it "seems real" but didn't occur. Like WTF; here we have photographic evidence of children being subjected to treatments of some kind by military personnel in the 1950's, one at length due to the time series of photographs of him ("Roger"), and the title of the piece is suggesting it didn't exist. Totally fucking bizarre, pardon the profanity. And then giving the Alternative Reality Gaming site, Unfiction, some cred time/reference seems to be odd, as they aren't photographic experts. Call it FUDding around.

That is it for a week, the cursor deletions games are out of control.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Week; July 05 to July 10

A 0700h work start with my strange dudes and acts on the city bus; I swore this same group was on the bus at 0715h when I started the same farm work at 0800h. There is this couple, now getting on at the same stop instead of one stop apart, and a jokey young male negro who somehow knows them and hangs around them standing up for a few minutes. The couple get off at the same mid-run stop as last year, and the negro stayed on, past my stop. Except this time the negro gets off his seat and hangs  behind me while I was standing at the rear door in preparation to get out. The bus proceeds through the intersection and as it is gliding into stop, why the negro walks to the back of the bus and sits ithe exact same seat as I was sitting. Like WTF; this is at least the fourth instance of this blatant seat poaching while it is still warm, and the most obvious as the negro walked the length of the bus to pull this off, along with a fake-out (read, closer proximal hanground time) to suggest he was getting off immediately behind me.

Picked strawbs until 1430h when it was shut down because they have too many unsold, so they say, and yet other days they will have us pick until 2000h. And the perps are increasing the number of times they are pulling strawberries from my fingers, getting to be at least 110x/day. It is extremely vexing to say the least, as the plant rows are like little jungles, and it is hard enough to find the ripe ones, to keep some in hand while continuing to pick, without the additonal fuckery of them being rolled or teleported from my fingers.

After strawberry picking I was weeding pumpkins with my fingers as the hoe deliverer failed to come. There was this prior performance of moving hoes, vehicles and personnel, a FUC clusterfuck, with the hoes to follow in another vehicle. There were two Mexicans with me, and after an inital communication problem/jerkaround in attempting to understand what to hoe with, they weeded by hand like me. Then at 1545h they suddenly got this silent call to both quit weeding and walk 150m back to the warehouse. I followed at 1600h to end the working day, and "happened" to get a ride fromt the farmer as he was stuck at a driveway with hordes of passing traffic. I got back to the warehouse to find the two Mexicans working with others to set up on the potato washing line. Somehow they "just knew" when to depart and "find" another job without any apparent conventional means of communiction or visual determination.

And what is with the other pickers or the box carrier support deliverers hanging around me all the time? That, along with stacking empty plywood and wood carriers beside me on all four sides? No one else gets this amount of proximal attention as I do?

Birthday, now age 57, and look about 32. I was even allowed to remember my birthday when at the bus stop outbound, and once in the afternoon. Otherwise it was a total blank and just another strawberry picking day.

Picking strawberries all day, and it was hot. the "usual" red color perception fuckery going on, especailly for the first two hours in the low sun conditions, 0640 to 0840h.

Paychecks delivered to the field for crissakes, this being a Wednesday, one day earlier after the prior Saturday cut-off than usual. Given the perps' ongoing pre-occupation with all my financial transactions, either recieving, purchasing, or returning, this wasn't too much of a surprise. It shows they need to increase the variability of the location of the activity, from the usual warehouse office to the field.

The usual preponderance of inexplicable picker support staff hovering around me at while picking, and casting their shadow over where I am working, especially in low azimuth sun conditions, as if they haven't delivered enough adversity at this time of day.

A pounding bass/stereo music has erupted as if from overhead, and it gets through the earmuffs readily. All to accompany me before, during and after tea and chocolate, as there had been limited noise before. Sometimes it is less like music and more like an aberrant fog horn.

A day of picking strawberries, with the perps making me uncharacteristically slack over applying sufficient sun block location. The winds got up and pushed my bucket hat off my head a few times, and so I packed it into the cargo pocket of my stretch cordura pants. Only later did the perps remind me I could of used the chin strap to keep it on. They screwed me out of applying more sunblock lotion at lunch, not even allowing my nose to be reapplied. The sunblock/suntan/Vitamin D games continue.

But they allowed me to tan last night in the tanning bed without the face lamp on me, having screwed me out of turning it off the first time round as the switch somehow "malfunctioned". Same bed, same switches and same instructions and lo, if it didn't work last night. Also not forgetting that I am lying on an acrylic surface the 8 minutes that I am on the tanning bed, for which the perps have an inordinate interest given the gangstalking attention I get afterwards.

And the fading babe returned to the strawberry fields, absent yesterday. She was working beside me for the first few hours, and then got dispatched to the opposite corner of the strawberry field after that. Similarly, two days ago, she and I were conversing in adjacent picking rows for the first three hours, and then it was set up after the morning break that she started beside me, showing off her cleavage while on all fours, and then her cell phone rang, and after a minute of chat, she was dispatched to the furthest corner of the strawberry picking section. So it would seem that someone wanted me to see her low cut top even more exposed when she was on all fours, and then immediately arranged a EMF disturbance, that is, the cell phone call.

I also get the superviror walking around nearby me, she on her cell phone and speaking Punjabi at length. More of these cell phone stalkers seem to want to cover me in every possible situation. Never mind that the Mt. Douglas cell phone tower sits in plain view some 500' away from the field.

Red color perception games were abated this morning, possibly related to the fact that it was overcast. The past four sunlit mornings, from 0700h to 1000h have been besiged by red/orange color perception problems, especially when viewed in the shade of the abundant strawberry plant foliage. Not the best kind of intrusion, fucking red/orange color perception when picking strawberries. I am uncertain if this is a set up to have the field supervisor come down on my ass for picking too orange colored strawberries.

Strawberry picking all day, and in nearly full sunlight. A mini tornado (dust devil?) struck at the afternoon break time, blowing boxes around, timed to when I was applying sunblock. That meant that at least thirty brown cardboard boxes went flying, many some 30' into the strawberry field, and one flattened box went 60' up and stayed there for at least five minutes before it blew out of sight.I haven't seen anything quite so strange weather-wise, but as always, there is often a new bound to extremes of conventional physics and weather events being defined in this extra-conventional existence/abuse rampage.

The strawberry negro (from his jacket color) showed up after four days absence, with none of the usual supervisor carping about having a dependable labor force that she normally unloads on intermittent pickers. This, seeming in lieu of a negro woman who I was informed would show today, but didn't. One ex-picker colleague mentioned by email that a friend of hers, a negro woman whom I had met at another farm three years ago, would be arriving today. And so it goes; last week the same colleague said that the strawberry negro was going to catch a ride with her, along with me, and for some reason, and by some peculiar communication means, he got a ride from someone else. It seems that the Unfavoreds (negroes in this case, male and female) are getting mentions, and then the statement (subconscious threat maybe?) is then withdrawn.

social leper now, the friendlies' going elsewhere, or else standing 6' from me and h aving their break in this posture. Fucking bizarre.

picking in the filed we picked extensively last year, flat and in the fen/bottomland organic soils instead of the glacial till of the former block we picked for three weeks.

negro sandwich on the street.

After my taninng session, I did a 20 minute in-twon walk to take the Felcos secaturs back, only to find that the store is no longer open on Friday nights as it once was. And too, the perps made a show of it by purposely blocking my web access to find out what the store hours were.I suppose anyone who exits a tanning salon has a different EMF signature, and for whatever reason, the perps wanted me to go on a long pointless walk in the "just tanned" state. The usual confluence of gangstalking of course, ambulatory and vehicular.

A 12 hour work day, picking strawberries all day. The babe returned, and lo, if she doesn't seem to be a coke-head, making three 30 min. trips to the crapper. during the 9 hour work day. She also told me that she didn't get any sleep last night as she went to a party. Not sure about her, as she artfully touches so many perp themes and my related personal experiences. Usually it is perps who do the more brazen stunts and acting jobs, so it remains to be seen if she is legit as she makes out. There are already some holes in her story, like being born and raised in Nova Scotia, but clearly without any accent. The field supervisor claimed that the babe had a bottle of vodka in her coat. Said coat was red and was tossed ahead or behind her picking, a seeming portable red color reference that fits the harassment theme to a "T".

The negro dude (strawberry picker, now in a black and grey rugby sweater and not his usual strawberry red jacket) was back again, now befriending the babe. She is also putting on the distance between me and her when it started out so friendly four days ago. A mother-daughter picker pair is also putting out the unfriendly vibe after being very conversational a week ago. They now sit in their silver grey van for all breaks, attempting to get some kind of vehicle color reference established from a distance. The silver-grey color for vehicles is a perp favorite, making up nearly 40% of all gangstalking vehicle parades sometimes, and being the same color of the last vehicle I owned from 1992 to 2006 when I had to give it up.

A rare Sunday off in berry picking season as I am awaiting a call from visiting  family, brother, sister-in-law and neice from Kamloops for two days. I am sure there is much perp arrangement in all this, the sister-in-law being E. Indian, same as four of the regular farm workers. I am a second class picker I sense, getting the drift as "you people" also reserved for the seven Mexican workers on farmworker visas.

I did get to make a second run at taking the Felco secateurs back, successfully this time, as I was allowed to find the opening hours of the business. This bullshit would of never happened if it weren't for mind-fuck games of making me purchase an item at nearly twice the price of a competitor. And as I have been lusting (read, planted notion) for this item for over three years, I suppose this culminates the perp agenda, whatever it is related to financial transactions (reversed too), aquisition and returning them. And too, having me purchase the replacement ones online for personal pick-up before I took the first pair back, seems to be a big deal for the perps too. Technically, I owned two pairs for five days or so, overlapping ownership of two identical items, though only one on  hand. And too, whatever energetic differences there maybe, from having the Felcos sit in a navy blue recycle shopping bag on the grey carpet for the intervening time since the first return event. All too exciting for sick minds.

And while walking there and back, some 15 min. of in-town walking each way, at least 12 different motorcyle parties, some in clusters of four differing motorcycles to make a unique sonic signature combination. They even put on a 1950's spoked wheel sidecar act for crissakes. And too, a few parked motorcycles as props. I have yet to get any inclination of what this is about, and my generalized response is that it relates to subconscious traumatizations inflicted during the years they wiped my recall clean, aged two to five, 1956 to 1959. What they did to me then must of been bad enough that they figured I was better off not recalling, though it seems it backfired if 50 years later they are now hounding me for over 9 years of unstinting abuse to elicit these particular abreactions. Not my problem, so why in the fuck am I being subjected to this depraved nonstop litany of insane abuse with cooperation from all authorities and too, the quisling so-called family assholes? Fucking sick.

And as part of the Unfavored demographic representation, I get the same redheaded woman for handling the refund as well as the initial purchase of the Felco secateurs. And lo, if she didn't add an orange ribbon to her hair as some kind of color reference, as I am sure they make the ribbon by the thousands of feet at the factory. I cannot recall if she had the same ribbon in her hair for the intial purchase.

And time to get this posted, as it seems this is a respite before the visiting family bullshit erupts.

Monday, July 04, 2011

Reds and the Mexicans Arrive

Preamble; these are going to be weekly postings for the next few months as I the farm work is taking up a lot of time. 

Farm work continuing; the Mexicans arrived today, one was in the warehouse when I arrived, possibly as a "warm up" Mexican in keeping how the perps like to expose me to smaller versions of what comes next, aka, the incremental exposure methods they use so often, usually for Unfavoreds more than Favoreds.

After clocking in, always a gangstalker moment, and after I got dressed up in my dark green rainpaints with the yellow suspenders for the damp field conditons, they arrived in two vehicles, coming out one by one from the door, something like a staged show. There were seven in all, and I knew four from last year, so some hand shaking and/or hugs, not knowing anything about how Mexicans greet each other. One knew me from the Feb.-Mar. (2011) daffodil flower picking where they had 45 Mexicans, though I never did meet any of them individually. They too were doing their clustering around me then, or at least some of them, and of course, talking excitedly in Spanish, which I know little of. Now, with only seven Mexicans on this crew it is more personal, and maybe I will get some one-on-one time to learn a little Spanish. Last year, one day after I assembled my English-Spanish dictionary and my phrase book, and had some dialog with one who knew reasonable English, I got laid off from berry picking. This year, a week ago or so, with one Mexican worker, I again brought my dictionary and phrase book, and lo, within a day he was gone to attend to personal matters as there was a tragic traffic accident in the family back home. It is difficult to reconcile these apparent tragedies with the timing of my activities, and so I go with the most likely scenario. One, he has to be cooperating with the perps and their obsession over every last detail as to what I hear and what and who are around me and what they are wearing, so I consider it doubtful that they would go and fuck someone up who is aiding them, even if thery weren't fully informed as to the perps' long running interest in coincidence arrangement. And given that the "personal tragedy" was talked about at length for some days afterward, all I can say is that it fits the perps' pattern; arranging fake or real accidents and deaths among those who know me, or are related to those who know me.

And the red flashes much of the evening; either as flashbacks of strawberries or as a plain unfeatured red flash of plasma over top of something that isn't red colored. Often the red flashes are timed to a moment I am yelling at them for some kind of jerkaround/incursion, like pulling items from my grasp, sending me to the wrong drawer or cupboard, or any of the litany of mind-influencing abuses that are contrary to my established habits and practices.

I picked strawberries with all the crew until 1415h, and then we were sent to weed pumpkins. The Mexicans were sent to the patch under the powerline, and I and the four Punjabis were sent to another  pumpkin patch for the same reason, about a half mile away. One of the Punjabis needed to mention this to me for whatever reason, the seeming similarity of activity only a short distance away, and that we were all working together on the same things, only separated by a short distance. Go figure. But given his poor English, he was making a bigger effort to mention this than a native English speaker.

Of more interest, especially in light of the 9 years of onging games the perps devise over spreading soil here and there and in the hallway and on passing vehicles, is that the strawberries were on a grey-green (plus some clay) glacial till hillside, while the pumpkin patches in both cases were of fluffy black organic soils of the parent bottomland.

I had at least three supposed farmworker colleagues posted around me while changing out of my raingear in the warehouse, getting out of it after picking strawberries and before hoe-ing weeds. This is not too surprising given the extraordinary attention, (noise, light flashes) I get when changing clothes in my apartment, and the nonstop parade of gangstalker loonies changing out of their clothes in public, or even more perverse garment modifications. Fourteen years of 3x/week swim club practice and the clothes changing that goes on with it (and all the cooperating swim club members, over 30 on any given night), just wasn't enough for the sickos in their pre-overt/beserk days until they outed themselves and cranked up the abuseto its present depraved state in 2002.

And lots of clusterfuck and silly BS in switching from picking to hoe-ing; putting hoes in the van, then taking them out 10  min. later and putting them on a pallet, and then the Mexicans selected their hoes from this group. While other hoes remained in the van that I eventually travelled in to the pumpkin patch.

After a day of farm work, at 1730h on the inbound (suburbs to downtown, S. bound), I had 8 red dressed Fuckwits packed around me in the rear raised deck portion, with an absurd approximately 30 total "passengers" aka, gangstalkers. The red vehicles have also been coming in greater numbers and are more clustered in two's and three's than ever before, while waiting at the bus stop or when on the bus.

Some new local farmworkers joined the strawberry picking today; of prominent note was a male negro in a red jacket. And too, a middle aged woman and her seeming adoptive daughter, who must be Fetal Alchohol Syndrome, a seeming native Indian.The daughter was especially prone to yell at her mother for the slightest thing, saying "I know" loudly or some other rebuke that was unwarranted.

And I was "negro-ed" with extra gangstalker coverage before I met the above mentioned negro farmworker. There were seven all told when outbound to the farm. The first one prone on the love seat in the lobby, making out that he was sleeping there, his head cantilevered off the end and over the floor. A female negro was was seated across the aisle on on the bus. The third "tag-teamed" (seated in the same seat once vacated) with a departing Caucasian seated in front of me, and only a single bus stop duration of overlap between the two. (Regular readers will recall the 2009 and 2010 events of city bus travel where there was a negro-negro tag teaming, all the more curious given their 3% demographic, and that they somehow knew to sit exactly where another negro had been). This negro made out that he was pals with the female, and made sure to place his fuzzy black head in my peripherial vision by leaning sideways often, but stayed seated in front of me. And four negroes on the street, this at 0730h or so, as it still seems the perp/sickos like me to see negroes directly, through various kinds of glass (tempered, safety, etc.)  or even translucent fabrics like polyproplene greenhouse cover.

When home bound on the city bus, a redcoated negro male emulating the color and garment type of today's redcoated negro stawberry picker was senselessly (and rudely) impeding all passengers getting off the bus; he could of sat down on the availble seats, but no, he had to stand in the doorway to constrict the exit room of the passengers wishing to disembark. There were three other negroes on the bus as well, so it would seem I was getting "negro-ed" yet again by this same demographic group the perps like to selectively place around me. Call it "negro exposure continuity", from apartment lobby to city bus, to the worksite, and back again.

I picked strawberries all day, and I shouldn't of been too surprised to see a profusion of red vehicles all over me tonight when out for tanning, there and back, a 5 minute walk from my apartment. There were red vehicles in threes (serially) and fives (crossing and multiple directions and convergences)

And more major FUD at work, seeming to be exploited with so little English spoken, and no Punjabi to Spanish translation going on. We were to work at picking strawbs until 1730h, then at 1650h we were called off to do hoe-ing weeds, and so were werer transported to the warehouse for hoes. The Mexicans went in the first van, and we locals (me and the Punjabis) were waiting for the second van trip to come back to the warehouse. The van comes back, but we get the word to that just the Mexicans get to go weeding and we get to go home. This was after 30 min. of clusterfucking, discussion and major disingenousness in conveying work crew getting directions from who knows where, but they all act together as if silently directed.

Also a "banana stalking" in effect; some free bananas arrive in packing box and dispersed among everyone, presumably from the Mexican fixer/handler who deals with the Mexican immigration issues and transports them to Western Union on paydays. I have long mentioned the perp's use of bananas for some kind of color referencing, from checkouts to banana eating on the street, to placement of peels at street corners and like perversities, so today was a whole crew banana benchmarking it would seem. I got to take some home, and I am sure that contributed to the extra coverage on the city bus when travelling home.

A national holiday, comparable to July 04 in the USA, but the strawberries keep coming, and it ended up being a 11.5 hour work day, and then getting screwed for a seat on the city bus to get home. The buses were infrequent and packed with those headed downtown to see the fireworks in the evening and whatever other organized street revellry there was. So, I get to then walk home from Mckenzie and Quadra to downtown, which took an hour with my backpack on me and after a very long day of farmwork. And lo, the national flag colors of red and white were out in profusion among the throngs, and I wasn't too surprised to be covered by four red shirted dudes in some places, walking ahead until I passed them by.

I picked strawberries until about 1700h, and then helped the Mexicans pick potatoes. I noticed that a certain farm, call it CF for now, was next door to the potato rows, and this was the one that was advertising for farmworkers some two months ago, though I never heard from them. And this was at about 1830h or so, and lo, if a Mexican from CF farm doesn't "happen" to saunter out and putz around, and the Mexicans engage in conversation with him across the fence. Interesting that local farms advertise for farmworkers and don't respond to submitted applications (mine at least), and yet somehow hire Mexicans under a work visa program. Part of the local farmworker hiring fashion it would seem, and all the more odd they even bother to pretend to be interested in hiring locally.

Picked strawbs to 1730h and came back. A flush of pink and red dressed babes at McKenzie and Quadra where I take the bus; four go W bound, and four go S bound, walking toward me and crossing paths on the crosswalk. And strawberry colored/dressed gangstalkers arranged around me on the bus when homebound again. Keeping that red color continuity going from the strawberry fields to the bus, and they won't let up in keeping red coloer coverage wherever they can.

Picked strawbs to 1700h. Then was picked up by my perp abetting mother. The field Punjabi crew boss came to loiter around my mother's vehicle so to be there when she got out and I got into the driver's seat. It seems the perps needed to have my daytime boss be at this seat changing moment. As mentioned many times, the perps put no end of resources and attention to when egressing to/from vehicles of all kinds, and it seems they needed the daytime supervisor to be there at this critical juncture.

A day off from picking strawberries, and again attending to deer fencing at my mother's house and garden in suburbia.This involved going into and under the hedge again to install a 4' section to cover what I thought was inpenetratable section. More pruning of branches to clear a path for the wire fence to be pulled through. This time, my mother was whisked away in advance by my ex to deal with the Post Office screwing her over and holding her mail. Kind of a stupid stunt, but it kept me downtown waiting in a vehicle two weeks ago, and the perps cannot get enough of that, especially given the truck loading stunts they arranged in front of me while seated in the vehicle.

And so while in the hedge, pruning branches etc. the next door neighbors had arrived back from six weeks away, so there was plenty of raucus goings on with children, grandpa and parents conversing inside and outside. The kids went into plastic playground playing and pummeling in front of me when I was talking to the grandfather about the state of the fence, the deer prevalence and where the fawn of the day before went. Whenever I come out from being under foliage is always a big perp event, and having me talk immediately following it seems to offer more perp fuckover opportunitiies. Later the ex arrives with her poodle and my mother, seeming to continue this post-foliage contact/coverage moment. On the simultaneous noise front, the perps went all out with a chipper truck working a two hundred feet away at most, along with associated chainsaws and the like. I presume this was a real tree maintenance event, and not just for the noise, as it seems the perps want to be able to remotely detect some kind of commonality between like events; me doing the hedge pruning (from inside of it) and the nearby tree cutting and chipping.

 A project that has been brewing for over a year also came to fruition; it was to take a cut-off grinder to vertical metal flanges on the patio that were hazardous to any that came by. For that, a low flying helicopter came by (less than 300'), much lower than normal, just before starting the job. It is always a big deal for these long planned projects, especially the games over having the wrong sized grinder arbor, then my brother "finding" a newer model, then the cut-off discs taken back because they were the wrong size. And somehow, my mother had her nap at the same time, not detered by the noise of cutting the 1/8" metal with the grinder. The timing of her selective naps at seeming perp critical moments haven't gone unnoticed.

Anyhow, much other "routine" gangstalking and games have gone down this past week, but I don't have the time for all the last details while farm work calls (sort of).