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.

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