Monday, October 31, 2011

Potato Mush

10-25-2011 I am wearing new shoes acquired via my newfound "habit", now in its fifth time, of getting clothing that is heavily discounted at Sierra Trading Post dot com. This brought on, major extra attention on the bus headed to the farm job, double the number of "regulars" on the bus at 0715h.

And my co-workers were buzzing all around me and couldn't help but getting in my way at every turn, especially while dealing with the rotting pumpkins in the bins and sorting them out. See below on why so many pumpkins are going rotten.

And re-washing packaged potatoes again, so many of them are severely mushy as they get tipped out of their 50lb boxes onto the conveyor line where I am to be picking out the most rotten ones, leaving the rest to be graded down the line.

10-26-2011 A run-down attempt with someone starting their red pick up truck from a stop just to get me in the intersection, the Fuckwit looking at me and pointing his finger at me while making the corner in front of me. Never have I seen someone so deliberate in getting in my way on a walk signal before, as the Fuckwit could of turned earlier, but chose to initiate his right turn as the walk signal turned on.

A payday; my check "forgotten" while everyone else got theirs, handed out by the farm administrator at the carrot conveyor line. Then, about an hour later, she came back while I was beside the clattering potato washing/packing equipment. This does fit the pattern of isolating the circumstances and location of when an event of perp interest occurs to me, and having it arranged elsewhere, especially with background noise.

Alternating potato re-wash with bagging carrots. Plenty of rotten spuds and mush to deal with, never mind the rain for most of the day. A way to have me take my rain coat on and off at least 8x, and having me wear these wonderful Blue Storm rainpaints, also inside for a 40 min. spell while bagging carrots. By mid afternoon I took them off as the sun was begining to peek through and the rain had abated. So.. at various points, some 5 kinds of blue that I was wearing, in various combinations. Not to mention the extensive brown cardboard box handling and getting them thrown at me again. I have never encountered so many blithe and belligerent action (long form for saying "accidentally on purpose") in all my life, just throwing a carboard box behind them without looking knowing that I was close by and moving about well within range. I don't get it; the first order of throwing something is to make sure that no one is in the way. Seeming a lost concept at this farm work, unless of course this entire gig is scripted.

Double negro day on the 0715h bus, as they haven't shown in weeks. One in a day-glo yellow toque near the front, and at the next stop the crotch-wide-open negro construction laborer (a repeat from last time) in brown overalls The second one needed to re-tie his boot laces for some reason, getting him in the "crapping pose", (a favorite perp pose while seated but leaning forward for no apparent reason).

I had better get this done or it will go on for weeks. A bit of a surprise, as I thought the farm job was to end on Oct. 31, but no, the farmer said "as long as you want", which I cannot take literally as I really want to take December off if I am to go for three months of classes in Penticton starting in Jan. 2011.

I finally get it; very mushy rotten potatoes for re-washing (after being packed into 50lb boxes two months earlier), and even splatter that got on my clothes. It was to be a big potato washing day as it is the last full day for the three remaining Mexican farm workers, but lo, if we didn't go pumpkin picking for an hour. And there were very many rotten pumpkins there too, as they didn't cut the green stems before the plant died down and the rot translocated along the stems and into the pumpkin. Funny, the farm I worked at two years ago did the same thing. Then it dawned on me that the underlying theme is rotting, or composting vegetable matter, whether it be pumpkins, potatoes, and latterly when on the packaging line, carrots. The decomposition of live matter has some unique properties the perps are looking for via my interaction, being kept in a densified magnetic field as well as mind controlled down to everything I see, hear and think. And I have mentioned the perps' exasperating interest in composting leaves and garden waste before. Also, Ms. C of the story did her Master Composting Certificate during the dating days of 2000 to 2003.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Getting Oranged

We were putting two tons of carrots through the conveyor that feeds off the truck and then the boss interupted carrot washing to go pumpkin picking. What can I assume is "orange referencing"; having me see and handle two crops that have orange colored vegetable matter. Later in the day, I got to "experience" the carrots as dug up by the implement that the tractor tows with a conveyor to take the topped carrots to an accompanying 5 tonne truck. No riding the machine for me though, I was the one walking behind the carrot digging machine to pick up the ones it missed.

And carrot bagging (packaging) is a big job this month, not having worked this farm in October. It takes place in the unheated warehouse and there is a 12' conveyor that runs on demand and intermittently, with the carrots loaded from a bin that is set on the hydraulic tipper by a forklift. Typically, a large flood of carrots is dropped onto the conveyor from the bin, the conveyor is run to distribute the carrots full conveyor length, and then stopped. Then personnel on one side feed the four scales with selected carrots, loading a tipping scale tray that can take up to 5lb of carrots. Another person is placed oppositely and next to the scale and when the scale needle reaches center, he tips the scale tray contents into a plastic packaging bag. There is an art to it so carrots don't fly off the tray if it is tipped too fast, and also, if too slow, then the carrots will more likely criss-cross in the bag. And too, the carrots are straightened out by rolling the bag on an adjacent table surface. In other words, lots of poly plastic bag handling, as they come from the packaging suppliers in boxes of 1,000. And yes, I get more co-workers getting close to me or making more noise or talking more whenever I am recharging the plastic bags as I extract them from the box.

Then outside later to do a re-wash of packaged potatoes, returned from customers apparently. But as the perps are totally beserk over anything that comes from a brown cardboard box, this is primetime for "browning around" as I call their insane obsession over this color. So, in other words, they get to study the potatoes going through the conveyor and washing for a second time, and then get re-packaged into the re-used cardboard boxes. Some runs are very rot prone, and some aren't. In the former case they have me extracting the rotten ones from the conveyor which are then tossed into an adjacent bin. When there are few rotten potatoes, they have me ferry the emptied boxes from outside where the conveyor feed is, to inside where the final inspection, grading and boxing takes place. All that inside-outside brown box handling is just perp heaven for their insane fuckery games.

Carrot bagging most of the day, with a half hour outside session to grade potatoes being re-washed.
Then around 1630h, we go out to get 17 bins of pumpkins, many were rotten, and it does seem to be an (arranged) problem, as they didn't pick them soon enough and the stem rot got inside the pumpkin even though it looks OK. Same thing "happened" at another farm two years ago, a seeming purposeful too-late  pumpkin harvest, and we had to go back in the cooler and take out the rotten ones. But as the perps do love to arrange rotting fruit and vegetables, which is likely related to their insane interest over composting, now about to enter its fourth year of my direct involvement, starting with the raked-up leaves at the First Feral Family house. And I even get extra noisestalking while handling the rotten pumpkins, which suggests the entire process of decomposition of any live organic matter is of intense interest to them. And don't get me started as to what it might mean, as I am looking to my readership for some suggestions.

And what is it about mid-blue air compressors being arranged around me? The 5' long x 2' wide shop compressor was pulled outside of the workshop for a few days in the sunshine and arranged to be around me having lunch on a nearby pallet stack.

And what is it about the boss on the re-wash potato conveyor feed, who makes sure he is extra careless and waves the cardboard box that they were in, making an extra flourish to get the box closer to me on the opposite side of the conveyor? I took another cardboard box in the face the week before, the supervisor not looking at where she threw the just-assembled box, readied for a potato washing run.

And the props mechanic, had his 8 y,o, boy at work all day, and not only was the kid doing his gangstalking thing, but "found" this ridiculous tricycle that has been hanging around at the farm for some unknown reason for the past two weeks, and rode it around the warehouse for an hour or more. Not only is the forklift zinging around, but so are the motorized pallet jacks. Like WTF; why would a parent place their child in apparent unsupervised danger while also making the kid look like a total retard, as he was way too big for it. Like I contend, the whole scene is scripted, and there was no danger as it was choreographed to ensure he didn't get a fork from the forklift in the chops while loitering around on this absurd tricycle. This was the same kid that came to hang around me wearing an orange sports jersey the previous week for no reason whatsoever, looking like some vacant retard. When I saw the kid with his dad in the tractor some 20 min. later, no orange jersey on him.

A mid-day start after doing some phoning from home, researching the value of taking vineyard laborer training, my possible 2012 activity for three months. A 1300h start at the farm, first bagging carrots, then a sit-around as no one knew what to do. Then a short (less than 30 min.) re-wash one pallet of potatoes.

Then it was to be pumpkin washing, but no, it was pumpkin picking.

Then fence repair job, where every one seemed to know what the job was, and I tagged along as no one told me. (No such thing as crew briefing sessions at the farm, all hearsay like instruction). Pliers came from nowhere for everyone but me. A roll of fence wire had to be found, then cut in half down its length, and it was erected above the existing fence wire, as some members of the visiting public to the Halloween exibits decided to do a little vandalism on the side.

I was working with the Mexicans as dusk came on, and just as we finished, lo, if two vehicles with headlights on, didn't arrive, and of all persons, it was the E. Indian tractor driver from the other farm I worked at in the past four years "showed up" and said hello. I was fucked into being totally dumbfounded and only said "hello" in return. Like WTF; he has nothing to do with this farm, works at least five miles away, had nothing to do with me while I was there (except steal my raingear and wear it a few days later), and here he "happens" to arrive at this very obscure location just as I finish up on a job. And have I mentioned how crazed the perps are when I finish a task, putting on noises, and disrupting events, often forcing re-work as something was "forgotten" and the notion of completion was premature? Many tens of times.

There were also some E. Indian visitors earlier in the day, the supervisor's daughter and niece. So I suppose the perps were attempting to get some kind of E. Indian skin color referencing or something, and wanted a "victim tour" by another known E. Indian from another farm in dusk onset conditons. Very bizarre this person "showing up" at this time when he would of finished a day's work at the other farm. [Later, I asked the boss about this, and he didn't say why the other farm's tractor driver "happened" to arrive at his farm in an obscure non=public location].

10-22-2011, Saturday
Post Friday night farm visitations to the scary haunted house exhibit they have. First farm job was
garbage pickup in the rain, wearing my new breathable Bluestorm Latitude 38 rainpaints. I cannot say if the "breathable" part was working, as the perps wetted my chest anyways. The perps got me obsessed over the garbage, and picking up some very small pieces that I would of ordinarily left behind.

It was to be parking duty for the public events, but as the rain was off and on, there weren't many visitors. So.. back to carrot bagging, carrot washing (the load that sat on the truck for two days, in mid job), and then clean up.

Orange color games that were most noticable were the farmer's grandkids roaring around in an orange colored dune buggy, hanging around me for no reason, circling me, or doing 180 degree U turns in front of me. Earlier, they were also heavy on ambulatory gangstalking while I was picking up garbage, and seemed to have an unerring knack for "showing up" when I was walking between venues.

Another Orange Event was packing one corner of a 10'x10' orange colored square canopy
with three other males, two Mexicans and one Asian. It was packed some 500' or so to the orange pumpkin patch where there is a public pick.

10-23-2011, Sunday
The weekly leg shave last night, getting delayed until it was midnight; the possibility of a new PC case beckons, and that kept me busy online. Three things I want in a PC case; air filtration so no dust buildup on fans, quiet, and a handle on top as these things are heavy. The latter feature has never been on PC cases, save for one recent example, and will likely involve getting someone to modify the case. But as PC cases aren't cheap by the time I pay someone to re-build it and add in the 256Gb SSD I recently acquired, it just may not happen. Such are the machinations of my tormentors, building up a "need", sometimes for three or more years, and then poof, it cannot be done. And of course, the "need" will re-surface later, all to continue this litany of coveting they like to plant on me.

Other items can be purchased on a whim though, no research or coveting, and while not always true, can be useful items I use every day.

A busy day at the farm with over 3,500 visitors, and I was on parking duty, directing vehicles and sorting out vehicular cluster fucks as the tractor pulled wagons, aka hayrides" were also part of the event. And with my newly shaved legs (under my long pants) and all those steel vehicles passing me by at close quarters, it was likely a huge perp event. As were all the dudes wearing baggy shorts at this time of year, not to mention the litany of male Unfavoreds/freaks/gangstalker themes; the gut strut, the skinheads and the waddlers.

Other farm visitors to fit the Unfavored demographic profile were the negroes, a father screaming at his child, and the ridiculous wheelchair act. They drop off this person in a wheelchair some 500' from the main activities, at the pumpkin picking field. Then he wheels back to the way he came to the events tent for a few hours. Then he comes back, seeming by himself and parks himself and wheelchair in the path of the tractor pulling the hayride and I warn him. So then he moves to the other side of the road and nearly impedes an outgoing hayride, it passing by within one foot. And given the 15 min. of this loiter time, I reckon is was yet again, another perp prop/gangstalking theme of placing wheelchairs and their occupants around me. And have I not complained of excessive numbers of wheelchairs as part of the gangstalking for the last 9 years? Many times, and if I cannot stand the sight of wheelchairs, I don't see why it is anyone's business by my own. And why does this theme repeat, as one of many, as part of this  insane reign of abuse I am subjected to by this covert army of psychopathic assholes.

Before going to the farm, a former co-worker came by to have coffee out, so not only did I have extra brown liquid in me, but I also had an extra dark brown pastry. As always, in public locations, the swarm starts up and got to be near crush conditions at times, some of the gangstalkers wearing dark brown clothes. And lo, if they didn't put a fugly negro woman who was back and forthing from inside to outside and then intersperse her visage with some blonde babes. Always this game of putting on the babes (a Favored demographic group and unlikely to have subconscious traumatization associations for the three years they wiped my memory when aged 2 to 5) to mix with the Unfavoreds.

This former co-worker with whom I remain in contact, her contacting me more than the other way around, is the same one who was working at the farm last year, and then followed me to the second farm I worked. Now she is taking horticultural training. I sometimes wonder if she isn't a morphover of someone else I know who was rather large back in my Seattle days of 1999 to 2002. There is just too many oddities that fit the perp harassment themes; married now getting a divorce, no children, psoriasis skin condition for more skin tone variance, a fat girl, and being extra "friendly".

Later in the evening, I drove to the airport to pick up my mother who arrived back from the UK after two weeks there with my out-of-town brother. Just arrived flight passengers are a big gangstalking event, and of course the sickos were out in force, closing in on me while I waited in a public airport. The dude with his hand on his crotch opposite me in the seats was the most outrageous act. Second in terms of absurd was the Fat Family, at least four of them sitting in the seats with one of them, the orange T-shirted Fuckwit, doing regular patrols for me to admire his ample girth, his infernal brown colored short and flipflops, this being October 23 in the Pacific Northwest.

And is it strange that the dudes doing the gangstalking parade as waiting family for incoming flight to be standing at the luggage carousel all by themselves with no apparent family nearby? It seemed to be a big excuse to get the Fuckwits closer to me than I would ordinarily of allowed.

I made salsa from the green tomatoes my in-town brother left at the FFF, he scoffing all the red ones under the guise of "looking after" the place while our mother was in the UK. And as I worked through the insufferable blender follies of what part fits where, the next door pressure washing noise started up at the same moment as getting the blender to finally work.

I returned home via the city bus with salsa in my pack, in two vessels, one glass, one plastic. This seemed to bring on a big gangstalker crowd for a 1600h bus into downtown. I got the big girl gangstalker treatment. First a hefty girl next to me on the rear bench seat, and the very big young girl standing 2' away. The hefty one left after 5 min. and the very big one took the seat, sitting next to me, and nudging me all the more. I have never seen a young girl with a fat middle before, and no, it was not a pregnancy, and wonder if it wasn't a prothesis, as the perps have done this before.

I picked up yet another Sierra Trading Post parcel this morning, and it contained a mid-blue long sleeved shirt. And lo, if I wasn't blue tested with the same hue for the rest of the day; as gangstalker vehicle color, and on at least 15 gangstalker. Not that I was wearing this color blue today, it is just that I had received the garment today in a brown cardboard box.

Lightscribe is getting hacked tonight; cutting two DVD's of my mother's UK pics, and lo, if Lightscribe first didn't "fail", then the next try it spent 3 minutes of supposedly etching the text, and lo, nothing. Then next time it worked. One more disk to go, and twice it "failed" to etch the text and succeed the third time. This had always been working fine before, with no software or hardware changes and now it suddenly craps out. All in keeping with less pretense of a mistake, and now blatant obstructive incursions.

I am late getting this weekly blog out, and am busy with pondering my next PC case as well as the continuing farm work.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Carrots and Potatoes

A Tuesday, and farm work was mainly inside due to rain and seasonal workload.

It was carrot bagging, then potato washing outside sending packed potatoes back through, then back inside to manage the cardboard packing boxes. A lunchtime trip to UPS to get parcel using the throbbing mufflered crew van, and bringing on a huge amount of vehicular gangstalking, color arranged. The parcel had a new pair of breathable fabric rainpaints in it, and I opened it up to try them for briefly, then hung them up. It is always a big perp moment when I put on clothes, especially briefly, and especially new ones out of the brown cardboard box. The two Mexicans were beside me with additional victim touring by the Asian and Punjabis some 10' away. Not to worry, the unused rainpaints are now hanging up at the front door so everyone will pass them by every day. This is a rare first, recieving a new garment at work and leaving it there while the other two items in the parcel were taken home

A leg shave last night, the first i two weeks, an unusual delay of a week, seeming for the all-important event of me using a Wilkinson Sword razor blade, a disposable 3 bladed head. Major concurrent hallway noise while shaving, this being a huge perp event.

On the farm, carrot bagging inside, picking raspberries outside, then a shovelling and raking gravel job, the crush kind, not round edged river run. As always, the perps have an intense interest in me being exposed to soils, gravels, sand and rocks from other locations, and this is all part of their fun. This area was being readied for a children's railway ride, a small circuit of no more than 60' long.

Another impossible 30+ passengers on the bus at 1838h, headed into downtown. A three negro event, one being the bus driver, the third time he has showed up on my evening bus runs, at differing times. Then this one negro sat one seat away while I was on the rear bench seat, and then a few minutes later and for no reason whatsoever, the Fuckwit sits next to me. Then about two minutes later he moves again, this time away, and is sitting on a portion of each seat. All the time he has this backpack on and leans forward in the "crapping pose" I have come to know from many other Fuckwits in my proximity. Totally bizarre behavior to say the least, and from whom does he get his direction and how? Well, after seeing many of these similar bizarre eruptions, I have come to conclude the perps are sending text messages directly to their visual cortex, and the gangstalker reads them and acts according to the instruction. It cannot be a coincidence that so many of them are looking upward for no apparent reason and then change their posture, postion or whateve their masters command. All the more silly, as these quislings are led to believe they are special, and too, their behavior can be altered without their knowledge if the perps chose to do so, and also, there is direct voice to skull technologies that have been around for decades. I have sometimes recieved an unequivocal "voice" that is speaking to me about something relevant and germane to the present circumstances. Fortuneately I don't recieve these transmission routinely, or as an abusive treatment as many other TI's complain about.

Getting my fill of orange colors today; bagging 5lb of carrots in plastic bags in the morning, then another hour or so after lunch, and then picking pumpkins in the afternoon. The flatbed trucks drive on the field, and we farmworkers, including three Mexicans, throw them up to the waiting worker who puts them into bins. I was in both roles, pitcher and catcher. Lots of pallet play time too, another perps obsession, as nearly everything arrives by pallet, and it seems the perps want to get a handle on the pallet wood to loaded objects/foods interaction energetics. I cannot count the times they drive pallet loads around me in vehicles, almost as many as the ladders I get from Ladder Patrol.

Other big perp advances were to let me use a knife to spread the coconut butter and jam on the breakfast 6" tortilla. I had been putting them down with a spoon in a blob on the tortilla, and then folding it up to contain it while eating it. This latest "advance" changes  the game some, as I spread the coconut butter, then the jam on top of it and roll it up to eat, hoping nothing leaks out the end. (No such luck; a blob of coconut butter came firing out two mornings in sucession.) This means no folding, which was a major problem with the gluten free organic corn tortillas, as they would break at the fold. I had been using gluten wheat tortillas as this was the only kind that could take the folding and not split along the fold line. And for at least the past 10 months this had been the system, and smaller foldable non-gluten tortillas could never be found in the grocery store. The closest I came were large format rice tortillas which could take being folded. Another major change in the "breakfast cuisine ecology", and it took almost a whole year to be allowed to change it. The addition of a knife to spread the coconut butter is a HUGE DEAL for the perps, allowing extra contact from a steel object. And have I mentioned how beserk they are over knife contact, e.g. cutting food with a knife? Hundreds of times in the past 9 years of this insane abuse.

Keeping yesterday's orange and red color themes going, it was bagging carrots till noon, then picking raspberries, then picking strawberries, then out to yesterday's field to pick gourds, mostly orange in color, though some were yellow, or light green.

And what is it that drives the perps so often to have someone's shadow cast down on me? In the field, especially now with the low sun at 1600h and later, or even at lunch or coffee breaks. My coworkers have this unerring knack of standing around to block the sun and have a shadow cast down on me.

And what is with the bus service? Still some 30+ passengers on a reverse commute direction at 1800h. Yesterday was the same, except later, at 1900h, a Thursday no less.

A father-son dust up this morning, with the father looking to land punches even if his son broke his jaw last year in a similar bout. This time, there were two Mexicans and at least three other adult males intervening to prevent real damage to either party. This had been brewing for weeks, if not months, and the loathing is as palpable as it is mutual. At least they got it over with before the public arrived for the pumpkin festival.

I was on carrots bagging, then out in the field to pick gourds into the early afternoon, then I got the call to help out at the public event directing traffic and ensuring the miniture railway crossing was all clear when the train came. And lo, when I first started this vehicular traffic directing job, a farmworkers kid who had been on the stalk for the prior week, didn't arrive to hang around me for no reason and was sporting an orange hockey jersey. And lo, if he didn't join his father in the tractor cab of the hayrides that routinely passed me by, not wearing the jersey anymore. All for some kind of color concordance/testing I suppose, as I was decked out in a dayglo hi-viz vest for the afternoon.

A Monday, and a day off too, after working Sunday for four hours on parking at the farm festival that is going on for the three weekends prior to Halloween. (A corn maze, a miniture railway, hayrides, a haunted house and some other theme park like props, including a 20' high Cheops replicate). And as usual, it is a day of high harassment and relentless jerkarounds, both cognitively and orchestrated externalities. And a doctor appointment too, just to add to the perp excitement/disruption/fuckover demands.

And what is with service personnal being so grim and evasive today? The normally chipper and friendly counter person at Purolater was rather terse for no seeming reason. The saleswoman at Lee Valley tools was positively grim, then again the woman at the deli counter of the local food market. Then the doctor was putting on his best grimness for no seeming cause, more terse than ever for crissakes, and calls him a professional still. Was this some kind of "mood matching" after making me grim from the jerkarounds I got: went to two wineries to find someone in the vineyard operations to ask about a viticulture course program and its utility in their line of work and got skunked on both in finding anyone; closed and then "lost" due to imposed befuddlement.

There were all manner of provocations first thing this morning to get me severely riled up, probably due to the fact that I stayed at the First Feral Family house by myself, a rarity as my mother is away in the UK. The fact that the bedsheets and blankets are different colors is important to the perps, as is mattress composition, and who knows what else. That I am eating my usual breakfast that I have at my place while at the FFF house is also a new event, having purchased the food last weekend. And of course, the perps routinely like to have me transfer food from fridge to fridge, either direction, mine in this apartment (steel wire shelves) and that of the FFF house (glass shelves). As far as I can recall, no food has made a round trip between fridges, but I am sure this will "happen" before long.

The provocation intensity was way up this morning, as was my "reaction" of instant rage. Stunts like sending me to the wrong cupboard or drawer, burning the onions in the frypan (I have never, ever burned food in the kitchen before), not turning off the burner (a perp Fuckover classic, and a new event that erupted some 8 years ago), over 30 small dirt clods arriving by themselves to force a sweeping of the kitchen floor (a frequent perp event, though rarely to they have me sweep floors apart from a past janitorial job).

Anyhow, time to call this one a posting for the week and get myself off to bed to start farmwork in the morning.

Sunday, October 09, 2011

All Carrots Day

A Monday, returning from The First Feral Family house to start work and my overnight bag with its used face cloth in it was at the farm the whole day that I bagged, and participated in the carrot unloading from the hopper truck and the conveyor line work. One can say I am sick of the sight of carrots, though in perp-land that counts for nothing, as they are on a major push to find out why I don't like the color orange. Don't ask me, as my recall was deleted almost entirely from 1956 to 1959, and the subconscious traumatization associations remain. Same for red, yellow, brown. Not my problem, so why in the fuck am I set up for over nine years with all these dumbshit arranged games over colors, not to mention gangstalking and being kept in a rage-ified state due to constant torment?

Amanda Knox walks free after four years in jail, and her statement was wanting her life back. Try nine years of this fucking abuse, being the mind-fuck victim that gets circulated to all manner of stunts, and gets rammed into doing farm work, just so loud noises can be arranged to erupt each time I touch a carrot, pick a squash or anything associated with plant harvesting, pruning, root digging and the rest of it. More bizarre than Amanda herself, but it is ongoing and relentless.

More bagging carrots, then conveyor line work on unloading carrots, then raspberry picking (with a fake-out for strawberry picking at first, which meant that I had my knee pads on, not really needed for raspberry picking). After lunch, the reverse; readied for raspberry picking I get diverted to strawberry picking, this time the reverse, getting caught out strawberry picking without my kneepads on. The carrot washing again, then carrot bagging.

And these are plastic bags we a putting the carrots in, and have I said how absolutely beserk the perps are when I handle, touch or even look at objects of plastic? Maybe hundreds of times, but it continues; I get to open the brown cardboard box of 500 plastic bags, and then get to pass a half inch thick of them to one carrot bagger who then hands them onto the carrot bagger who made the request. (Naturally, the 5" deep box of plastic bags is kept near me on the carrot bagging line). And too, there are bale bags, larger plastic bags to hold 50lb of 5lb bags, and lo, if the E. Indian handling the bale bags isn't flicking them to get them open when all he has to do is to peel them apart as they have ventilation holes cut in them. (Also good for scads of chads to flutter and fall about).

I stopped work at 1700h, got the 1730h #6 bus, and up to 12 other passengers on it all the way into town. Yet, when I take buses at 1800h to 1930h, I get at least twice that many, save the odd time. It just doesn't add up, save the gangstalking and freakshow imperative.

Another email hack at my Yahoo account. A recent plundering though, as they accessed my contacts list which hasn't been up for more than six months. They got an email from me promoting Viagra, and then had a link to an attack web site that would clobber your computer if it wasn't protected.

A half day of work at the farm today, the morning spent with the employment counsellor who had some kind of special dispensation to go beyond the usual hour time frame. The perps like to set up expectations and then manipulate the events to have them dashed or unexpectedly altered. In this case, I have met the person some 10x, and the deal is that the appointment is an hour. But today, while not able to look at my watch to keep up the eye contact and not appear rude, I had this sense the meeting should of been over, but it was continuing, him doing all the talking. Finally, I got a sneak look at my watch at 1108h, and then I knew the fix was on.

Anyhow, I got the "red men" gangstalking before and after, these loitering louts with some article of red clothing, often including red shoelaces for crissakes. This one dude was sucking on weed (smoking a cigarette) outside the building entrance to the employment offices, and wearing a red jacket. I get into the elevator and lo, just before the door closes, this sucker comes in, timing his arrival and that of his smoke filled lungs perfectly to catch the elevator before it departed. So... as it "happens" he is going to the second floor too, and he strangely motions me to get out the elevator ahead of him, and then he tails me out and lo, if he isn't going to the same office as me. Just fucking bizarre and very obvious.

l got to the farm at about 1230h, time to have lunch and then start into raspberry picking, and then strawberry picking. Once it was break time, why, I got detailed for helping raise panels as part of the haunted house exhibit. And around 1700h, when traversing through the haunted house maze with two batteries for the drill the carpenter was using, why, the perps forced a "wet fart", as in having me crap my pants. At first I wasn't sure, but it felt different after a few minutes and so it was time to do the honors of cleaning this mess up in the bathroom, and yet again, donate a pair of underwear for the Fuckover cause. After some anxious moments the toilet flushed without backing up, unlike the last time the perps pulled this same stunt at a different farm. So... here we go again, purging brown out of me and have me
 go the remainder of the day without underwear.  Just plain fucking hilarious, and the Fuckwit who pulled this stunt had better keep their helmet on all the time, lest an errant bat make contact with their head.

Which now changes the "underwear ecology", another perp infatuation of long standing. All the underwear that I own is black colored, which isn't enough. The two sets of one kind, one with a doubled fabric as the waistband/hem had been used almost alternately every day for the past 8 months or so. But now, with one pair gone, it is back to using the elastic waistbanded set, down to five pairs after another shit show at the other farm back in 03-2011. In other words, the elastic waistbanded set will get more use, as it seems the perp's underwear energetics research, or whatever they are studying, has now moved on and they are confident they can apply the determinations of one set to that of the second set. Naturally, the more confortable doubled fabric waistbanded pairs became unavailible when I wanted to get more, and I had to settle for more of the latter set. The underwear battles have been going on for years in many variations to have me purchase new pairs, e.g. waistband "failure", fabric pilling, seam pilling and hem parting and on and on. Not forgetting that one prior set of six, after being purchased, was taken to get altered and the waistbands lowered 2". In this case, the perps had a fabric sample from each pair, as the alterations person never gave me the spare fabric back.

A farm work day; bagging carrots inside, then outside to help in the potato unloading/washing that got stalled out two days ago when there were no packing boxes for the finished product. And have I ever mentioned how the perps like to disrupt processes and have them re-start days or months later? Many hundreds of times I should think. That they were red potatoes in a green colored trailer, might of aided the perp's color games as well.

Retards on the bus in the morning; the regular 0715 #6 bus N. bound, and instead of the three negroes stunt of last week, why, it is the three retards/Downs or whatever it is. A perp favorite is to add halfwits into the gangstalking mix, but all the more curious they needed three at once.

Another Unfavored/freakshow populations is blind folk; two together on the bus in this evening. Again, it is most curious why they are doubling or tripling the number of Unfavoreds/freaks at the same time.

While at the picnic table at lunchtime at the farm, a woman in a silver grey sedan pulls up and gets out in white pants and a brown coat. She is looking for certain kinds of potatoes, and I get dispatched to help out, wandering all over the coolers with the farmer's son in his red hoodie, looking for specific potato types, though I have no idea where they keep them all. And lo, if this woman isn't hanging over where my pack is kept by the doorway, and blocking egress to it. Which is exactly what my farm co-workers do too at other times. Funny how that "happens", again and again, just with a change of players.

A farm work day, though I am short on specifics, except to note that we had to re-process both carrots and potatoes this week. That is to say, they were in bins or were packed in 50 lb boxes respectively, and were put through the washing and grading for the second time. The farmer's wife told me that they had 100 tons of boxed potatoes that they couldn't sell as the buyers are annoyed that there is so much rot in the potatoes. Some of it is detectable to us graders on the conveyor line, but she also made it plain that her husband is in too much of a hurry to push the product through and not concerning himself enough with quality. More dysfunction on the farm, and I didn't dig any deeper on that one.

And lo, if the packed potatoes aren't being stored in the massive coolers at the other farm I worked at, 2008 to 03-2011, this year. Kind of interesting, these potatoes making the reverse circuit between the two farms I have worked at. And have I mentioned how the perps seem to be so interested in the provenance of food, and that they like to vary my food sources from time to time, making certain ones are unavailible? Many times.
A wrap to gto this blog posted, because if I don't, it will slide another week while keeping the day job as farmworker, or at least, to the end of October is what I am told.

I am staying at the First Feral Family house as my perp abetting mother has left for two weeks in the UK, my out of town brother unexpectedly accompanying her once they meet up in Vancouver, BC. And, almost needless to day, this house is the nexus of perp research and abuse, as whatever they discover here in the way of remotely assayed brain, psychic energies, EMF or whatever the fuck else they are studying me for (food intake, clothing fabrics and colors, associated noises with thoughts or actions etc.), is attempted to be applied elsewhere. Like earlier today, an accompaniment of red colored gangstalking vehicles with silver grey and mid-grey tones while driving my mother to the Victoria airport, then afterward, driving downtown to my place to drop off a new web-ordered coat that was at the FFF house, and pick up some of my regular food that was in my fridge and then drive back to the FFF where I am now typing this up. So what it seems is that they want me to have my usual and same (mostly) cuisine at the FFF house, and on the crockery that is here, some kind of Dutch pattern, bluish tinted with dark blue borders and a blue floral pattern in the center of plates, bowls etc. The perps go to no end of efforts to energetically quantify my interactions with food and beverages and what the colors convey to the food, then inside me, and wherever else it goes. So eating my usual cuisine in the FFF house is a HUGE advance for the perp's research, taking place to 9.5 years since they went beserk/overt on me in 04-2002. No doubt my farmworker colleagues will be all over me tomorrow, as in gangstalking at work, which is getting more ridiculous and blatant, like having the Asian male wander up to me, stand 2' away, go behind me a little more, dither about for another 10 seconds, and then wander off. It usued to be they would pretend to look for something or even make conversation to inject some relevance and a cover story as to what they were doing in my proximity on my lunch break, but no more. Blatant gangstalking and even looking foolish while doing it are part of the scene now.

What is also interesting is that they allowed me to eat basil for the first time this year, as it has always been a fond herbal staple for the aroma alone. And for "some reason" these quesadillas seem to rip open when handling them to reveal the basil. But for "some reason", (read, unabashed mind control) they didn't want me to have any basil until October this year, almost too late in the season to expect any. Some of it was put in the regular dish I eat for lunch and dinner, quesadillas with sprouted grain tortillas.

I stopped at the two grocery stores and Home Depot on the way back, and sure enough, the red dressed gangstalkers and staff were all about me, especially when at the checkout and making a financial transaction, a moment the perps dearly love to harass me over. Naturally, they were ready, with the prior customer purchasing mounds of ground beef, and other meats, (think red colors here), and some other red colored foods. And too, the red fleece vested gangstalker was there in the next checkout, getting the red out, as I term it. Fleece is now the prefered fabric for the gangstalkers, and even the MIB's are decked out in black fleece with soft black fabric arm and shoulder patches, save once, when an 1950's style MIB was on the bus with the black wide brimmed hat and the shaved eyebrows.

This is the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, so it was a little quieter out at the airport, but in tems of vehicular gangstalking, the perps were full measure for putting on many high hundreds, or even low thousands of gangstalking vehicles, injecting the red colors among silver-grey colored vehicles, though backing off on white colors. Instead, more mid-greys and black colored vehicles, and they were even "daring" enough to have a string of four vehicles, one lead red, a black, a mid-grey and a tailing red to ride beside me for much of the S. bound Hwy 17 into downtown (20 min.). They stuck on me like glue and made sure both lanes were plugged to stop me from getting ahead. And lo, if the perps didn't add an orange vehicle to accompany me for the last 10 minutes, in keeping with their big focus on carrot colors. Also, heavy on the motorcycles today too, the weather cooperating (ahem).

Time to get this posted and done for the week.

Sunday, October 02, 2011

Washing Potatoes in the Rain

A Monday, always a big perp event, this one different as I did not go to the First Feral Family house for a Sunday night stayover [cue dude and chick chatting outside my door in the hallway as I am about to listen to Lola Beltran]. Another all-important perp event is when and what I shave; it was legs last night, ordinarily a Saturday event, so one can see they decided to send me to work directly from leg shaving the night before instead of a day's layover at the FFF house where they of course get absolute pre-scripted cooperation from my mother. Obviously they want to test something related to shaving; here and to work, versus a prior here, day at the FFF house, and then a work day. Exciting moments in perp-dom indeed.

And all day rain nearly, and some four loads of potatoes were put through the conveyor and washed, then the culls and dirt balls were sorted out by yours truly. What one does for $10/hour, to serve the insane assholes who brought this abusive depravity on me in 04-2002. The sorting that I do takes place outside before the potatoes go inside the building to be graded and boxed. This must also be a big perp deal, these biological entities going over a conveyor from outside to inside, in keeping with their abiding and insane interest everytime I pass in and out of buildings with my coterie of Fuckwits in attendance and delaying and dithering if they can.

Another "treat" is that I am getting green colored flashes on this white web page which "happen" to be the identical color of the green potatoes, the culls that I sort out. The white potatoes get accepted, and if they have green on them they are rejected. This is from the potato being too close to the surface, and getting light, and developing cholorophyll. So yes, about four tonnes of potatoes went through the conveyor line today, the biggest potato wash-grade day ever.

Only about 50+ screaming  rage-ifications this morning; fucking me when attempting to grasp, fucking my ability to open packages and every move fucked and fraught over the breakfast routine

Second Fugliest Negro yet, "happens" to get on the morning bus, placing himself three seats from me. From there, it was freak fill-in gangstalking; two fatgirls and the Fugliest Fat Man again with a different hat on, a morning time regular on the next bus but who "happened" to arrive on this earlier one.

On the farm labor front, a carrots day; first picking in the field, then by machine, and then bagging them, a trial in perp abuse with carrots that just won't go in the bag, defying normal gravity oftentimes, to open up the opportunity for the supervisor to get on my case.

Home bound on the bus; a former farmworker, a negro woman who I spoke with a few times back in 2008, was seated opposite and pretending not to notice me for the entire trip, she getting on shortly after I did. She pulled this same stunt about two years ago, "happening" to walk past the bus stop and pretending not to notice me. Then the threadbare pants wearing babes were filled in around me, showing off their leg tans through their holed deans. I get it; negro with Caucasian babes with tans showing through the  holes in the front of their pants for more brown skin comparisons. We have only done 9.5 years of this insane bullshit.

A carrot day today, bagging them into 5lb bags after sorting through them for the better quality ones. Then out in the field for bunching them there, picking, bunching and hosing with water.

Carrot bagging tedium again; the freaking carrots will hang up in the bag when transferred from scale to bag with a tipping balance dish. And of course, we must keep them straight when in the bag, so this entails squeezing from each end while rolling the bag and gently dropping it some 4" onto the table. As orange is an Unfavored color, no end of effort is devoted to showing me this color, and that includes the pumpkins in bins 50' away, and outside. And of course I picked a lot of them too. The perps also get excited about the fact that I cut the stems using my Felco #7 secateurs versus the Mexican laborers just snapping them.

Other farm Fuckover activity was shiftless Fuckwit males hanging around the warehouse today, including one Fuckwit who arrived for my break and decided he needed to learn about the edibility of pumpkins. And lo, if he didn't answer his own question in this loopy conversation as I was seated near the pumpkins to be out in the warm sun. Just when I thought the Fuckwit was long gone, he comes back at me with a new question as I am in the doorway of warehouse. And have I not mentioned the perps are totally beserk when I pass through doorways into or out of buildings? And this Fuckwit pulls another one just so he makes sure I know this is a perp move. And why do these freaks seem to find me at the most inconvenient time?

A dapper negro woman on the bus this morning, and in her town coat and this funny toque-with-peak. she looked like the last person to be on the bus and made it plain by sitting side-saddle in the transverse seats, twisted to view the front of the bus with the seat facing the sidewalk. Within two stops another negro woman arrives and sits nearby, and then the dapper negro got off at the next stop. We are talking negro tag-team almost, though no seat-for-seat replacement like in times past.

09-30-2011 (Friday)
Appointment that counsellor couldn't make due to illness, so an extra hour to my credit, but of course the gangstalking freakshow was all over me as I exited the building. I took the bus to the First Feral Family house, and borrowed the vehicle to get my parcel from the UPS depot, the third such in a month. Yes, there are killer savings to be had at Sierra Trading Post, but some items in the first two parcels were decidedly perp planted notions, as I did not need them.

Then I helped my perp-abetting mother out taking a birthday cake to father in the care home, and he didn't know who I was, though I hadn't been there in months to see him, owing to work schedule changes.
Then to work with the supervisor climbing the wall of worry over not enough work etc. she did this the last time before I was laid off, so I can expect the same again in short order, even if they told me in early Sept. it was to the end of October.

My supposed co-workers were all over me, crossing where I stood, and in place before and after, and one in particular on the carrot bagging line was making sure I saw his back from 6" away. more of this extra tight choreography all day as it "happened".
A beserk load of gangstlaker in the bus, some 35+ headed in downtown on a Friday night at 1830h, ridiculous. And of course the freaks, beards, space-outs, curly haired and my next seat neighbor, by herself at the bus stop, and lo, if she doesn't meet up with her skinhead "partner" discussing couple things as to a new vehicle and other household items. I never had a couple meet on the bus before, but only "happenchancers", the Cheersing setups. And what a compaining B she was too.

A Saturday, and armed with my new monthly bus pass, something the perps screwed me on once, but not since, maybe 20 monthly passes in the past three years. But it is a big deal, this magnetic stripped object, and that it is also made of thin plastic, always an attraction to the perp wallet contents fucking games that have gone on in full measure since the Day of Infamy, 04-15-2002, when then made my life fucking hell by starting with a big blow-out faux police raid on my apartment.

And a sad day, the drop-dead gorgeous live-in girlfriend of the farmer's son is moving out on him, and I helped in the moving, organizing and placing her objects in the truck. Plus, I corralled the two Mexicans and the one Chinese helper, attempting to get English through to them with varying degrees of success. Frustrating at times, but not as bad as 40 min. into packing when the farmer's son informs me that this is to be a one truck trip, when it was three trips earlier this year. So... we had to haul out half of the stuff and repack the 5 tonne truck. The perps just love these re-work stunts, and I suppose this was pretty minor compared to how they might fuck a large construction project.

The couple lasted 5 months together and were still bickering as we moved her belongings. I learned from the drop dead gorgeous babe that this fighting had started since they moved in together. I had no idea, but as the farmer's son is not inclined to share much with anyone, no one knew until recent weeks. The farmer said that she was too much a Barbie Doll girl and wasn't the right kind of material for his son. Alas, as I came to learn afterward from someone else, the son's woes are consuming him, and I don't think any wife or near-wife is going to be able to help him. Said son is also disaffected with his family and in working on the farm, so I just don't know where this one is going. I am contained in a box all the time, but he has woes that the perps might be exploiting to make things much the same for him. Anyone know of a help line to call if you think someone is in danger of going postal?

I hoping to get laid off in the next week or two and not have to deal with these family feuds and the other prevaricational fuckery that my supervisor pulls off, that is also getting stranger than I am willing to live with for long. Only the big tab that I was forced to run up by the perps at Sierra Trading Post as I re-garment myself from all the sabotage and inadequate clothes of the past they had me wear. (Or else exploited the garment's design faults to then make it problematic). All part of the endless perp dicking around with what I wear, its color and the rest of it. Even new rain pants "failed" and the assholes stole the reciept off my desk to block me from taking them back last Febuary. So... new industrial strength foul weather rain pants are on order, the fourth order in the last six weeks when I desperately wanted to stop at two. When I read of the tales of confessed shopaholics I begin to understand that it might not all be self-generated/at fault. The perps like to grind their victims down various themes, and I suppose they are having me sample some of them, this being poorly supervised shopping, even if I get killer deals of over 50% off.

And the parcel delivery thing seems to be a big deal; one variant is to have me pick it up at UPS and bring it to my perp abetting mother's place, the First Feral Family house, and open it there. Two of the three parcels to date have had this reciept and unpacking arrangement. And to note, the FFF house is the site of the most perp intense activity so they can then attempt to replicate their remote energy assay gleanings there in all other locations that I frequent.

And as it was a different day in terms of farmwork, i.e. moving house, per above, the perps also decided to screw me out of having a normal morning, and had me get up only 20 min. ahead of the bus departure time. So.. no breakfast, shower, shave, all major considerations the perps seem to be still dealing with in terms of how it changes my energy signature in their remote monitoring and assay games. Only time enough to change, get my lunch ready for the day, and get out the door. And lo, if the bus wasn't 15 min. late, and my regular Saturday gangstalker dude was in place, now being unfriendly again. Fucking weird. And last week, he placed himself some 60' away from the bus stop, and 30' back of the corner where the #6 bus turns, looking down Fort St. But his travel bag was at the corner, some 30' away, visible from the bus stop. Today, he tailed me onto the bus and to the rear elevated platform to the rear 6-wide seat, and then sits two seats away, violating the unwritten rule of sitting as far away from other passengers as possible. Said Fuckwit has tailed me on other routes as well.

What's with these driving dudes who pull a U turn, pull into a parking stall and then get out in order to tail me W. bound for 80' into the apartment lobby? An E. Indian to boot, at about 2000h, dark then, two days ago. Then yesterday, after getting off the bus, wallking S. bound, a dude exits from a parked car, to do lead-ahead gangstalking for 30' in dusk onset conditions. Then tonight when dark, a dude does a high speed mid-street reverse turn, pulling into the driveway 30' ahead of me, then backs out, and roars off to replicate in reverse the route he arrived by. Not your average befuddled tourist driving while putzing.

Another laundry fuckover; the 7th floor washing machine didn't go through the spin cycle so I got to humpf the sopping wet bedsheets and towels to the 6th floor washing machine and start all over again. All to have the drying delayed so it occurs when on my 1000h coffee date/public gangstalker setup. Then to humpf the laundry back to the 7th floor to the larger dryer to get it dried on one load. It used to be that doing my laundry on another floor was enough, but now they want to split the laundering activity over two floors. Fucking insane. Then the drying rack that has a cloth fabric mesh to support drying clothes erupted with mold on it fabric, so I took it off and put it into the laundry too, after some stain removing Shout was applied. And lo, if the rack won't go back together, one screw hole too big and the other too small. More sabotage, and one that is very inconvenient as I use the drying rack each day for farmwork clothes drying.

A morning coffee with the farmwork colleague now at horticulture school. The same laconic smirk as always, and the sudden scripted end to the conversation, just as well. A freakshow all around me in the coffee shop as well. Why do they put on so many chinless wackos as gangstalkers?