Friday, November 11, 2011

Shorter Work Days

This a Monday, and following a stayover at the First Feral Family house last night, brings on all kinds of extra harassment, noise and strange behaviours of others. It was a rare 0900h start, as normally farm work begins at 0800h, or when berry  picking is on, as early as 0600h. And it was most strange that my four co-workers, including my supervisor, were wandering around in a semi-daze and not seemingly knowing what job to do. I pitched in and helped on bin repairs and then onto clean up, as the place is in semi-chaos most times. After a half hour of this, and no one telling me what to do, the potato washing job was on, and so I was on the outside after the washing to remove reject potatoes. These were from a 40' wide and 8' high mountain of potatoes that I had been clambering on four days ago to pull the huge blue plastic tarp over them as the one in place had split for some strange reason. Not every day does one clamber a small mountain of potatoes, but it seemed it was up to me at the time as my co-workers had "faded out", seeming to lack intitiave to get this job done as we were all pulling in different directions at the time.

Anyhow, one ton per truck load, and three truckloads on the day, quitting at 1540h, also unusually early. But as the work seems to be less, despite the boss saying that I could "have as much work as I wanted" last week. The topic of work, or lack thereof, is a big perp theme that has been consistent for the past 9 years or more. I have no idea what this is about exactly, but it may have some connection with the present day recession and the rampant job losses over the past three years. Don't know, and I don't understand why these significant themes are such a consistent perp issue.

Still on with shorter work days, starting at 0900h. We didn't have enough time to complete the last run of potatoes for washing so we packed it in at 1530h, same as yesterday. Hmm... but with an extra hour of light in the morning why didn't we start at 0800h, the usual daily start time? I don't ask these obvious questions anymore.

Mainly, the job was potato washing of a truckload (one ton or so) the large mound (per above), as  it seems this is the only activity on the farm, apart from repairs. Many of these potatoes are green, getting chlorophyll from being too close to the ground surface in this freakish delayed season this year. And a perp "insight" (read planted thought) was that the greenish tones were to emulate skintones of the green men I might have seen during the memory blanked years, 1956-59. Well so what; I don't know why the perps are on this green color binge of late, but it too seems to be a featured enough to suggest that it too might be an Unfavored color. Which begs the question, what color isn't Unfavored? Blues for sure, maybe violets and purples. Ask the Men In Black Fleece as the current day MIB's dress.

Two days ago it was a run of white potatoes that had plenty of rot in them, black and brown tones, and lo, if the perps didn't plant the notion that it was skintones of certain Unfavored races. Another so what as far as I am concerned.

A different set of freaks on the bus of course, taking it at 0815h, instead of an hour earlier. This is the kids and parents run, in keeping with the perps' insane need to plant children around me, sometimes going to absurd lengths. e.g three year olds on the bus at 1930h when they should be in bed.

That didn't stop them planting a negro woman next to me and her child on the bus this morning, my first weekday bus trip at this later 0815h time. (Yesterday I came from the First Feral Family house via vehicle).

And it is the perp season/current initiative to have me make typing mistakes and adding incorrect digits into my credit card number when making online transactions. An online transaction triggered a call from the firm to get the credit card number correct, and lo, if the incorrect digits weren't the very same ones they messed with when making an online transaction the next night. Exciting times in Perp Subjugation Unit.

Other perp sponsored activity has been to re-start me at the tanning salon, the last time I was there was August followed by some outdoor tanning. So... two gangstalkers were hot on my tail when I went in, and presumably they tanned in other rooms in parallel. Then to the LD store following tannign where they put on a male gangstalker on his blue cell phone handling the very chocolate I was going to purchase.He took a single bar ahead of me and then I picked a larger quantity as it was on sale. This dude was on his second reprise gangstalking, and I was also treated to the same ponytailed male apparent staff member in the same aisle doing the same thing (stocking the toilet paper) in the same location two weeks ago. I suppose, in the perp's world, there is an continuing after-effect from being under the tanning lights, and they wish to capitalize on it when I make a financial transaction following tanning. They also put on their best babe cashier at the LD store, I haven't seen her for at least six months or more. Then a cute and adoring babe in the elevator and so marks the opening salvo of tanning salon activity in winter. Soon, the thuggy dudes, freaks and other Unfavoreds will be populating the gangstalking scene following tanning.

And a blast from the past, one of the swim club members I knew until 1999 "happened" to stop by at the farm, but he was looking for the chicken farm down the road, with the same surname. And lo, if the assholes didn't totally blank me out as to what his name was, though he knew mine, and he didn't offer his, even when it was clear that I "forgot". So... I spent the next potato washing/sorting hour trying to think what his name was, or more like, the perps were dropping names into mind and I was rejecting them until some hours later when I was allowed to know it. Such are the travesties of living in a total mind-fuck environment. I had spoken to him many times, had visited his house as part of a swim club social, and even had a tour of his pottery operation, and somehow I got totally blanked out. Needless to say I am totally pissed at this cognitive incursion.

And what is it about the perps they need to fuck me over as to meeting deadlines? I applied for a three month Viticulture course at a college, and they sent me an email which indicated a letter was to come, and then I get it six days later and lo, if they didn't spring a deadline of Nov. 14, 2011 for admissions requirements documentation, aka transcripts. As Nov. 11 is a national holiday, and it occurs on a Friday, one can sense there aren't many business days between now and deadline, (writing this in the evening). So, on with getting the transcripts sent by courier, and even at that, they promise 3 to 5 days with courier service. I might make the deadline for both transcripts sources, but I had to re-submit one request to have courier delivery, "forgetting" about the national holiday, and that Nov. 14 follows on the Monday. And it seems to me that no real mail, save flyers, ever gets delivered on a Monday. One stream of cluelessness added on top of another, and all of it perp created and managed.

Finally the farm work nonsense was ended today, partly by my instignation as the farmer's wife, and farm administrator, "happened" to come by after lunch when all five of us farm workers were milling about and  wondering what the next job was as the farmer had taken off without giving us any direction. Or, at least, that is how it seemed, though one can be sure this was all stage managed to some extent, though some of the dialog and communications might not be totally scripted. Hard to tell.

We had just finished the last of the washing and grading of the mound of potatoes (per above) before lunch and that was all it seemed there was to do. The farmer did finally show up 10 minutes later and then got into an angry retort with his wife beside me, and I had to explain what he said in part because I had heard his same angry rant a few days ago. Later she told me that this outfit that won't purchase his carrots (50 tons of them) due to seeming new corporate buying interconnections accounts for 90% of their carrot sales. Ouch.

As I was talking to the farmer's wife about payday and the no apparent work or work plan, the others slowly slid out and by the time I got back to where the potato washing equipement was, why, there were all stationed in their places and ready to go with a new load of potatoes that were going to be re-washed by dumping them from their boxes. Like WTF; how did everyone know about this new job for the next few hours when there wasn't any apparent communication? Same thing in the morning at the end of coffee break; the Asian guy gives me a scoop shovel and says we have to help the loading of the potatoes where the farmer was loading the truck up with the tractor loader shovel at the potato mound. As we had bee working from this pile for the previous two days, just the farmer operating the shovel, how was it that our help was needed and how did it get communicated as they were some 100' apart? Like always, I contend that my entire life circumstances down to the last microsecond are scripted and the players all seem to know somehow without any apparent conventional human communication methods and over any distance.

The early afternoon consisted of me dumping four pallet loads of 50lb boxes (1,500lb) of nugget potatoes onto the conveyor line. Some were rotten, shrivelled or disfigured, so the concept was to run them through the washing tumblers and to the inspection station at the end, with no interim inspection like usual. And so when I began the task, the farmer's pal was 30' away in his red vehicle with the headlights trained on me for five minutes waiting for the farmer so they could go on a their odd drive-arounds that they usually do, kind of like mobile coffee breaks. The instructions were to dump them on the conveyor in a pile and let the washing tumbler even out the flow. And as these are small potatoes, there are many more in a 50lb box, so the inspection effort is substantially greater, per potato. It seemed that we were ramming them through again, not applying significantly more quality inspection which created the problem in the first place. And then the re-washed potatoes were put back in the emptied boxes, replete with mould and slimy potato remains, all to reinfect the just washed (and wet) potatoes. Doesn't make any sense to me, if one expects a better quality outcome, but as we have being doing this for various potato varieties and grades for the past month, it wasn't out of the ordinary. Though when one applies the perp perspective, who just love to have work re-done, it make somewhat more sense. The only difference this time was that any hope for better scrutiny and inspection was nonexistent due to the small potatoes that were in much more significant quantity. All too strange for me to consider this activity in economic terms, so there must be a perp rationale behind all of this seeming potato processing inanity.

A busy day, and always a big perp event when transitioning from one lifestyle (working) to another (now, not working). And it started early, sometime when they had me jerk off sometime around 0200h, coming out of a sleep for the event, and really not wanting to complete. I get two to four ot these a year, with minimum sensation, so it is more comparable to "remotely influenced mastabatory rape" than a response to any kind of imposed horniness. That brought on getting up early (by their doing) to attend to laundry before intending to head out at 0930h. And at least 15 rage-fication stunts this morning over the smallest of events; teleporting crumb inundations, sending me to the wrong cupboard or drawer, have me open a cupboard or fridge and stand there dumbstruck because they deleted my intention from mind, and a few other regular games to rile me up. One can be sure it is a big perp day when the rile me up in the morning.

Then the assholes screwed me out of getting the bus, by running it two minutes early and temporarily  pre-empting the bus stop I was walking toward by arranging a crane truck on the sidewalk that was lifting stacks of drywall up some four stories. So in other words, the assholes double fucked me over getting my intended bus; running it early (very uncharacteristic for the N. boung #27, 28 routes) and then arranging the bus stop to be unavailible and also pinching down the adjacent three lanes down to one with the ubiquitous dayglo flag girl.

That wasn't the end of overhead boom trucks/cranes, a very common gangstalking arrangement. No sir, there were at least three more such jobs on my travels today, not only constricting traffic down to one alternating lane, and never less than two boom trucks together, as that seems to be the minimum as of 2004 or so. The perps cannot get enough human activity close to the powerlines it seems, and arranged when I come by.

the bus to the First Feral Family house begat my freakshow as usual, this morning's star freak was the slouching dude in the red hat and the red pants and white top who later removed it to reveal a slightly differing red T-shirt underneath. It is just fucking hilarious to be hounded with red dressed freaks and fuckwits for nine years. But that abominable color arrangement wasn't the worst of it, as he was seriously tattoo-ed on his arms and neck. So.. I got to look at the freakshow out the window instead. Regular readers will know that I loathe the sight of tattoos, and the perps like to chase me down with gangstalkers with such self-mutilation features. Eyewitness reports from the 1950's place the infamous Dr. Cameron in Montreal examining "patients", (nonconsenual human experimentation subjects, including children) who had bald heads and tattoos on them to provide repeatable reference points on their heads. And of course regular readers will also know about the placement of male (nearly always) bald heads, aka skinheads, around me as part of the gangstalking milieu/parade. I too was in Montreal as a child  1956 to 1959, aged 2 to 5, and most of my recall has been wiped out from then by some means. Funny how I never, ever remember to ask my mother about what happened to me then and where I was,- mind control writ large IMHO.

I got my negro gangstalker on the bus again and they hid him mostly behind the lower deck bulkhead, and he even put on headphones over his head to limit the amount of his frizzy hair that I could see at once. And to touch on another Unfavored demographic feature, I now find tight or loose curly hair abominable to look at. And lo, if their aren't pics of military personnel stuffing negro, Caucasian and blind children in cages in the mid to late 1950's on the Indian Lake Project site.

And it was a big event for laundry over the day. Once I dropped off my mother at her dental appointment I took her vehicle to my place to drop off three new towels that had been laundered at least five times at her place to drive the lint out. Going back, I took the three regular towels (two of which that were laundered this morning) to get laundered at my mother's place as there is some residual scuzz on them I cannot get off in this apartment building washing machines. Then onto the farm to get the last of my work clothes and gumboots, only to find the three Punjabis that I work with were continuing working. That is how it goes in Fuckover World, getting the shaft every which way.

Then back at my mother's place I handwashed the breathable Blue Storm rainpants, then pre-soaked the fleece vest that I had kept at the farm. Back to pick my mother up at the dentist, along with the traffic constrictions and boom trucks along the route, and then to dine out for lunch. It was dishy blonde babe waitress time again, and I can never get enough of that. (Because they like to intialize me with such Favoreds, and then slowly filter in the dudes around me, this time it was two parties of cyclists, four in all. This restuarant is about the most unlikely place a cyclist would go for lunch, so it was mildy amusing to see these Fuckwits so out of place).

I took my towels to the FFF house to get them laundered as there was a sheen of brown scuzz that I cannot get off. Said towels were in my duffel bag that I took on the homebound bus later, and it was another absurdity of gangstalking excess; over 30 passengers heading into downtown at 1730h on the #27 route. The biggest freak was the Fuckwit with the bald head that was covered with a ball cap, but even in side view one could see that his head was extensively tattoo-ed. At least they put an interesting looking babe in front of me, the dude-force that normally encircles me is getting most tiresome.

On the bus I got the backpack shove, the asshole next to me pretending not to notice that his backpack that he wore was contacting me. Been there, done that, only a few days earlier.

Day of the elevens, and here, Rememberance Day, akin to Veteran's Day, a national holiday. And in this controlled existence I lead, I went out for coffee with the former farm laborer co-worker who goes the extra mile to cover my tracks, working at the same places that I have, and with a seeming perfect confluence of life activities/conditions going on that the perps like; skin condition, divorce, debt, job firings etc. Currently she is taking a 9 month horticulture course, attempting to get job oriented training in her mid-thirties. I sometimes wonder if she isn't a morphover a certain (in)famous woman who seems to show up with regularity in the planted thought stream (and seen twice). And of all things, she came with cleavage showing, a never-seen-before appearence, way outside her comfort range as known to date.

And what might of been the events prior to going out for coffee with this obvious perp abettor? I started using my new towels last night, and this morning. The use of towels are a big perp harassment subject, and their propensity to spread lint onto all the other laundry is near legend for me. They are the same color of off-white as the last set, now duly stored in the closet after getting a more thorough laundering at my mother's yesterday. The new towels were laundered some six times to drive off their linting habit, and have been kept at my mothers for over four weeks.

Other perp prep for me this morning was to have me shave my legs last night, when normally I do this on Saturday nights and never on Thursdays until yesterday. My bedsheets that were laundered yesterday were slept on last night without benefit of any bedclothes, also an exceptiopn. The entire sleep/matress/ bedsheets color and laundered state is always a big perp consideration.

At the cafe:  the "backup" stunt with the person in the next table with her back some 18" away and she and her party were speaking sign language for the most part. Which makes this interesting, as they were having a conversation simultaneously, but silently. Which suggests the perps are working on determining the neural/psychic energies devoted to words and concepts, separate from the aural component.

A vacuum cleaner outside my door on a this statutory holiday; fucking absurd for the little they clean this apartment building. But it is not the first time the vacuum cleaner stalking has erupted outside my door, or when I am in the hallway. One building arranged a 20% chance of there being a vacuum cleaning job for me to encounter on my way to my apartment.

And Songbird, a free open source music player is crashing in an unusual way; the tiles/windows are interleaved with other concurrent Windows applications.

Perverse news: Obama Barrack has teleported to Mars. I wouldn't be too surprised if this is true, from my dealing with telportations all the time in the form of missing objects, food crumbs (or even half teaspoon blobs) arriving from nowhere in front of me, and the daily litany of imposed adverse fuckery I am exposed to.

I am going to post this now, as blogs will be more a daily reportage, as there is plenty of spare time as no more farm work.

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