Saturday, January 07, 2012

Old Stunts in a New Location

Time to do a regular blog where I have all day to natter and drop comments as the abuse is unloaded over the day. The last 8 weeks were very much in blogable limbo with taking an evening time job, using my perp abetting mother's vehicle each day to commute, then awakening at at her place and then attending to packing and getting myself moved out from the Victoria apartment that I resided in for almost four years, a relative adult lifetime record in terms of perp containment of my residence location. Much of the minimum wage income was to support the new-found "need" to order clothing and footwear from SierraTradingPost, the big discount web site, once mail order. Although I didn't intend it, I see I ended up with some ski-wear, "thinking" it was for the colder climes of this new-to-me town of Penticton, BC, where I about to start a full time, three month long, viticulture laborer course in two days. There is a downhill and cross country ski area some 40 km away, so perhaps I will end up with a ski-pal this winter. Sliding at speed on plastic boards on a frozen water surface just has to be a total perp created scene to remotely detect the earth's energetics and whatever else they are doing to TI's, and likely too, a larger covertly covered/surveilled population.

And yes, all the familiar gangstalking trappings are here too; the citizens of Penticton have been duly groomed on how to keeps one's mouth hanging open, course (or obstruct) around me, attempt to pass me on my right side and otherwise look stupid in public, especially when wearing shorts (in this colder clime), a red coat, hat or shoes. The vehicular gangstalking is in evidence, but not so heavy yet, allowing me to make sudden lane changes as I go about discovering the routes in town. Yesterday was my first full day here, and I did grocery shopping in three stores and visited at least four more to get the missing items this motel room needed, a dishes drain mat and a plug for the bathroom sink. These are regular harassment items that seem to be of substantial portent to the perps, and have also been problematic in past moves.

In the 2006 move, they had me chuck out the dishes drain mat when the movers prematurely fucked off on me after I had told them to wait because there were more boxes to be retrieved. And lo, if they hadn't taken off, leaving me the impossible choice to walk these boxes some 6 blocks as I was vehicle-less by then. So..., some of the items were left behind, and lo, if the usually locked garbage room door wasn't open, so I could chuck the heavy and awkward items into the dumpster, one of which was the dishes drain mat. And lo, if I didn't have a replacement purchased some month's previously, in some kind of imposed mindfuck fuge, noticed only post purchase of course. About six months ago at the Victoria Chelsea apartment location, the white nonporous dishes drain mat got too red colored, ostensibly from unremovable and over-active algae, that I replaced it with a translucent dishes drain mat. This one somehow remained algae impervious, and had a slightly steeper slope to it, but it was left behind in the packing, "thinking" that there would be one in the kitchenette of this motel unit. Alas, there wasn't, and the management hasn't been answering my phone calls, so it was more expeditious to purchase a cheap one from the dollar store. And so, a blue plastic dishes drain mate now, with a hump in the middle of it for crissakes, all to create water drainage ponding at each end of it. And I see it has a missing corner on it, an telekinetic eruption since I purchased it. And somehow I "forgot" all the past travails of the dishes drain mats of past locations and purchased this particular bright blue one. And one has to ask what is so important to the perps about dishes drain mats that they put me through this utter nonsense so often, but I cannot offer a definitive answer, except to note that they are totally beserk over the colors and materials of everything I see, touch, or is proximate.

Then there is the continuing hassle over drain plugs, a soft white rubber kind that I had to procure for the last apartment, somehow getting the size wrong and to go through the process twice in two days. Said white colored plug turned orangish in a few months, and stayed that way for the remaining near-four years. The new drain plug in the bathroom sink I aquired yesterday seems to work, and hasn't "gone wrong"  (read, sabotage) yet. The absence of a plug forced me into a disrupted shaving situation, running the water each time I applied the soaked face cloth to a new region in advance of shaving it. Only face and a frontal shave were done, the arms were not, an exception to this new "habit" started some six months ago. The last month has been one of shaving disruption, awakening at the FFF house and then going to my downtown apartment to shave there, in advance of undertaking packing duties. Needless to say, shaving has been a significant perp interest since they started the overt abuse in 04-2002, and no end of combinations and permutations of this normally daily occurence has been sufficient for them to back off on the stunts and games that attend shaving. l

Today was shaping up to be a shut-in day, but they did let me out just as a snowfall was coming on to visit the local greengrocer store and see if it make the grade in being considered for a regular visitation basis. No, it didn't, even if the gangstalking was removed. One blonde woman was on my ass for five reprise gangstalkings and they even put her doppelganger in the parking lot as I exited; same long black puffy down coat, same height and comportment as the one in the store whom I left behind. Simply stunning as to the lengths the assholes will go to.

Some perp planned unique arrangements in this motel unit that I am residing in; no one over top of me to make noise from above, a rare break in the action. But I notice that the downstairs wall sharing apartment dwellers have a knack for slamming their door to create a vibration that travels upwards to my feet while doing my morning time bathroom routine. The most unusual configuration of this motel unit is that it sits above a parking area directly below, and where vehicles can pass underneath. That my mother's vehicle sits below me under this floor as I type this is certainly par for the perps and their all-possible juxtaposition games, and it might save them running a vehicle into a building somewhere on their shitlist of human abuse games they seem to apply regularly.

And yesterday's hassle of attempting to get connected via the "free" (read, surveilled) wi-fi internet in this motel is still playing out. I had to make three trips to the LD store in town, the last in the evening to get a wi-fi adaptor as they screwed me into "thinking" that a wi-fi router was the needed item. A call to Netgear, after some inquisition on my part, determined that I had the wrong device altogether. I got the router from Newegg, and today when considering a return, why, the RMA process links have been removed from my web page, so I cannot return it. As it was a $80 purchase, I am roundly pissed that the assholes put me through the inanity of getting the wrong device, supported with incorrect graphics and product descriptions, and now are obstructing me in attempting to get it returned.

And I see a little local "activity" in the form of an accident, and timed the same of me driving to this new town, though S. of my route by 30 miles or so. Why, a boulder came down a cliff and smacked the vehicle, narrowly missing the occupants. Yep, more coincidences, in the form of rocks-human interaction, this time in the thought-to-be safe world of a moving vehicle. And surely the murder rate will also increase too, another form of getting localized blood samples in combination with the ground they once walked on.

Back to harassment reality; an attempt to watch the hockey game on TV tonight turned into a farce with outside loud mufflered vehicle noise ramping up to cause me to plug my ears. And we aren't talking about vehicles passing by, but ones that persist for five minutes straight, keeping the noisescape on for far longer than ever before. Same noise though, this town having muffler noise compatibility with the last town. Funny how muffler noise can erupt province wide, and too, coincidently erupt as I type this. Regular readers will know that there are no coincidences, along with readers of Dr. John C Lily and his determination of the Earth Coincidence Control Office. I still don't have a handle on just what it is that the perps are on about with coincidence orchestration.

And just like before, I get plenty of plasma and maser flashes, as in all the time, not even a second passes without extra conventional visual perturbations. In the last  6 weeks or so, the most unusual maser eruption was when doing the job orientation for the forest seedling nursery job, and after reading the supplied material, the boss addressed us, and worked through the items, and he seemingly "forgot" what the break times were, (6:30 and 9:30), and he said it was 9:00 and I knew this to be incorrect having read the document As this realization came on, why, a black 1/2" fuzzy maser ball came in from outside, through the insulated translucent plastic wall, just past the back of his head and then came towards me. As there were over 30 people assembled, one would think someone would mention it, or point at the maser ball as it took three seconds or so on its 50' path, but no.

And in keeping with the business owner gangstalking, on this same orientation shift the owner of the business came to "help", in his black ski-wear  of all things, and I saw him only once more there after (six weeks of M-F work).

An hour long phone call with one of my former farm worker colleagues tonight, she phoning me and complaining about her Mexican farm-worker pal bailing out on her, and not staying the night. Hmm, I don't think I am the right person to help her out, but all I know is that if someone is going strange on me I don't want them around any more. I wonder why the perps want me to be put through this, having someone go wierd on me for no seeming rational cause.

Back in the pre-overt harassment days of 1999 to 2002, Ms. C would pull these stunts, drama shows I called them, and had me bailing out on her; emotionally at least, and physically too if the arranged (in hindsight) conflict got too heated. We had our rows to be sure, and for the two or three seeming friends who managed to get me to tell them these tales, they each seemed to have a knowing smirk as I recounted her drama stunts. I couldn't figure that one out, though I did not have any idea then that this was all arranged and also these elicitations of me telling the story.

Anyhow, it is late, and I am going to call this one done for today.

No comments: