Sunday, April 08, 2012

New Vehicle

Much intensified vehicular gangstalking today, not to mention the Fuckwit dude who tailed me from 12" behind me going out of the bank with the certified check in hand, and when I increased my pace, the asshole did too. It doesn't get any more fucking obvious than that. And as regular readers will know, I get hounded, harassed, and otherwise fucked with every financial transaction I make, from coin-op laundry machines, bus fare and everything on up. As I haven't purchased a vehicle since 1992, the assholes have gone extra beserk because this is a relatively  rare event for me, being kept in penury as I am. That is, made to do farm work for minimum wage rates, and only seasonal jobs at that. But as my perp-abetting mother is giving me the money to get a vehicle, so off we go, looking for farm work, hopefully vineyard work, having spent three months taking viticulture classes, and somehow not getting a job when other classmates did when I had four years of farmwork experience. (They had none).

And to no surprise, the vehicle color is in keeping with the perp's ongoing obsession over in keeping me around greyscale colors, a metallic mid-grey instead of silver-grey of the last vehicle I owned until 2006. Not that my earning power is greater, but the prospects are, or at least, I hope. So vehicle ownership was forbidden for six years, and now they up the grey color content to play whatever fucking games they do. I cannot imagine the extensive perp machinations that must of gone on for the past six years for them to now allow victim vehicle (me) ownership again. They must be confident about something. But, it seems we are far from done, as is abusive harassment from the Fourth Reich.

And extra clusters of the reds, as in red colored vehicles since arriving back in the Gangstalking Capital of Canada, Victoria, British Columbia, a week ago, on 03-31-2012. Sometimes four identical red colored vehicles in file, or in clusters of 2x2, or else in more converging games, three arriving from different directions and crossing paths. It has been going on every day, almost every intersection.

And today was so special for the perps they even arranged me to have my mouth agape for an hour, getting my teeth professionally cleaned, and then having the dentist also go over my teeth too. Much touching of course, and much listening to the female dental hygeinist's nattering, though I could not reply anywhere as near as I would of had her tools not been in my mouth. She with a face mask on all the time, in professional keeping with her vocation.

Not forgetting, another very big day in perp fuckery, Sept. 11, 2001; they also had arranged a dental appointment that day too. I was phoned and told not to come to work (in a tall building in Seattle), and later drove up the I5 to Everett to get my teeth cleaned that day. I returned to Seattle to hang with my then girlfriend for the evening, watching and commenting on the tragic news that day. Interesting too, the day of the Nisqually Earthquake in Seattle, I was on the phone to the same dentist office in Everett. Enough of the conspiratorial insinuations, but if you follow this blog, you will know that there are absolutely NO coincidences in my life given the gangstalking and harassment coverage I get.

And too, car ownership was concluded in protracted fashion, though over one day. A morning time trip to a truck mechanic's place for them to check it over, and waiting and then talking to them over 1.5 hours. Then it was too late to conclude the vehicle purchase deal, so off to the dentist's, per above. Then a social coffee with my homely Fat Girl farm worker colleague who has an unerring ability to show up for big perp events, (e.g. last year's negro gangstalking at the daffodil farm). I had to eat by then, as the dentist appointment was at noon, so just after 30 min. of flouride treatment, why, a brown nut bar with my dark brown coffee. The  afternoon coffee was on the balcony of a buzzy part of town, and lo, if the freak parade wasn't on show; red-headeds, redcoats, skinhead, dudes smiling to themselves at length and even the odd babe to heighten my attention. The balcony was mostly empty, but was slowly filled in by other Unfavoreds, and they even triple-shifted the one table with Fuckwit Unfavoreds that  was directly aligned behind my farmworker "pal". Also, the dude banter around me slowly ramped up. After 40 minutes or so, it was off to conclude the deal, though that took some extra time, as "somehow", the insurance agent's computer locked up and I had to re-register, providing the same information again, at the next desk with another homely woman. Battle of the homely women it seemed, once the talkative, attractive, blonde, Galician dental hygienist was done with me, per above.

Much to do at the First Feral Family house; weeding and otherwise cutting or perturbing plant material is always a big deal for the perps, and of course, running after me with landscape and horticulture vehicles with loads of cut plant material in a pickup box or trailer. This was evident from the very start, going back to April 2002, and here they are still at it.

And too, the neighborhood noise cranks up when I am out weeding at the FFF house; lawnmower noise, STRATCOM (B-52) overflights (3/hour or more), floatplane aircraft and only a few helicopters. Not to mention kiddies playing and screaming next door, leafblower whine (vortex forces) etc. When in the front yard, why, the pit-lamping headlights start up, the loud mufflered vehicles careen around the bend outside, (how did that "happen", being on a bend, surely the perps' most favorite place along with turning corners to up the harassment noise/activity?),  and even a stop-by from a former neighbor. He stopped by me as I was pulling dandelions from the lawn outside, called me by my name, and I had no idea who was in this silver pickup truck. I approached the vehicle, and he called out his name, and at once I knew this person as a former neighbor. He was about four years older than me back in my high school days, and already had launched himself into the military, or maybe it was the reserves. About five years later, when on a forestry crew, we stopped by at another crew we did not know, and lo, he was there. He spent his career in the Ministry of Forests, though I never encountered him there for the 15 years I worked there. We exchanged updates on where we were in life/careers; I mentioned that "externally imposed forces" drove me out of employment when in It in Seattle, and he looked at me, widening his eyes, as if he didn't know. And per usual, he didn't ask, thereby aligning himself with the Psychopathic Fourth Reich (aka perps), who uniformly have everyone I encounter, save a few, who don't ask much about the harassment hints that I drop. They just don't want to know, play dumb, or even as in the case of at least six 1979 forestry college classmates, look at me, or look the other way (in public), and don't appear to have changed their appearance any more than five years since graduation.

As for me, going back to the neighborhood stop-by mentioned above, I never would of recognized him, as I last saw him in 1980 or so, and here he was in short white hair, puffy faced and that typical 60's y.o. look. As indicated above, no one mentions the obvious, that I look 40 at the most though some lines under my eyes came out about two years ago, and I know for sure they came in when I was 33 or so. So, again, the most obvious thing is that I have had age regression applied to me, and yet no one mentions a thing, not even family, nor those who (apparently) haven't seen me for over 30 years. Go figure.

A screwover in the morning, awakening late, and getting stiffed for a 10 hour sleep when I didn't need it. This caused the morning's activities to be delayed, and that meant visiting a certain specialty tool shop that has become a favorite gangstalking setup. And with my perp-abetting mother accompanying me, it was an all out vehicular swarm on a Easter Saturday at 1030h, and lo, if there wasn't a full house of gangstalking Fuckwits in place in the store when we arrived. The gut strut, the rabelous dude, the big hat, the Fat Girls, the kinky haired, the red-headed, brown skinned and others of the Unfavored tailed my ass back and forth and sideways. Curiously, they didn't swarm the single take-a-number queue, which is what they usually do there, even with half as many gangstalking personnel in place. Naturally, in this abusive, traumatic and unconventionally curcumscribed existence, extra noise and activity around me while undertaking a financial transaction was part of this particular Fuckover experience.

One of the big deals was to set me up to look at landscape fabric in the roll, as it "somehow" wasn't on display, and when brought from the stockroom, why, my mother decided she didn't need it. That was the only item of hers on the shopping list, the rest were mine, and that included two configurations of the sub-micron carbide blade sharpeners from the same company. These are the latest in knife and blade sharpening, as they scrape the steel off to sharpen the blade, rather than abrade it with ceramic or diamond stones/files. And I have mentioned many times that the perps have an insane obsession over blade and steel edge sharpening, so this is just the latest installment. The prior installment was back in 10-2011 when they had me purchase three grades of 3x8" diamond honing stones, and to date, I haven't used them. They were kept in a PVC plastic case with foam padding that I also had to get at the same specialty tool store, and have been sitting in my mother's crawl space along with the belongings that I did not take to Penticton in January to start the vititculture course.

The perp's obsession over steel, metals, sharpening, abrading edges, planing wood with steel blades, rotary steel cutting tools and down to the cutlery that I use is most persistent as it is curious. Naturally, at this FFF house, I use the cutlery, and it is a polyglot of silver plated, stainless steel and other steels that serves to offer them a huge variety of metal-food-human interaction that they so desperately experiment with all the time. Naturally, sharpening my mother's knives yesterday for the first time in years, (some of them), was a big deal, replete with STRATCOM B-52 noise that somehow crept inside, along with my mother doing concurrent plastic bag rustling that is also another insane perp hallmark.

And strange impositions since I got here last week, on the shaving front. Suddenly, I didn't have a "need" to do my usual full frontal shave each morning, and after four mornings, I was allowed to do a never-before half torso shave. Then today, three days later, I was allowed to do the bottom half with a new razor insert. Don't ask me why the perps are so freaking nuts over me shaving, but that is the way it has been for almost ten years, which includes forcing me to not shave some mornings, like before yesterday's trip to the specialty tool store. I suspect that dragging the teflon rub strip on the razor blade insert is part of their insane fuckery, as there are no end of Gortex anorak gangstalkers about, and Gortex is a teflon membrane. Go figure. That, and the back, ass and legs waxing job I "needed", 04-03-2012 as a seeming warm-up to the vehicle purchase, 04-05-2012.

I will post this now, in keeping with the weekly format, and it seems this current FFF -Victoria pattern will continue for at least five more days before I head back to vineyard country.

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