Saturday, July 21, 2012

Hiking Into the Thunderstorm

Some very strange dreams this morning, perp planted of course. Something to do with the former premier of this province, which is about he last thing I would dream about if uninvaded. Yoga this morning, and the contingent to move me somewhere else was in early so I didn't get my usual E side location. And the move-along thing again, which frequently breaks out (aka scripted and organized) in cinemas, theatres and now yoga classrooms. A couple came in late, he of the tattoos, and then myself and two others moved along in one direction so the blonde woman to my L ended up on top of my original location before the session started. A new instructor who walked the room and did demos wherever she was at the moment. She was the former owner of the business, and certainly knew her yoga and all things that go into the process from the student's perspective. The perps reverted back to their wobbling me when I was on one foot; last week they relented for the first time in five years and I was hoping this was the new trend. What did I say about how they like to arranged "dashed expectations"? As in all the time, these set-ups from disinfo shills as well as their planted notions.

And still in "shit refugee" status; a forced shit at the mall, and toilet probs arranged there again. Then off hiking  to Oliver to hike to McIntyre Bluff. some distant thunder and lightning, and as I neared the summit, why, the thunderstorm was on top of me. So...., within 100m of the summit, I put on my raingear and head back down. Still in my yoga shorts though, the tanned and near hairless waxed legs of last week stil look good.

It rained harder once I was back in my vehicle, and the perps were full value for misting up the windshield just as was to make a turn in the farm road. A hiking couple were nearby, and made the same corner ahead of me, as I waited for the windshield to clear. Funny how things are extra protracted or harassed at corners, or when changing direction.

As suspected, the perps had me put on more weight, now 197lb, up from 194lb last week. Why they need to puff me up like this is just insane, though I am sure it happens to far more people that would be aware of externally applied weight gain. I also suspect they added some 5lb to me since 01-2012, though I didn't have access to a scale then. Back in 2007 I reduced my lunch and dinners by half, and this had no bearing on my weight, even if I was working out twice a week. They have been planting the notion of liposuction for some 5 or more years, and had me purchase a book on it recently. As always, they like to start big plans and maintain no financial means to effect them.

Aren't roomies wonderful, especially when they call out for you through closed doors to offer something good, like these juicer and blender drinks that the raw foodist makes up? All to rouse me from a near sleep as a nap attack came on at 1730h, and I was just nodding off. An earlier stunt was to have her get in close to me under the excuse of needing to get at the cupboard that was behind me, as I was standing over the washing machine, untangling the just-laundered laundry, another perp trick of late. And how often have I mentioned that the perps find great interest in my and my laundry? About every other blog posting. And here we have the roomie-stalker making an excuse to look for something near me while dealing with the fuckery they pulled with my clothes at the washing machine.

Three days ago, this same roomie suddenly erupted for a 0500h get-up, to "join me" in the kitchen at that hour when he had been getting up at 0530h, if at all. The occasion of the event was that I was pouring the last of the ground coffee from the package into the coffee carafe instead of using a spoon. And that moment, at the end of a bagful of coffee, is a BIG DEAL for the perps, so of course they had their roomie-stalker get up early just for that, loiter around, make her own coffee and leave the Melita filter in the sink. Which a particular beef of mine, as she knowingly ties up the kitchen sink with her coffee-stalking games. I am finished breakfast before her, so I retrieve the Melita filter and coffee and put it on a plate on the counter. It just strikes me as totally fucking rude to unilaterally tie the sink up with one's mess in a shared kitchen and then take off. But of course I am expecting more rude outbreaks since 04-2002, when the Day of Insane Infamy came down on me with an invasion of lights, noise and unconventional physics in my apartment, along with some personnel later.

Vineyard work; manually topping the vines, and then tucking shoots in to stop them flopping into the aisle between the rows. A very productive site this is, as the shoots are growing at a considerable rate, more than other vineyards on other sites.

There are ongoing building construction projects from the E and S where I am working in the vineyard. As mentioned in past blogs, the sound of a hammer contacting wood about every second or so seems to be an awfully slow builder, nevermind being a quaint one who eschews pneumatic nailers. Somehow, this same noise and hammering rate erupts around all my farm jobs to date, from 2008 on. Often there is no visible project, though not the case here. I call these "tap attacks" for lack of a better term, as that seems to be the focus, this lethargic one hammer stroke per second or slower, unlike any builder I have known. And there has been building jobs around me nearly all my life; new school wings, lot infill next door, condo complexes and even a 50 storey office tower next to my former work in Seattle.

Then here this evening; the landlady tapping the wall underneath me in the NW bedroom as she now lives down there in the basement. And lo, when I have tea in the SE dining area, why, she is tapping the ceiling/floor under my feet. Can we say "without pretense of picture hanging" or whatever else it could be construed as? As in hounding the victim from below with prior knowledge of where the victim is? Besides, she never gets onto things like that, this place is Clutterville. There is even a picture that is awaiting hanging in this room for six weeks now, featuring dolphins, her favorite animal, after house cats and caged birds.

Post-reading a book outside at the table for 1.5 hours, plenty of noise like lawnmowers, screaming kids, and HD motorcycle noise. I finish up reading and start sharpening my hand pruners, and lo, if the same noises don't get louder while sharpening the pruners with a carbide scraper to pare down the cutting edge. And most odd that I "forgot" about this carbide scraping tool the last twice I was sharpening the pruners and a knife blade.

And more goodies arrived from my shopping binge I was made to go on about ten days ago. One being a new kitchen knife, a sankotu bladed knife, another item I have wanted for at least five years as I didn't have a good chopping knife, and made do with smaller ones. Funny how the perps promote the coveting of some items for years, and then suddenly the "need" comes on. This was a Wustof knife, of the same line when my mother bought a new knife for her kitchen after one somehow broke its weld. That was over  two years ago, and I was with her in the moderate sized kitchen store, and there had to be a gangstalker swarm of at least 40 of the assholes coursing about, my perp-abetting mother putting on the ditz and doing the standard harassment aiding stunts she suddenly took up when this insane abusive torture began.

The pots and lids games deserve a mention, as this is third time of three I have acquired a kitchenware pot on sale but without a lid. And so, like last time, I order a glass lid from the same kitchen supplies outfit. And I have no idea why they put me through this, as they don't let me cook with pots very often, just a frypan. And why ordering lids at least a year later after acquiring the pots in the first two. This latest round had a temporal interval of four months between pot and lid aquisition; I suppose one could call that progress for the perps, but as this nonsense has no apparent end use, what is the ultimate objective? But there have been other acquisitions which didn't make sense at the time, and lo, their use becomes manifest in new situation, months or years later.

While at work on the vineyard, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, aka IBS, and a forced visit to the washroom to relieve it and NO blocked toilet. Though, my co-worker champing on the bit to get into the bathroom after me. Funny how that "happens" here and at work.

Two nights in succession, I hear a male voice from the landlady's basement room below. As in who is it, and why so late. And of course she doesn't mention anything. More wierdness, and I have had my fill, but "somehow" the right place to rent doesn't come up

A day of tending to the vines in the hot weather; I am not complaining though, my never-before (harassment onset) abilities to withstand hot weather kept me going. In other words, my "wilting point" was much lower than it is now since the perps fixed (or control) it.

But they were up to their shit games, and after two hours of irritable bowel, they had me take another shit at the owner's house, and lo, if they didn't plug the toilet this time. It is the secong plugging, and I was surprised they didn't pull this stunt yesterday. It was a low volume dump, same as yesterday, and there is no way it should of plugged up. And the same deal; my co-worker arrives just as I am exiting the adjacent room. Like WTF; how could these forced craps at the owner's house, the first in over four weeks, be suddenly accompanied by my co-worker arriving just after I finished, two days in succession? Like I have said, it is all orchestrated IMHO.

Aircraft encirclement when on the deck reading this evening; two 180 degree turns by the same helicopter, a business jet for one flyby, and a Cessna doing three noisy 180 degree turns overhead. And the "tapping attacks" late in the day, about 1900h, as if I needed a reminder having heard it for most of the day at the vineyard. Not only that, but further replications of the vineyard neighborhood locally; the back lane residential neighbor starting a cement mixing project at 2100h, including a load of loose sand in a red truck with red canopy. The E adjacent neighbor was pounding the ground and seeming to be driving in stakes for some obscure reason, yet to be determined. As if I don't get enough of this at work, with the adjacent vineyard building a three bay garage and shop.

No bowel assaults today, as they have the toilet at the vineyard still backed up. Having a plugged toilet for days on end is a big deal for the perps, and so they gave me relief from the daily bowels/shit games of this week and last week. Nice of them don't you think?

And the "tap attacks" were still in progress today, though only from the S. direction where a much bigger project is in progress, a three bay garage and storage building, surely $100k worth. This way, not only concrete trucks, but soil and gravel hauling trucks, and a crane today -raising the roof trusses.

A sequence of the hotrod muffler noise also goes for 20 minutes of my first hour of working in the vineyard, part of the predictable noise occurences.

The adjacent farm propane cannon fires less now, maybe 3x/hour instead of 20x per hour. And now timed to the moment I prune a vine shoot with my Felco pruners or have a thought that is resonant with my perceptions. I say "my", as I am sure it is planted, but the instant I agree with the thought, it being relevant and true, the cannon fires off. The propane cannon is to ostensibly to prevent birds from feeding on nearby orchard crops, part of the agricultural pest management.

The E. Indian alterations shop woman seemed relieved that she was finished with dealing with me and the double zipper that malfunctioned. In the past, I could never figure out why people were so happy when it was time for me to depart, but it all make sense now, given that a malevolent entity orchestrates every interaction that I have with anybody.

A strange toilet conversation with the male vineyard owner; "what part of it do you think is blocked?". This from a trained engineer for crissakes.

A bigtime thunderstorm as I finish up work on a row of tucking and hedging vines. Only spatters of rain when I finished up thankfully, as I had my shorts on to get my legs tanned all the more. I see the vineyard worker some 80m away at another vineyard is down to shorts only. The same vineyard has a small backhoe back again, digging along the ridge of a small hill. And masers coming off the digger and soil coming at me too. The perps have no end of need to display soil of various colors and sources, and I suppose they are working on a 80m distance presently. Which might fit in with their need to have me take commercial flights of late, this distance dependent "need" again, all the way up to 30k ft. By the end of the third week of August I will have made three trips (flights) from Kelowna to Victoria, nonstop.

A nap attack of 1.5 hours after playing the first four songs of  "Fumbling Toward Ecstacy" for the first time, having recieved the CD in the mail earlier. Whatever "stuff" that was in the music/CD, they wanted me to be more neurally accessible by having me sleep so they could find its neural energetic correlates. Or, perhaps if there was no "stuff" in the CD, it could be they wanted some kind of first listening experience they wanted to find or look at.

And it could well be that I get a different copy of the CD than regular folk, so who knows what the perps are up to when sending me into a 1.5 hour long "nap attack" at 1700h, the least likely time that I would ever have a nap in normal circumstances. Besides which, they had me clogged and fogged for the rest of the evening in the incessant rain that followed the thunderstorm. I didn't need the nap anyhow, as I was getting sufficient sleep all week.

07-21-2013, Saturday
A 10 hour sleep overnight, again, not needing it; 8 hours a night is normal, and besides, that nap attack of yesterday should of kept me current with my sleep needs.

No work today, per normal schedule, and still an adjustment after the last four years of farm jobs that went 6 or 7 days/week. I usually went 6 days per week, and then attended to all manner of loose ends at the First Feral Family house, as there were always things to do. Or, the perps would create extra ones, like the deer invasion, and having me erect steel mesh or chicken wire to create defenses or to protect individual crops or plants. And the perps do like to have wire mesh selectively arranged in various places and circumstances.

Much downstairs pounding and clunking when finishing up on the infuriating process of creating an RMA (Returned Materials Aurthorization -fancy for returning warrantied goods) for a PC hard drive, yet again. I got drives with five year warranties last time (2009), and the perps are making sure they get full value by breaking or damaging them.  These are WD "Caviar" drives and said to be the best for durability, and lo, if this isn't the second one of the batch of four that I got in 2009. And adding those plus an apparent "failure"; as it "happened" to be a cable to the WD drive that seemed like the drive at first. Another one of those FUD-E fakeouts (FUD = Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt, and the E, added for this ten year true life horror story only, is for Error- the perps just love to create mistaken cause determinations). Pronounced as "Fuddy", as in Fuddy Duddies, another name for the Supreme Psychopaths of the Fourth Reich or whatever else one has for the THEMs.

And they didn't make it easy to create an RMA either, scrambling me as to whether I had an existing account and password, then screwing me around with an incorrect address that I could not fix no matter the multiple submissions I made. A 5 minute no-brainer exercise becomes a 15 minute abusive cognitive screwover with infuriating quirks of the online forms. Add in spurious error messages, erroneous error messages, no error messages, cognitive clobbering and the rest of the mind-fuck games, and it becomes an infuriating but orchestrated hell. Every possible thing, from opening a page of a book and anything more complex than that becomes an onerous undertaking that begets loathing from the outset, and usually infuriation along with it.

That I was drinking Limonata, a yellow citrus carbonated beverage, at the same time of the above stinking non-audible rage show (RMA creation) which is surely calculated as part of the perp games. Surely they have covertly monitored someone doing the same by now.

Anothe "shit refugee" visit to the mall, this time having no choice as to the stall as they had two occupied and one shitted up. They even changed out one of my co-shitting stall neighbors to get three of them in concurrent defecation mode. Plus, I had muzak playing in the background, lots of banter from the adjacent hallway, and even a whistling bathroom user. Come to think of it, it makes perfect sense to start this "shit refugee" status, as how else would they control/increase the background noise/music so consistently and have concurrent shit-stalkers?

And a 5x skinhead reprising gangstalker on my ass for the above visit; passing by (2x) to the bathroom, he "shows up" twice more when I was in the LD store next, and he did no shopping there, and is there to lead me out of the mall into the bright sunlight. If I don't like the sight of certain people, aka the Unfavored (skinheads as one of the many such demographic groups), I don't see why it is a 10+ year long relentless and psychopathically abusive and staged whole life Fuckover show to find out why I don't like them. I just don't like the sight of male bald heads, and I don't know why either. And no doubt it might have something to do with the 3 years of childhood that have been deleted from my recall, (1956 to 1960), where the depredators would know what I saw, and thereby having exclusive knowledge of my experiences then. As I spent two years in Montreal then, and other abuse victims from Dr. Ewan Cameron's Mind Trashing Experiments (see The Sleep Room), report that experimental subjects were shaved of all head hair, and had tattoos to delineate regions or persistent reference marks. And I don't like tattoos one bit either, and of course that too is a significant gangstalker subpopulation of the Unfavored demographic groups.

An eruption of roomie noise and the caged birds as I pay three bills online. Seemingly trivial events, but as I get noise/gangstalked at every financial transaction of every kind (e.g. mailed check, online, coin machine, bus fare etc.), it is important to the Thems. Now the roomie, a raw foodist, launched into juicing, so the energetics of plant pulping get added to this psychic (and/or other) energy mix.

And no doubt the recent months' spending spree was detailed into Quicken, that too is exciting for the perps and their financial transaction stalking interest. How about leaving me the fuck alone, as I have been abused enough, don't you think?

Another malingering male at the counter ahead of me at the sewing alterations shop. This was the occasion of retrieving my fixed briefcase, the one that had a double zipper malfunction at the conventionally unlikely onset of short term college training course, two years apart. Get it?

And in this roomie house, it was putting up a clothesline that became a three person project, the raw foodist heavy on the dumbshit suggestions. My ex was like this, and every so often I get stuck with someone who plants incessant stupid ideas. Now, the dumbshit idea role goes to the raw foodist roomie. And she had her big hair cut down to near butch proportions; many regular stalkers get radical hair cuts from time to time. I have no idea why, except it serves some kind of scale-proportion quest the perps obsess about.

A wind-up for Saturday, and I will post this though the perps won't let me review it all.


Anonymous said...

did you see my comment?

AJH said...

Answer to: "did you see my comment?"

No, I didn't; it didn't arrive or else was intercepted.