Sunday, November 25, 2012

Staged Micromangement

The perps didn't let me sleep a wink last night; or that is how it seemed as they often mess with me as to my perceptions of sleep loss. I got to hear the upstairs duo return from being away, about midnight or so. Overhead floorboards squeaking again, woo-hoo. Sleep deprivation is their way of keeping me at the same energy level as the day before, and it usually occurs on a Monday, which this is.

I was perturbing the chemical ether; PVC pipe gluing, the very first time since 2000 when I owned a small farm. The assholes had me put in over 600' of 2" PVC pipe on my farm property in 1997 to 2001, including changing the water supply line to the house, and it took me a long time to pay that off. Then they fucked the irrigation system for the acre of kiwi fruit, so I had to repair that over many weeks, and after harvest, they had me eat the fruit. And now, over eleven years later, they permit me to putz with PVC glue and pipe to make up some parts for racking wine at the winery I work at.

I did PVC gluing this morning, putting irrigation pipe together to make it hang from the rim of the tank, one in 1/2" and another in 3/4". I finished the gluing when both the owners in uncharacteristic togetherness, arrived in the garage, cum winery where I was. She filtered out within a minute or two, and the male boss man got all cranky over stirring the lees of the Pinot Blanc wine (batonnage technique) after giving me carte blanche creative freedom for winemaking last week. I answered all his cranky micromanagement questions about winemaking, and as he didn't have any leverage there, he then got cranked about the incomplete to-list items from last week that he phoned into his wife, who told me. And the reason they didn't get done is that they were incomplete instructions; transfer the contents of this wine barrel (containing vinegar). Like WTF; to where, do you want to keep it, do you want it racked, the barrel cleaned and the wine/vinegar put back in or what? Only this week, and when he was in person, was I getting some clarity, and now four days later he still doesn't know what he want to do with the barrel. And it was getting stupid; filter the wine/vinegar and then he will decide. Like WTF; taste it first and decide if it is keepable, and if it is, then filter it. Just a bee under his bonnet to crank the angst after having me polluting/perturbing the chemical ether with the PVC solvent and glue. Fucking weird.

And the helicopter noise came on big after lunch when returning to gluing up more PVC pipe. It was raining and blowing all day, but as the airport, some two miles away, has a helicopter pilot training school, why, they "happen" to be out at the most perp demanded moments.

Toilet games again; a 2.5 day long blockage over the weekend finally surged down last night (Sunday), and then a sudden "need" to crap this morning and it wasn't very much, and lo, if it didn't somehow block the toilet again. Then more compounding games, a forced shit tonight after bailing it out and dumping the relatively clean (Liquid Plumber rich) contents down the bathtub drain. The toilet blocking games continue apace for some reason. Maybe because it is the last two weeks at this residence location. I have been through about a gallon of Liquid Plumber Pro these past 2.5 months. They blocked the toilet within two minutes of moving in back in August.

And to take this story back over 10.5 years ago, when a high tech home invasion began with plasma beams, masers, knock-down flashes, teleportational objects followed by personnel who blocked the toilet. The most curious thing was that I let the Fuckwit do it. And so, taking a crap is a huge stressor because there is a 90% chance it may get blocked, they plaster extra shit on my ass, and other continued abusive intrigues with the plunger.

Yesterday's yoga at 0930h (Sunday) was another ridiculous crush of 25 or more in the room. As the perps seem to be ramping up the nattering dudes of late, before and after the class, as well as increasing the male voice component of the music while the class is in progress. They let one dude (the Prime Hinderer) recount how odd it was that so many are attending yoga class on Sunday mornings. Well, duh; there was only another 5 or 6 students in the class in the summer this year, and now it has erupted into 25 because it is orchestrated and scripted. You don't have the belabor the obvious for me, but they do it all the time.

I see the native Indian delegation of five in the recent yoga classes didn't come, and the numbers were made up by all Caucasians. Even the tattoo count around me was lowered, partly because the native Indians weren't there, and because the Caucasian women around me were selected for their minimal tattoos; L side had a 1.5" tattoo on her ankle, and that was about it. The woman with the horrific set of tattoos down her arm and onto her shoulder and chest wasn't there thank goodness; she has moved from being in the line of sight in the mirror, to 10' away, then only doing the tattoo strut after class to not being there at all. I have launched into this rant many times, but if I don't like the look of tattoos, and think they are a disgusting infliction and disfigurement, I don't understand why I should be hounded by senseless abusers for over ten years over two countries and the 15 places they have had me stay (so far). Go fuck your own operatives, have them get tattoos, you don't need me. Just to think, WWII German concentration camp victims were tattooed, and could that of been in the services of the same abusers who won't declare their intent, and yet can manipulate persons, circumstances and objects by remote means?

And here is a good one; the busiest hospital in British Columbia got flooded by burst water main today. And as the perps chase me with ambulances, and just love to flick water around me, it just might be the tattoo gang again.

A putz day at work for the most part, the boss' diversions still coming at me. A vinegar brew in his barrel,  and we are talking since last year. Somehow, he thinks he can clean the barrel out and continue to use it for good wine.

The PVC pipe and glueing follies continue. The hardware store that didn't have the 1/2" unions on the weekend but had them late yesterday (Monday), and the 3/4" unions that I had two of were now sold out as of this morning. Which is exactly opposite to the weekend when there, and the only two sizes of interest. And the boss who took the 3/4" pipe union I gave him yesterday as a shopping sample, somehow lost it even before he departed he said. So he went into town to get another, among his other chores, and didn't return with one I supplied. And these parts are manufacturer dependent for fitting; the two grey colored ones, 1/2" and 3/4" unions he got yesterday, didn't fit and he left them on the bench rather than return them. And it wasn't the only return for these parts; they stung me with two 3/4" unions from the same manufacturer that didn't fit each other because one was threaded and one wasn't. Got all that? Ever more bizarre plumbing part problems nowadays. (FYI; a pipe union is a pipe fitting that allows one to assemble or disassemble pipe with finger tightness; good for swapping pipe pieces in or out).

The perps have a constant interest in PVC, especially as it is the kind of pipe that is used for irrigation and drinking water delivery. Back then, I often wondered why there would be a sudden influx of males at the local irrigation supply shop, and I just could not fathom why it repeated no matter what time I arrived on Saturdays (usually).

I was sacked for a two hour needless nap on the couch after supper. Then directed to start laundry, only to find the landlady's laundry remaining in the washing machine. Then onto the near five day continous blocked toilet, and a big bowl full was duly arranged, defying plunging. The plunger had to be cleaned off in the bathtub, and lo, if they didn't have me chase it with a forced piss. The 1960's avocado green bathtub continues to be of significant color interest to the perps.

They had me get a new 2 liter jug of Liquid Plumber after work, and so it would seem that they want to continue the toilet-shit games with a new jug. Swapping toilet paper in mid-shit happens far more than by chance, and it isn't a huge logical extension to expect them to do the same with Liquid Plumber, their latest toilet interest.

Besides, I just purchased the Liquid Plumber today, and the local hardware chain was at half speed for gangstalking, not their usual level there. Another all-time first was that the cashier tailed me out the store to the doorway, with some seeming excuse as to putting their faux money in a charity bin. And this was after the putzing in getting the till running, swapping out trays and the rest of the extra ridiculousness over their intense and abiding interest in all my financial transactions.

A round of Liquid Plumber last night, and lo, if the toilet didn't surge by itself a few minutes later in a vortex eruption. Still looking blocked, it got some of the latest Liquid Plumber (just purchased), and cleared this morning. Never mind what the inside of the bowl looked like, but a sudden noise from overhead when it was cleaned.

I got a sacked for an hour long nap after dinner, the second in three days. They like you to know it was deep and still tiring when awakened afterward.

More games at the winery; two 1/2" fittings did not connect; the barbed fitting was 17.5mm, when 1/2" is 12.5mm. Then they had me get the wrong part, a male fitting when I wanted a female fitting, and so it goes, another trip to the big box hardware store.

A call to my farm worker colleague tonight; she was talking up that I would be moving next week, and said "at least you will have privacy". Like WTF: here I am invaded down to every last thought of every last cell (it seems), and most "participants" know much more about this abuse than me, especially if involved with it for multiple year interactions, and now telling me that I have privacy. Of course I wasn't allowed to think that at the moment, and only after the phone call was I allowed to consider what a ludicrous statement that was. That is how it goes; not even allowed to think and integrate information by one's own faculties.

An half hour of gluing PVC pipe pieces together, then digging over a vegetable garden for an hour, and then racking the red wine. Just as I had everything set up outside for wine transfer, why, a low flying helicopter comes over, following the power lines that border the vineyard property where I work. I would say it was as low as 100' or less from where I was, maybe 20' above the powerline. All to greet me before I set about pumping the red wine from a tank to a bin, hosing the tank out, and then back again into the tank. A yellow AS 350 with some blue detail, a helicopter I have seen before at the Ironman Triathalon in August, 2012, and it had a knack of finding me in the crowds there. Funny that.

Then the wine pumping got sabotaged as the pump wasn't drawing wine, and after some frantic re-jigging the line by taking out the coarse filter it did work. Though by then, I attached the vinyl hose to the outside of the PVC stem I had built this week, serving as a stiff rod to contain the flippy and curl-prone vinyl hose. So in fact, the wine traveled beside the white PVC stem instead of in it. Thanks a bunch assholes.

The drive to and from from work is still going with its one lane closures; alternating traffic only. The line up behind me always has the vehicle behind by some two or three vehicle lengths, as if my vehicle, or me, is toxic (which it might be). Where as, all the other vehicles behind them are tightly grouped. And today it was extra headlights in my face, and even an amazing contrivance of having one dump truck ahead dumping while the one behind was arranged to have its headlights beaming underneath the raised dumper, but over the chassis. I now routinely get headlights aimed at me as I enter or depart my vehicle or places of business. Even Fuckwits in vehicles outside this house for some strange reason have their headlights aimed at me when I arrive, turn around, and back into the driveway. So many wierds just sitting in their vehicles in parking lots with their headlights on. I call it pit-lamping, and I don't need any more attention than I have, so fuck yourselves.

And while coursing the one lane egress where they are blasting senseless amounts of rock when the road was plenty wide to begin with, an female roadside worker (seemingly), in discussion with male colleague (Cheersing), steps into the single through lane about 20' in front of me, and the male told the female (apparently) that a vehicle (me) was coming, and she stepped back. All to raise my momentary angst, have me stare and swear at the Fuckwit that pretended to be so nonchalant about imperiling themselves, never mind the driver inconvenience. That takes planning to be that (seemingly) fucking stupid on an active road construction job, and to be so nonchalant about it. Never mind that I "happened" to be the lead vehicle in the group let through, as the school bus ahead of me was let through and I wasn't. And as I was going some 30kph (slow), there wasn't any screeching tires, though I had begun to brake. The Fuckwit dudes in the pickup behind somehow arranged to be at least 100' behind, as normally the traffic is only one or two car lengths apart.

And I see the pic I took of the helicopter today mysteriously disappeared from my camera, but leaving the one after it as the only one taken. Another thanks to the assholes is due.

Got sacked for another nap attack; two hours worth. And they like to dish it out; I first awoke from the nap after an hour, and was too tired to get up and so I put my head down, and poof, there went another hour.

Not much happening at work, so I left at noon. The wine lab test results didn't come in, as I was hoping to find out if the MLF (malolactic fermentation) was complete.

The toilet was blocked again as of last night and resists treatment. So off to the mall to take a crap, and were they all over me, en route, and there, gangstalking that is. The hinderers were busy stepping into my intended path and coming from around corners right at me. One loopy elder dude even had his tongue sideways in his lips; most perverse.

An all day course yesterday, Introduction to Winemaking Chemistry. Yes, it was interesting and beneficial. The toilet games ended too, and a sinus cold started up last night. Another remotely invoked incursion as I have come to know it. The yoga class/crush will be in an hour. I was going to switch to Wednesday evening but had a "nap attack" then this past week

The yoga class size was reduced for some reason, about 15 or so. The native Indian delegation was absent again, but the proximate tattoo count was up. A new woman had them on her R shoulder and L calf to her ankle, a cluster of sense trees. Gross it was, and the perps made sure I looked at it much more that I would of myself.

And too, it was Fat Girls again, with the Prime Hinderer dude coughing the very instant I set my eyes on another wallowing Fat Girl. Said dude was directly behind me by 8' or so, the first time they have put any male near me at this orchestrated yoga class. And the Prime Hinderer was doing it again; standing in front of the coat rack, blocking my egress and pretending not to notice. That he pulls this shit off at least once per yoga class, either on arrival or departure, and it defies any kind of happen-chance occurrence.

Then onto the big box store to finish up on getting some pieces of pipe for the winery I work at. This time it was a turbaned gangstalker, doing three reprise gangstalkings in his revolting headgear. The supposed sales person finally made it, though talking to the turban first, and then me some 20' away in the same aisle. I had a question for the sales person, and so we went to the customer service desk to look at the books that describe the particular hose. The perps, by way of my boss, have been on the rag over hoses; finding out about food grade hose, beverage hose, and of course, above PVC pipe gluing activity.

I get to the checkout area of this box hardware store, and one checkout has two apparent service reps leaning or sitting on this one checkout counter. The cashier was there too, and I asked if she was open. She said yes, and only then did the two apparent sales reps get off their asses and allow me to proceed to this checkout. Naturally, per past perp games, they were occupying the very turf that I had to stand on to pay for the goods. And have I not mentioned how many times the perps go extra berserk, noisy, or invoke other disruption methods (messing up the debit card reader being one), whenever I make a financial transaction of any kind; coin machine, bus fare coin box/card reader, mailed check, cash transaction, return transaction all invite extra perp fuckery. This was clear from the very start these assholes landed on me in 04-2002. How could (apparent) retail store staff be so legitimately rude, and seemingly jointly spaced out, as to block customer egress to the cashiers and make themselves to be so oblivious about it? There is no plausible explanation IMHO; this dude-stalking abuse, especially at financial transaction moments, is so obvious and consistent that it has to be orchestrated by operatives of the Psychopathic Fuckover Force (ECCO (Earth Coincidence Control Organization), The Thems, or whatever term one uses). Said hardware store is a Canadian chain that  starts with R and ends with A, and is a whole four letters long. An abuse abetting organization as a four letter word.

And just when I want to disengage with the landlady, why, she turns on the woe-is-me act and has me doing gardening again. She seriously pissed me off in October, to the point of calling this rental situation done. And yet she wants me back to house sit etc. And of course they have me respond "yes" when she is a thankless grim minded bag that is most adroit at mixing fact and fiction; the central reason as to why I am moving after only three months here, my shortest tenancy ever.

And why do I get these clever fact and fiction mix artists all the time? The ex was one, 20 years worth, Ms. C of the story was another, and some since, and now this landlady, easily 230lb, and in keeping with belonging to multiple Unfavored demographic groups (fat, ugly).

I shall post this before the weekend is over.

No comments: