Sunday, September 06, 2015

A Triathlete Comes for Yoga

Yoga, and what a sight it was. Firstly though, the perps pulled a scab or otherwise inflicted me with some minor bloodletting on my shin just before class. Once class had begun, the assholes then caused it bleed again after I thought it was staunched with finger pressure. But no, they wanted more blood so I excused myself to get a band-aid from the front desk outside the practice room. I was attending to this when a man in a full-body suit, including his head but not his face, rushes past and enters the practice room. And not just any stretch fabric suit. but a tight and streamlined all over and in a reflective silver sheen with random red patterns printed on it. In 1996 while at a Oracle conference I witnessed on the streets in San Francisco a clothed man painted entirely in silver colored paint, including his skin. This freak in the yoga room was comparable as that a once in a lifetime all-out painted freak.

About a minute later I get the band aid applied and the wound staunched and I entered the practice room and this tight silver fabric covered freak was on my yoga mat with the instructor motioning him to take his own mat that was pulled from the shared mats. The obvious question was why was he on my mat when he grabbed a shared mat at the entrance and laid it down 2' from my own mat? I don't expect an answer to that. And to add insult to injury, the silver skinned freak placed his mat so he would be exactly in my sight line to the instructor. This lead me to view her in the adjacent glass mirror for most of the class, which I am sure is what the perps wanted. And it did not go unnoticed that the instructor's mat was not in the center at the front, but offset some 6' from her normal position to accomplish this line of sight blocking with the utter freak.

And to add this this curiosity, the class was scheduled at the same time there was a the Penticton Challenge Triathlon dinner only a half block away. Not that any athletes would go dressed in their presumed race clothing, as I attended this dinner two years ago when my visiting brother, and Challenge participant, gave me a free ticket for the dinner. Never in my life, such as it is, have I ever seen such an misplaced bizarre freak as this mat squatter, save for the silver painted man walking on the street in San Francisco (1996) when attending the Oracle Open World conference.

I finished power washing the picking bins today; that would be four days worth, though I had other tasks to do. The perps love power washing for some reason, and all the better they can mess with the victim by taking his hand off the trigger anytime they want. There was at least 10 of these incursions a day while doing power washing. As part of the process I rotate the bins that are on one side so I can get to the side that was sitting on the ground to wash it. At the same time I get the upper inside, now vertical, to wash it too as it is easier to access. And in washing on this second pass, three bins in succession, why, my hand somehow let off the trigger as soon as I started on the new vertical inside panel (formerly horizontal at the top). Funny how that happens, har, har.

And of course the perps continue to exploit my vision as I have my old prescription which does not have the close-in (far sighted) focusing. Often times I rest the glasses to my forehead so I can read or otherwise see close. Other times I don't bother, say, when an object is reasonably familiar (e.g. dinner) and I don't need to inspect it. What the perps get from this variable object focusing I have no idea, but it seems to be a big deal. And of course too, seeing an object out of focus with my glasses on and then without brings them no end of nonconsensual experimental joy.

And 2015 is the Year of Permissible Salads on this nonconsensual gig. Almost every day of the week, where last year it was one per week at most. Mind you there isn't a whole lot of variability as I cut up cooked chicken, a regular staple since 2003 when I was allowed to live on my own. I would make the cooked chicken go into quesadillas on most meals, and then I would use it for my protein salad ingredient. All that stopped in 2006, and apart from First Feral Family offerings, I didn't make salads at all until 2014, and even then, on a limited basis, less than 3x/month. That changed when at the First Feral Family house over Christmas 2014 when my perp abetting mother was giving me salads almost every day for three weeks. I thought it most curious, and now in 2015, and especially since May, I have had salads most days of the week.

Also in contention for perp authorized diet change is eating eggs. Back in 2001, before this assault went berserk/overt the assholes turned me off eggs as it seemed I was getting some kind of reaction that wasn't making me feel all that well. After they went berserk/overt in 04-2002 I would be allowed eggs at the hospital, duly clustered among the gangstalking "patients", and eggs did not have a deleterious effect. Anyhow, I remained turned off them, and it is only two (responsible and relevant) books in 2015 that "encouraged" me (read mind controlled victim) to eat eggs again. And of course, no adverse reaction even if I have two in an omelet.

I finished a Saturday of vineyard work at the alternate employer. It was cool and windy, with the Testalinden Forest Fire still burning in places on the opposite side of the valley. I had a turbaned partner on the other side of the row for half the morning, he of Punjabi decent and the orange turban matched the orange detail on his brown runners. On this theme last week, when finishing up and ready to drive home, why, a two tone brown pickup drives up beside me (parked off the road), and a turbaned Punjabi male rolls down the window to ask me if "our people had gone home yet?" My answer was "yes", as they had just done so, and he drove off ahead of me. Orange on brown again, three tones of the latter, his skin and the two on his pickup truck. The shenanigans the perps must go through over vehicle colors, both at the auto manufacturing plant and in arranging the phalanxes of gangstalking vehicles.

Speaking of brown, a pig-out on Nutella yesterday and today, and I was totally disgusted in getting made to eat hydrogenated fats, aka "modified palm oil". The Nutella solution to getting trans fats out of the public eye is to change the product ingredient description. As long time readers will know, the perps have an abiding interest in fat consumption, and presumably lipid biogenesis. All those years of low fat diets are coming into disrepute because fat ingestion does not make one overweight the experts are saying. And for my efforts of getting rid of trans fats in my diet 30 years ago, and now regularly consuming coconut oil, I get stiffed with the Nutella-for-a-song price at the LD store and worse yet, eat too much of it in one sitting. I feel violated.

More power washing today, but this time it was my own vehicle at the much gangstalked car wash. Then a run down the highway for 20 minutes to dry the car off, and what a huge gangstalk traffic train it was in both directions. I almost got the split-couple treatment, he on a motorcycle (two wheel) and she on a three wheel motorcycle, matching colors of vehicles, helmets and garments, the whole over-the-top yuppie look. I say "almost" because at no time did my vehicle pass between them as they were sticking very close to each other and made lane changes exactly together. The same couple came to stalk me on these same vehicles some 5 months ago when exiting the woods after a hike on a more remote paved road. The split couple gangstalking tactic is known for ambulatory couples who somehow coordinate themselves, often at the last second to leave me with no alternate path but to pass between them. And of course I have no idea how much this "happened" before the perps went berserk/overt in 04-2002 as they were so very discreet about this. Now that I am in gangstalk hell, they have given themselves permission to do this with impunity.

 Anyhow, I am going to post this Sunday night PDT, knowing that I will likely have little to say after a shut-in day of waxing and cleaning my vehicle for the winter ahead.

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