04-21-2020
I don't know exactly what they did, but they pulled me into a nasty dullified day yesterday. All meds were the same, and no seeming reason. They pulled a nearly no sleep stunt the night before, but those never have any deleterious effect strangely. I say "strangely" because it was normal to feel tired and weary if one has little sleep, but since all this came down 04-2002, and their sleep interference fuckery agenda/methods became so frequent, they never let me tire on days on no little sleep. This could go on for three days, and I wouldn't tire until it suddenly came on where it suited them, usually my parked vehicle. Today, the passing traffic road noise at the vineyard job was increased and was highly annoying. My motor skill fuckery was increased, messing up how I use my fingers, always a sure rage-ification harassment. After lunch they gave me a little lift, though it wore off by 1600h and I was still dulled down well into the evening.
04-22-2020
The gangstalking fuckery has got a little more silly, very possibly because of the new "social distancing" required. They planted a multi-Unfavored outside LD; male over 30, white hair, oversized fugly shorts, large gut, red sweater and a pointless spread legged stance. (That is six Unfavored features wrapped up in this one stalker,- well done). I almost always get Fuckwit stalkers at building and store entrances, and upon entry he was standing in the doorway in this peculiar stance talking to another male. Yes, the planted Fuckwits, as in plural, with their time worn excuse (public "chance conversations") to hang there and look stupid and obvious. Except that these cats chose to "forget" it is Covid-19 "social distancing" (2m) days and stand and chat at a normal 0.4m (18") at the store entry. Fucking rude to begin with by diverting public egress, and all the more galling that us plebians are supposed to comply while these Fuckwits get a bye. (I reckon I was 1.2m close to them as I passed by). I spent some 10 to 15 minutes in the store as I got held up with getting my Rx, as well as circumventing the brown stalkers when I was getting near the chocolate section. (Chocolate, aka Vitamin C, is a major food group for me). So when I exit the store, why, this spread-stanced male Fuckwit is still there, in precisely the same egress blocking location, but his chatting pal was absent. And he was looking at his feet momentarily as I glanced, as if he was checking that he was still in the exact same spot, facing the same direction. FFS, who, especially in these Covid-19 Social Distancing Dogma Days, stands at a store entrance so everyone has to pass by them closer than the prescribed 2m (either side), in this absurd and uncomfortable spread legged stance, in exactly in the same location for over 10 minutes? Only a Psychopathic Fuckwit Gangstalker IMHO.
And the gangstalking Fuckwits seem to be more on my ass at every turn now since their Covid-19 operation started. (I cannot imagine that they would not of had something to do with its release and timing as well as "crisis" response). While they may not be getting enough close-to-me stalking opportunities as in the past, they have made up for it by upping the obvious coverage. The last visit to LD three days ago was like a full-on freak show, and they didn't let up. This last visit was akin to this one; pick up the Rx, buy chocolate, and get the fuck out.
Even this last visit begat this disgusting stalker oaf of at least 300lb (obesity is highly Unfavored) in a black outfit wandering around and making that he didn't know where to go. And ensuring I had two unforgettable sightings of this horrendous creature.
04-28-2020
Another Monday passes, (yesterday) and yet again I "found" myself in a deep blue funk in the latter part of the day. I was working on vines at a former employer as he needs me and the normal full time employer doesn't. All legit in the latter case, as the vines are tied down, the irrigation repairs are done, and bud break is just on, so any further vine work will be in two to three weeks. (More below). Normally, if there is such a thing in such abnormal circumstances, I don't get these deep blue funks, so perhaps they are gunning me with some irradiative methods to accomplish this. Such blue funks have occured in the long past, even before the fateful life-invasion of 04-2002 when this abuse-athon began. Yesterday at about 1400h this came on, which was timed to when my ADD Rx meds roll off. And it didn't help that I had zero sleep the night before, another Psychopath delivered specialty, per above.
Again, "normally" I don't suffer any from their imposed sleep deprivations, which would go for three days in the year following 04-2002, and felt just fine without the sleep. Since then, their sleep deprivations have been limited to one-nighters, and almost without fail I have never suffered from subsequent tiredness or any other ill effect, including mood issues. But it seems they aren't going to let me get away with such benefits any more, as they now use their imposed sleep deprivation as an excuse to feel terrible the next day, or latter part, in this case. Or perhaps this is their way to tell me that I need to start a new round of medication for whatever purposes that serves for them. We shall see.
For the record, I rarely had any sleep issues before these assholes invaded and have imposed their ruination and abusive methods upon me. Which is why if there are any sleep disruptions, I automatically assign it to their fuckery.
Another calling card of starting a new gig or at a new location, is that it gets disrupted in such a way that my co-workers are busy working while I am elsewhere. This is so consistent with the Psychopath's working habits of removing me from an activity or commitment early on, e.g. doctor's appointments etc. One can count of this "happening" withing the first week or two. This time it is the second day of this gig, and the circumstances are also somewhat contrived. I had a new windshield install appointment for last week, and the day before I get a call to postpone the installation as the replacement windshield was found to be broken at the warehouse. So, the appointment was rescheduled for the next week, two days into the new gig. Funny how that "happens".
The regular employer had a notion I was going to return to Vineyard "K" where the highly aggressive dog resides, and to complement the problem, the owner does nothing or worse, e.g. letting it out to find me. The employer said, "give the owner another chance", and I said that incident of March 8 was his last chance (his fourth), and I am not going back there. I subsequently engaged in a lot of back a forthing with another employer, and the phone company didn't help in delaying communication with their new hidden method of turning longer texts into a "multimedia message", (even if just text) which translated (twice) means it gets converted to "data", which translated, means that it is sent via a different channel (I assume). I just don't get this cell phone system management and why they must semantically screw everything up; voice, text, pictures etc. are all data FFS. And yet they draw these firm distinctions between voice, texts etc. and then if too long or big, unilaterally cut them off and arbitrarily call them "data". And to make matters worse, present it as if the text message was sent when it wasn't, all because "Mobile Data" was turned off. And of course I turn it off as no end of unsolicited data is going back and forth, even to the point of some kind of charges for something in the night when I am sleeping (truly). (Cell phones are constantly powered unlike a desktop computer). Never mind them selling cell phones and getting memory and storage terminology blended together. It just drives me silly, and it is worse than dumbing it down, it is purposely confusing, aka FUD-ifying
Back the employer above; after the March 8 dog/vineyard owner incident, I asked him to call the dog owner/vineyard owner and ask why the dog was let out uncontrolled. The owner didn't call back for three days, and finally offered my employer a vague excuse I am told. I wanted to know where this owner is coming from, where his head is at, and why he engaged in a outrageously provocative act given the prior history of last year. And I get nothing, so it wasn't resolved. I was working in the pruning and tie-downs then, and finished the job last week, which then begs the question as to what I do next. My employer didn't have a plan, except to send me to Vineyard K, saying to give the owner another chance, per above. How fucking lame-assed is that, never mind letting this issue fester for another 5 weeks until I addressed it (because only Vineyard K work remained). I was looking for another full time vineyard gig all the while, but nothing came up save my former employer, a mixed situation. So I suppose it is another summer of flitting between employers and vineyards, something the perps also love; do the same thing elsewhere. On top of their long standing game of fuckery of having things go wrong, so the same thing gets done again (if possible, for a non-destructive task).
I suppose I have read too many forward thinking business books and magazines in the past, e.g. Fast Company. In an employment or relationship situation, one work's the issue through to resolve it, so it doesn't continue or fester. But no, in the case of my regular employer he doesn't say shit about what transpired on the phone call until I ask, and he didn't ask why the dog/vineyard owner let the fucking dog out again when there was plenty of prior arrangement. This long running squalid subterfuge behavior again. My brother called me about that time, and I told him the story, and he said launch a workplace harassment claim. I hadn't thought of that and I might just do it.
And I should know that issue resolution protraction/diversion games from the ex; I cannot think of any significant issue that got satisfactorily resolved between us. Always a "just enough" solution to paste over, or feel good, but nothing of permanent substance. So could issue resolution obstruction be yet another Psychopath objective, such that the same issue goes around, and around? Probably, given their long term habit of fuckery to cause re-work, as well as accomplishment obstruction and protracting annoyance and angst, I would have to say yes, unequivocally.
Anyhow, enough ranting on the particulars of the last three weeks and the escalated idiocy and its continuance.
Onto Covid-19 and the apparent causal SARS variant virus. Have we been had? Seems so, especially doctors from many countries are saying the same thing; every sparrow that falls is getting assigned to Covid-19. That takes planning, to have this same over-arching mindset installed over many hospitals in many countries. Three videos...
-now removed by YouTube, as in WeDecideVideo; a St. Louis ER medical doctor was speaking to his phone camera for about 11 minutes, now removed due to "violating community guidelines". No, it was nothing about community or guidelines or any violation, it was about the content not fitting with the official supplied narrative of TPTB. Here it is on Bitchute, 11 min.
-another doctor calling out the Covid-19 hoax, a respiratory specialist, not the one I intended for the same reasons above, 12 min.
-two doctors speaking on Covid-19, embedded at Zero Hedge due to ANOTHER YouTube censorship stunt,
And then, just yesterday, a confirmation of the above from Fox News personnel bantering about Covid-19 being a hoax while a live microphone was on. Another video, with annotation and comment, though later attributed as a "joke", the audio suggests otherwise. Down the Memory Hole for this one should TPTB prevail.
It just shows (to me at least) just how prevalent and complete such economic and political control is by TPTB.
Not the most gratifying way to call this blog posting done, but hey, at least it I got it done as it seems any kind of activity is getting sandbagged these days.
Showing posts with label Unfavoreds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unfavoreds. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Monday, October 10, 2016
Another Just-Happened Traffic Accident
10-04-2016
Not, not traffic accident that I was involved thankfully. But we have already done this one, read, Car Crash of the Fat People posting. This time it was another Unfavored demographic group as the vehicle occupants, negroes being featured. (Rare here). Three of them standing on the adjacent traffic island with their vehicle with the front end smashed up in mid-intersection. Somehow their vehicle didn't make the L hand turn off Highway 97 (Green Ave crossing) and smashed into something else, though I did not see what it was. I was held up at the traffic same traffic control with enough time to see one of the negroes flipping his dreads L and R in some kind of animated head movements. The police arrived behind me and put on their (de rigeur) flashing red and blue lights, and I managed to get through with minimum delay. Funny how these just-happened accidents "happen" to Unfavored demographic groups.
All of the above was preceded with heavy vehicular gangstalking, especially at every turn.
10-05-2016
A call from in-town (Victoria) brother at 0030h. The news was that our father died some 60 minutes earlier. And before any readers go sentimental over such, please be apprised that living in the First Feral Family means that all of them are quislings, and now one less. He has been in a care home for the past seven years, and with Alzheimers. He didn't have a clue who I was for most of those years. I didn't think the perps would terminate him for all the abetting he has done on their behalf for all of my 62 years. But as they have been grinding down his cognitive faculties, for at least the past 15 years, I suppose his run is done, and the thankless perps have mercifully taken him away. As if his First Feral Family treachery wasn't enough to swallow, my indifference runs deeper, read on. (Unconventional proviso; assuming this whole deal hasn't been spoofed).
Getting slapped in the face by him countless times, very often in evening home tutoring situations when I "just didn't get it", (arithmetic then), aged 9 thru 12, put a decided chill on any kind of parental bond. (Though he wasn't alone in this department). In my teens I came to reject his obsessive, ossified and unrealistic perspectives, one by one, hence more emotional disassociation. He always figured I should be a medical doctor even if my grades started going down after age 12, the curse of learning disabilities with my ADD-Inattentive subtype. (Not that any remotely clinical cause was ever suspected by him or my mother). When I came to later understand the whole of pre-med studies culture, the compassion component, and the rarefied smarts it took to get admitted to medical school, it just astounded me. And it still does; how could any parent be so totally out of it as to the glaring discrepancy between my mediocre abilities (and grades) and the decidedly accomplished level it takes to get to medical school? Well, he was totally clued out, and as well, caught up in his own obsessive loop without room for any reality validation. Add in later obsessive and low-reality based advice I received over the following decades, and he was very much on my "auto reject" information filter.
Anyhow, his accomplishments were there in his earlier years; a wonderful figure and watercolor painting artist, though he largely gave this up by 1970 for reasons I have yet to understand. (And if fact, the best times I had with him were when aged 4 to 8, drawing and painting with him). In a rough Welsh coal mining town he won a scholarships all the way to Cambridge University, UK. He was a RAF navigator on Lancaster bombers in WWII (Squadron 166 for war buffs) who won a George Medal for his heroics that brought a crippled aircraft back to safety. Then a PhD in Geology from McGill, Montreal, the beginnings of the "lost years" the perps laid on me, and I am still trying to find out where I was and what was done to me. He did original geological exploration in the Sukunka region of British Columbia, that later became centered by the Tumbler Ridge community for coal mining. His geological work was for the BC government, and his survey treatise with accompanying maps was accepted into the BC Provincial Archives.
After he tired of government work, he went consulting on coal exploration, though I sense that he didn't work well in a collaborative environment, that is, engaging with others. He then worked claims on his own and that proved to be of sufficient worth which paved his retirement to a comfortable level. All his $40k/year fees and expenses of the care home never came from his capital. Anyhow, the whole deal is over for him, and living in the "cognitive-gone" land wasn't any kind of quality of life. I hope to never repeat that experience, not that I have near the cash to do so.
One interesting vignette related to him and what I now know as the "lost years" aged 2 to 5. About 20 years ago when I was near mid-forty, he mentioned that he taught me Gaelic, his native born language in S.Wales. I was totally flummoxed then as to why I had no clue as to why I could not even recall his language instruction/interaction, let alone any of the language. Well, this must of been during the "lost years", aged 2 to 5 y.o. as I since came to know them when the perps let me in on this component of this despicable travesty in 2004.
10-06-2016
A day at the winery; one of the mainstay co-workers has gone into a terse grumpy state, and doesn't fail to mention my failings, the odd time I get stiffed with forced "forgets". Fucking tiresome to say the least, and haven't we done this before in the long past?
10-07-2016
At the winery job I wasn't kept as scrambled and forgetful as yesterday that goodness. Perhaps this was faux (planted) "reaction" to my father's aforementioned demise. Believe me, I wasn't thinking about it very much, and if the notion was planted, it passed by quick and without any emotional registry. The perps had me in mortal fear of doing work there of late, because so much new was coming at me, and much of it inconsistent at times. Today, more training and patient instruction. Wonders never cease, good and bad.
10-09-2016
Sunday on on this Thanksgiving weekend.
Studying alternate cancer treatments; Gaston Naessens developed 714-X cancer treatment in combination with his somatid theory and extra powerful microscope and got hauled into court in Quebec in 1989, and won handily. (Read "The Trial and Persecution of Gaston Naessens" by Christopher Bird). This anti-cancer treatment is available in Canada but one has to get it under a special permission on "compassionate grounds" when all other treatments fail. (You know, cut, burn, poison and otherwise hammer the piss out of one's immune system). BUT, the manufacturers of 714-X state that it is best used in early cancer diagnoses (that would be me, prostate cancer as of 06-2016). Like WTF; can we say government sponsored atrocity, one cancer patient at a time? What am I supposed to do? Depart from Canada and go to Mexico for a Canadian developed and manufactured anti-cancer treatment program. Guess so. It just pisses me off that the intense political machinations over getting cancer treatments are in my face, but of course this has been going on for 60 years or more.
Anyhow, I work tomorrow and so I should be posting this for the week.
Not, not traffic accident that I was involved thankfully. But we have already done this one, read, Car Crash of the Fat People posting. This time it was another Unfavored demographic group as the vehicle occupants, negroes being featured. (Rare here). Three of them standing on the adjacent traffic island with their vehicle with the front end smashed up in mid-intersection. Somehow their vehicle didn't make the L hand turn off Highway 97 (Green Ave crossing) and smashed into something else, though I did not see what it was. I was held up at the traffic same traffic control with enough time to see one of the negroes flipping his dreads L and R in some kind of animated head movements. The police arrived behind me and put on their (de rigeur) flashing red and blue lights, and I managed to get through with minimum delay. Funny how these just-happened accidents "happen" to Unfavored demographic groups.
All of the above was preceded with heavy vehicular gangstalking, especially at every turn.
10-05-2016
A call from in-town (Victoria) brother at 0030h. The news was that our father died some 60 minutes earlier. And before any readers go sentimental over such, please be apprised that living in the First Feral Family means that all of them are quislings, and now one less. He has been in a care home for the past seven years, and with Alzheimers. He didn't have a clue who I was for most of those years. I didn't think the perps would terminate him for all the abetting he has done on their behalf for all of my 62 years. But as they have been grinding down his cognitive faculties, for at least the past 15 years, I suppose his run is done, and the thankless perps have mercifully taken him away. As if his First Feral Family treachery wasn't enough to swallow, my indifference runs deeper, read on. (Unconventional proviso; assuming this whole deal hasn't been spoofed).
Getting slapped in the face by him countless times, very often in evening home tutoring situations when I "just didn't get it", (arithmetic then), aged 9 thru 12, put a decided chill on any kind of parental bond. (Though he wasn't alone in this department). In my teens I came to reject his obsessive, ossified and unrealistic perspectives, one by one, hence more emotional disassociation. He always figured I should be a medical doctor even if my grades started going down after age 12, the curse of learning disabilities with my ADD-Inattentive subtype. (Not that any remotely clinical cause was ever suspected by him or my mother). When I came to later understand the whole of pre-med studies culture, the compassion component, and the rarefied smarts it took to get admitted to medical school, it just astounded me. And it still does; how could any parent be so totally out of it as to the glaring discrepancy between my mediocre abilities (and grades) and the decidedly accomplished level it takes to get to medical school? Well, he was totally clued out, and as well, caught up in his own obsessive loop without room for any reality validation. Add in later obsessive and low-reality based advice I received over the following decades, and he was very much on my "auto reject" information filter.
Anyhow, his accomplishments were there in his earlier years; a wonderful figure and watercolor painting artist, though he largely gave this up by 1970 for reasons I have yet to understand. (And if fact, the best times I had with him were when aged 4 to 8, drawing and painting with him). In a rough Welsh coal mining town he won a scholarships all the way to Cambridge University, UK. He was a RAF navigator on Lancaster bombers in WWII (Squadron 166 for war buffs) who won a George Medal for his heroics that brought a crippled aircraft back to safety. Then a PhD in Geology from McGill, Montreal, the beginnings of the "lost years" the perps laid on me, and I am still trying to find out where I was and what was done to me. He did original geological exploration in the Sukunka region of British Columbia, that later became centered by the Tumbler Ridge community for coal mining. His geological work was for the BC government, and his survey treatise with accompanying maps was accepted into the BC Provincial Archives.
After he tired of government work, he went consulting on coal exploration, though I sense that he didn't work well in a collaborative environment, that is, engaging with others. He then worked claims on his own and that proved to be of sufficient worth which paved his retirement to a comfortable level. All his $40k/year fees and expenses of the care home never came from his capital. Anyhow, the whole deal is over for him, and living in the "cognitive-gone" land wasn't any kind of quality of life. I hope to never repeat that experience, not that I have near the cash to do so.
One interesting vignette related to him and what I now know as the "lost years" aged 2 to 5. About 20 years ago when I was near mid-forty, he mentioned that he taught me Gaelic, his native born language in S.Wales. I was totally flummoxed then as to why I had no clue as to why I could not even recall his language instruction/interaction, let alone any of the language. Well, this must of been during the "lost years", aged 2 to 5 y.o. as I since came to know them when the perps let me in on this component of this despicable travesty in 2004.
10-06-2016
A day at the winery; one of the mainstay co-workers has gone into a terse grumpy state, and doesn't fail to mention my failings, the odd time I get stiffed with forced "forgets". Fucking tiresome to say the least, and haven't we done this before in the long past?
10-07-2016
At the winery job I wasn't kept as scrambled and forgetful as yesterday that goodness. Perhaps this was faux (planted) "reaction" to my father's aforementioned demise. Believe me, I wasn't thinking about it very much, and if the notion was planted, it passed by quick and without any emotional registry. The perps had me in mortal fear of doing work there of late, because so much new was coming at me, and much of it inconsistent at times. Today, more training and patient instruction. Wonders never cease, good and bad.
10-09-2016
Sunday on on this Thanksgiving weekend.
Studying alternate cancer treatments; Gaston Naessens developed 714-X cancer treatment in combination with his somatid theory and extra powerful microscope and got hauled into court in Quebec in 1989, and won handily. (Read "The Trial and Persecution of Gaston Naessens" by Christopher Bird). This anti-cancer treatment is available in Canada but one has to get it under a special permission on "compassionate grounds" when all other treatments fail. (You know, cut, burn, poison and otherwise hammer the piss out of one's immune system). BUT, the manufacturers of 714-X state that it is best used in early cancer diagnoses (that would be me, prostate cancer as of 06-2016). Like WTF; can we say government sponsored atrocity, one cancer patient at a time? What am I supposed to do? Depart from Canada and go to Mexico for a Canadian developed and manufactured anti-cancer treatment program. Guess so. It just pisses me off that the intense political machinations over getting cancer treatments are in my face, but of course this has been going on for 60 years or more.
Anyhow, I work tomorrow and so I should be posting this for the week.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Everyone's Poodle
04-14-2012
A tiresome coffee with my farm-worker "pal" (who makes a great effort to be friendly with me), as in planted ditz, who acted even more ditzy today for some strange reason. As in more chirpy and superficial. And no less, at this coffee house on the trendy walking area, and I had my gangstalker color parade coming to visit me, plus people with dogs. One was a mid-gray standard poodle, and lo, if I didn't "happen" to drive there in my same gray colored vehicle. And lo, if I didn't once have a standard poodle, going back to the pre-Fuckover days of 1996 or so. The ex kept the dog, which was OK with me as I was travelling with my job at the time, and it died a few years ago, and she now has a replacement standard black poodle.
Then a "friend" of the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker "happened" to stop by, so we moved tables. The freakshow then re-assembled, taking turns, around my vacant seat. I also got more Unfavored freaks coming by; fat and disgusting "Gut Strut" males, skinheads on show, red hair, those ridiculous baggy shorts on men below their knees, and others that I am not allowed to recall at the moment. It didn't help that the perps kept me dumbed down and tongue tied for this coffee rendezvous. Which further heightened the question as to whether this Fat-Girl Farm-Worker "pal" isn't another Fat Girl of US national prominence in morphover, and who has figured in this harassment a number of times, and has even been seen on a few gangstalking events. I am not going to get into this particular aspect of the harassment and abuse any deeper, as it is already strange enough. Observant readers can make their own deductions.
And so the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker found a job in the last day, a needed antidote to nine months in horticulture school. And too, the employer didn't reveal what the pay rate was. Which is almost exactly what "happened" to me in the last two days; I get a temporary fill-in job at a vineyard, one I had interviewed at for a more senior job but was not offered it, and they don't tell me the pay both times. I have had these emails from the "Fat-Girl Farm-Worker" every week or so in the last three months I have been away in Penticton with "miss you" and like statements, which is suggesting future romantic intent (to me at least). Each time I have talked to her on the phone and in person, no such leading statements or intents are mentioned. In fact, I am more turned off in these direct encounters, like today. Not to mention that there isn't any attraction. And too, the harassment and abuse that I deal with is rarely mentioned, another example of someone with more detailed knowledge of my circumstances who is strangely lacking any curiosity. Not unlike the New York Times reporter I spoke with at least three years ago now, and detailed in a blog posting at the time.
And too, in keeping with the perps' games and props, the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker had to show me her bruise on her side she recieved from her Felco pruners, and giving me a look at this purple on white baggy skin (digusting) on her side midriff. She had just come from working at a plant sale, so I suppose she had absorbed "plant energies" which was similar to my prior morning, as I was slinging soil and treating plants too, at the First Feral Family house where I am temporarily residing. I go back to Penticton in two days, to start the vineyard job.
And too, the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker came with her tool belt and Felco pruners, the identical kind and model as my pair that I own. So she had to show me her pruners and her knife twice during coffee, when it was patently ridiculous to be even wearing these items at a trendy-buzzy coffee house.
Afterward, I drove back to the FFF house, and spent two hours power washing the rear patio surfaces. The perps like to often arrange this activity around me, and it was my turn again, having done the front yard driveway three days (or so) ago. And lo, if they didn't also have a neighbor start a power washing job only 100' away, to be somehow heard over the noise of the power washing I was making. The small black helicopter also came out to do a circuit overhead, and then a larger Sikorsky S-76 also came by later. There was STRATCOM B-52 noise as well, though I wasn't tuned in as much when I had the power washing noise in front of me.
And this morning, I got up early to get the compost slinging ready for tomorrow, which was when my perp-abetting mother returned from shopping, and she just had to lean on the compost bin with both hands as I was removing shovelfuls of it to place on an adjacent blue tarp . (Different levels of compost breakdown piles will be amalgamated into one pile tomorrow). It doesn't get any more obvious than that, someone leaning on something when they don't need to lean on it in the first place. Seen it many times, and all the more ridiculous when the perps have been hounding me for over five years over compost handling, and now have to make it (as in gangstalking) look so plain. That Ms. C of the story got her Master Composter training back in 1999 to 2000 surely wasn't a coincidence.
I am posting this tonight, as I will do a single post tomorrow, the 10th anniversary of when this fucking insane abuse began.
A tiresome coffee with my farm-worker "pal" (who makes a great effort to be friendly with me), as in planted ditz, who acted even more ditzy today for some strange reason. As in more chirpy and superficial. And no less, at this coffee house on the trendy walking area, and I had my gangstalker color parade coming to visit me, plus people with dogs. One was a mid-gray standard poodle, and lo, if I didn't "happen" to drive there in my same gray colored vehicle. And lo, if I didn't once have a standard poodle, going back to the pre-Fuckover days of 1996 or so. The ex kept the dog, which was OK with me as I was travelling with my job at the time, and it died a few years ago, and she now has a replacement standard black poodle.
Then a "friend" of the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker "happened" to stop by, so we moved tables. The freakshow then re-assembled, taking turns, around my vacant seat. I also got more Unfavored freaks coming by; fat and disgusting "Gut Strut" males, skinheads on show, red hair, those ridiculous baggy shorts on men below their knees, and others that I am not allowed to recall at the moment. It didn't help that the perps kept me dumbed down and tongue tied for this coffee rendezvous. Which further heightened the question as to whether this Fat-Girl Farm-Worker "pal" isn't another Fat Girl of US national prominence in morphover, and who has figured in this harassment a number of times, and has even been seen on a few gangstalking events. I am not going to get into this particular aspect of the harassment and abuse any deeper, as it is already strange enough. Observant readers can make their own deductions.
And so the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker found a job in the last day, a needed antidote to nine months in horticulture school. And too, the employer didn't reveal what the pay rate was. Which is almost exactly what "happened" to me in the last two days; I get a temporary fill-in job at a vineyard, one I had interviewed at for a more senior job but was not offered it, and they don't tell me the pay both times. I have had these emails from the "Fat-Girl Farm-Worker" every week or so in the last three months I have been away in Penticton with "miss you" and like statements, which is suggesting future romantic intent (to me at least). Each time I have talked to her on the phone and in person, no such leading statements or intents are mentioned. In fact, I am more turned off in these direct encounters, like today. Not to mention that there isn't any attraction. And too, the harassment and abuse that I deal with is rarely mentioned, another example of someone with more detailed knowledge of my circumstances who is strangely lacking any curiosity. Not unlike the New York Times reporter I spoke with at least three years ago now, and detailed in a blog posting at the time.
And too, in keeping with the perps' games and props, the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker had to show me her bruise on her side she recieved from her Felco pruners, and giving me a look at this purple on white baggy skin (digusting) on her side midriff. She had just come from working at a plant sale, so I suppose she had absorbed "plant energies" which was similar to my prior morning, as I was slinging soil and treating plants too, at the First Feral Family house where I am temporarily residing. I go back to Penticton in two days, to start the vineyard job.
And too, the Fat-Girl Farm-Worker came with her tool belt and Felco pruners, the identical kind and model as my pair that I own. So she had to show me her pruners and her knife twice during coffee, when it was patently ridiculous to be even wearing these items at a trendy-buzzy coffee house.
Afterward, I drove back to the FFF house, and spent two hours power washing the rear patio surfaces. The perps like to often arrange this activity around me, and it was my turn again, having done the front yard driveway three days (or so) ago. And lo, if they didn't also have a neighbor start a power washing job only 100' away, to be somehow heard over the noise of the power washing I was making. The small black helicopter also came out to do a circuit overhead, and then a larger Sikorsky S-76 also came by later. There was STRATCOM B-52 noise as well, though I wasn't tuned in as much when I had the power washing noise in front of me.
And this morning, I got up early to get the compost slinging ready for tomorrow, which was when my perp-abetting mother returned from shopping, and she just had to lean on the compost bin with both hands as I was removing shovelfuls of it to place on an adjacent blue tarp . (Different levels of compost breakdown piles will be amalgamated into one pile tomorrow). It doesn't get any more obvious than that, someone leaning on something when they don't need to lean on it in the first place. Seen it many times, and all the more ridiculous when the perps have been hounding me for over five years over compost handling, and now have to make it (as in gangstalking) look so plain. That Ms. C of the story got her Master Composter training back in 1999 to 2000 surely wasn't a coincidence.
I am posting this tonight, as I will do a single post tomorrow, the 10th anniversary of when this fucking insane abuse began.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Shorter Work Days
11-07-2011
1840h
This a Monday, and following a stayover at the First Feral Family house last night, brings on all kinds of extra harassment, noise and strange behaviours of others. It was a rare 0900h start, as normally farm work begins at 0800h, or when berry picking is on, as early as 0600h. And it was most strange that my four co-workers, including my supervisor, were wandering around in a semi-daze and not seemingly knowing what job to do. I pitched in and helped on bin repairs and then onto clean up, as the place is in semi-chaos most times. After a half hour of this, and no one telling me what to do, the potato washing job was on, and so I was on the outside after the washing to remove reject potatoes. These were from a 40' wide and 8' high mountain of potatoes that I had been clambering on four days ago to pull the huge blue plastic tarp over them as the one in place had split for some strange reason. Not every day does one clamber a small mountain of potatoes, but it seemed it was up to me at the time as my co-workers had "faded out", seeming to lack intitiave to get this job done as we were all pulling in different directions at the time.
Anyhow, one ton per truck load, and three truckloads on the day, quitting at 1540h, also unusually early. But as the work seems to be less, despite the boss saying that I could "have as much work as I wanted" last week. The topic of work, or lack thereof, is a big perp theme that has been consistent for the past 9 years or more. I have no idea what this is about exactly, but it may have some connection with the present day recession and the rampant job losses over the past three years. Don't know, and I don't understand why these significant themes are such a consistent perp issue.
11-08-2011
Still on with shorter work days, starting at 0900h. We didn't have enough time to complete the last run of potatoes for washing so we packed it in at 1530h, same as yesterday. Hmm... but with an extra hour of light in the morning why didn't we start at 0800h, the usual daily start time? I don't ask these obvious questions anymore.
Mainly, the job was potato washing of a truckload (one ton or so) the large mound (per above), as it seems this is the only activity on the farm, apart from repairs. Many of these potatoes are green, getting chlorophyll from being too close to the ground surface in this freakish delayed season this year. And a perp "insight" (read planted thought) was that the greenish tones were to emulate skintones of the green men I might have seen during the memory blanked years, 1956-59. Well so what; I don't know why the perps are on this green color binge of late, but it too seems to be a featured enough to suggest that it too might be an Unfavored color. Which begs the question, what color isn't Unfavored? Blues for sure, maybe violets and purples. Ask the Men In Black Fleece as the current day MIB's dress.
Two days ago it was a run of white potatoes that had plenty of rot in them, black and brown tones, and lo, if the perps didn't plant the notion that it was skintones of certain Unfavored races. Another so what as far as I am concerned.
A different set of freaks on the bus of course, taking it at 0815h, instead of an hour earlier. This is the kids and parents run, in keeping with the perps' insane need to plant children around me, sometimes going to absurd lengths. e.g three year olds on the bus at 1930h when they should be in bed.
That didn't stop them planting a negro woman next to me and her child on the bus this morning, my first weekday bus trip at this later 0815h time. (Yesterday I came from the First Feral Family house via vehicle).
And it is the perp season/current initiative to have me make typing mistakes and adding incorrect digits into my credit card number when making online transactions. An online transaction triggered a call from the firm to get the credit card number correct, and lo, if the incorrect digits weren't the very same ones they messed with when making an online transaction the next night. Exciting times in Perp Subjugation Unit.
Other perp sponsored activity has been to re-start me at the tanning salon, the last time I was there was August followed by some outdoor tanning. So... two gangstalkers were hot on my tail when I went in, and presumably they tanned in other rooms in parallel. Then to the LD store following tannign where they put on a male gangstalker on his blue cell phone handling the very chocolate I was going to purchase.He took a single bar ahead of me and then I picked a larger quantity as it was on sale. This dude was on his second reprise gangstalking, and I was also treated to the same ponytailed male apparent staff member in the same aisle doing the same thing (stocking the toilet paper) in the same location two weeks ago. I suppose, in the perp's world, there is an continuing after-effect from being under the tanning lights, and they wish to capitalize on it when I make a financial transaction following tanning. They also put on their best babe cashier at the LD store, I haven't seen her for at least six months or more. Then a cute and adoring babe in the elevator and so marks the opening salvo of tanning salon activity in winter. Soon, the thuggy dudes, freaks and other Unfavoreds will be populating the gangstalking scene following tanning.
And a blast from the past, one of the swim club members I knew until 1999 "happened" to stop by at the farm, but he was looking for the chicken farm down the road, with the same surname. And lo, if the assholes didn't totally blank me out as to what his name was, though he knew mine, and he didn't offer his, even when it was clear that I "forgot". So... I spent the next potato washing/sorting hour trying to think what his name was, or more like, the perps were dropping names into mind and I was rejecting them until some hours later when I was allowed to know it. Such are the travesties of living in a total mind-fuck environment. I had spoken to him many times, had visited his house as part of a swim club social, and even had a tour of his pottery operation, and somehow I got totally blanked out. Needless to say I am totally pissed at this cognitive incursion.
And what is it about the perps they need to fuck me over as to meeting deadlines? I applied for a three month Viticulture course at a college, and they sent me an email which indicated a letter was to come, and then I get it six days later and lo, if they didn't spring a deadline of Nov. 14, 2011 for admissions requirements documentation, aka transcripts. As Nov. 11 is a national holiday, and it occurs on a Friday, one can sense there aren't many business days between now and deadline, (writing this in the evening). So, on with getting the transcripts sent by courier, and even at that, they promise 3 to 5 days with courier service. I might make the deadline for both transcripts sources, but I had to re-submit one request to have courier delivery, "forgetting" about the national holiday, and that Nov. 14 follows on the Monday. And it seems to me that no real mail, save flyers, ever gets delivered on a Monday. One stream of cluelessness added on top of another, and all of it perp created and managed.
11-09-2011
Finally the farm work nonsense was ended today, partly by my instignation as the farmer's wife, and farm administrator, "happened" to come by after lunch when all five of us farm workers were milling about and wondering what the next job was as the farmer had taken off without giving us any direction. Or, at least, that is how it seemed, though one can be sure this was all stage managed to some extent, though some of the dialog and communications might not be totally scripted. Hard to tell.
We had just finished the last of the washing and grading of the mound of potatoes (per above) before lunch and that was all it seemed there was to do. The farmer did finally show up 10 minutes later and then got into an angry retort with his wife beside me, and I had to explain what he said in part because I had heard his same angry rant a few days ago. Later she told me that this outfit that won't purchase his carrots (50 tons of them) due to seeming new corporate buying interconnections accounts for 90% of their carrot sales. Ouch.
As I was talking to the farmer's wife about payday and the no apparent work or work plan, the others slowly slid out and by the time I got back to where the potato washing equipement was, why, there were all stationed in their places and ready to go with a new load of potatoes that were going to be re-washed by dumping them from their boxes. Like WTF; how did everyone know about this new job for the next few hours when there wasn't any apparent communication? Same thing in the morning at the end of coffee break; the Asian guy gives me a scoop shovel and says we have to help the loading of the potatoes where the farmer was loading the truck up with the tractor loader shovel at the potato mound. As we had bee working from this pile for the previous two days, just the farmer operating the shovel, how was it that our help was needed and how did it get communicated as they were some 100' apart? Like always, I contend that my entire life circumstances down to the last microsecond are scripted and the players all seem to know somehow without any apparent conventional human communication methods and over any distance.
The early afternoon consisted of me dumping four pallet loads of 50lb boxes (1,500lb) of nugget potatoes onto the conveyor line. Some were rotten, shrivelled or disfigured, so the concept was to run them through the washing tumblers and to the inspection station at the end, with no interim inspection like usual. And so when I began the task, the farmer's pal was 30' away in his red vehicle with the headlights trained on me for five minutes waiting for the farmer so they could go on a their odd drive-arounds that they usually do, kind of like mobile coffee breaks. The instructions were to dump them on the conveyor in a pile and let the washing tumbler even out the flow. And as these are small potatoes, there are many more in a 50lb box, so the inspection effort is substantially greater, per potato. It seemed that we were ramming them through again, not applying significantly more quality inspection which created the problem in the first place. And then the re-washed potatoes were put back in the emptied boxes, replete with mould and slimy potato remains, all to reinfect the just washed (and wet) potatoes. Doesn't make any sense to me, if one expects a better quality outcome, but as we have being doing this for various potato varieties and grades for the past month, it wasn't out of the ordinary. Though when one applies the perp perspective, who just love to have work re-done, it make somewhat more sense. The only difference this time was that any hope for better scrutiny and inspection was nonexistent due to the small potatoes that were in much more significant quantity. All too strange for me to consider this activity in economic terms, so there must be a perp rationale behind all of this seeming potato processing inanity.
11-10-2011
A busy day, and always a big perp event when transitioning from one lifestyle (working) to another (now, not working). And it started early, sometime when they had me jerk off sometime around 0200h, coming out of a sleep for the event, and really not wanting to complete. I get two to four ot these a year, with minimum sensation, so it is more comparable to "remotely influenced mastabatory rape" than a response to any kind of imposed horniness. That brought on getting up early (by their doing) to attend to laundry before intending to head out at 0930h. And at least 15 rage-fication stunts this morning over the smallest of events; teleporting crumb inundations, sending me to the wrong cupboard or drawer, have me open a cupboard or fridge and stand there dumbstruck because they deleted my intention from mind, and a few other regular games to rile me up. One can be sure it is a big perp day when the rile me up in the morning.
Then the assholes screwed me out of getting the bus, by running it two minutes early and temporarily pre-empting the bus stop I was walking toward by arranging a crane truck on the sidewalk that was lifting stacks of drywall up some four stories. So in other words, the assholes double fucked me over getting my intended bus; running it early (very uncharacteristic for the N. boung #27, 28 routes) and then arranging the bus stop to be unavailible and also pinching down the adjacent three lanes down to one with the ubiquitous dayglo flag girl.
That wasn't the end of overhead boom trucks/cranes, a very common gangstalking arrangement. No sir, there were at least three more such jobs on my travels today, not only constricting traffic down to one alternating lane, and never less than two boom trucks together, as that seems to be the minimum as of 2004 or so. The perps cannot get enough human activity close to the powerlines it seems, and arranged when I come by.
the bus to the First Feral Family house begat my freakshow as usual, this morning's star freak was the slouching dude in the red hat and the red pants and white top who later removed it to reveal a slightly differing red T-shirt underneath. It is just fucking hilarious to be hounded with red dressed freaks and fuckwits for nine years. But that abominable color arrangement wasn't the worst of it, as he was seriously tattoo-ed on his arms and neck. So.. I got to look at the freakshow out the window instead. Regular readers will know that I loathe the sight of tattoos, and the perps like to chase me down with gangstalkers with such self-mutilation features. Eyewitness reports from the 1950's place the infamous Dr. Cameron in Montreal examining "patients", (nonconsenual human experimentation subjects, including children) who had bald heads and tattoos on them to provide repeatable reference points on their heads. And of course regular readers will also know about the placement of male (nearly always) bald heads, aka skinheads, around me as part of the gangstalking milieu/parade. I too was in Montreal as a child 1956 to 1959, aged 2 to 5, and most of my recall has been wiped out from then by some means. Funny how I never, ever remember to ask my mother about what happened to me then and where I was,- mind control writ large IMHO.
I got my negro gangstalker on the bus again and they hid him mostly behind the lower deck bulkhead, and he even put on headphones over his head to limit the amount of his frizzy hair that I could see at once. And to touch on another Unfavored demographic feature, I now find tight or loose curly hair abominable to look at. And lo, if their aren't pics of military personnel stuffing negro, Caucasian and blind children in cages in the mid to late 1950's on the Indian Lake Project site.
And it was a big event for laundry over the day. Once I dropped off my mother at her dental appointment I took her vehicle to my place to drop off three new towels that had been laundered at least five times at her place to drive the lint out. Going back, I took the three regular towels (two of which that were laundered this morning) to get laundered at my mother's place as there is some residual scuzz on them I cannot get off in this apartment building washing machines. Then onto the farm to get the last of my work clothes and gumboots, only to find the three Punjabis that I work with were continuing working. That is how it goes in Fuckover World, getting the shaft every which way.
Then back at my mother's place I handwashed the breathable Blue Storm rainpants, then pre-soaked the fleece vest that I had kept at the farm. Back to pick my mother up at the dentist, along with the traffic constrictions and boom trucks along the route, and then to dine out for lunch. It was dishy blonde babe waitress time again, and I can never get enough of that. (Because they like to intialize me with such Favoreds, and then slowly filter in the dudes around me, this time it was two parties of cyclists, four in all. This restuarant is about the most unlikely place a cyclist would go for lunch, so it was mildy amusing to see these Fuckwits so out of place).
I took my towels to the FFF house to get them laundered as there was a sheen of brown scuzz that I cannot get off. Said towels were in my duffel bag that I took on the homebound bus later, and it was another absurdity of gangstalking excess; over 30 passengers heading into downtown at 1730h on the #27 route. The biggest freak was the Fuckwit with the bald head that was covered with a ball cap, but even in side view one could see that his head was extensively tattoo-ed. At least they put an interesting looking babe in front of me, the dude-force that normally encircles me is getting most tiresome.
On the bus I got the backpack shove, the asshole next to me pretending not to notice that his backpack that he wore was contacting me. Been there, done that, only a few days earlier.
11-11-2011
Day of the elevens, and here, Rememberance Day, akin to Veteran's Day, a national holiday. And in this controlled existence I lead, I went out for coffee with the former farm laborer co-worker who goes the extra mile to cover my tracks, working at the same places that I have, and with a seeming perfect confluence of life activities/conditions going on that the perps like; skin condition, divorce, debt, job firings etc. Currently she is taking a 9 month horticulture course, attempting to get job oriented training in her mid-thirties. I sometimes wonder if she isn't a morphover a certain (in)famous woman who seems to show up with regularity in the planted thought stream (and seen twice). And of all things, she came with cleavage showing, a never-seen-before appearence, way outside her comfort range as known to date.
And what might of been the events prior to going out for coffee with this obvious perp abettor? I started using my new towels last night, and this morning. The use of towels are a big perp harassment subject, and their propensity to spread lint onto all the other laundry is near legend for me. They are the same color of off-white as the last set, now duly stored in the closet after getting a more thorough laundering at my mother's yesterday. The new towels were laundered some six times to drive off their linting habit, and have been kept at my mothers for over four weeks.
Other perp prep for me this morning was to have me shave my legs last night, when normally I do this on Saturday nights and never on Thursdays until yesterday. My bedsheets that were laundered yesterday were slept on last night without benefit of any bedclothes, also an exceptiopn. The entire sleep/matress/ bedsheets color and laundered state is always a big perp consideration.
At the cafe: the "backup" stunt with the person in the next table with her back some 18" away and she and her party were speaking sign language for the most part. Which makes this interesting, as they were having a conversation simultaneously, but silently. Which suggests the perps are working on determining the neural/psychic energies devoted to words and concepts, separate from the aural component.
A vacuum cleaner outside my door on a this statutory holiday; fucking absurd for the little they clean this apartment building. But it is not the first time the vacuum cleaner stalking has erupted outside my door, or when I am in the hallway. One building arranged a 20% chance of there being a vacuum cleaning job for me to encounter on my way to my apartment.
And Songbird, a free open source music player is crashing in an unusual way; the tiles/windows are interleaved with other concurrent Windows applications.
Perverse news: Obama Barrack has teleported to Mars. I wouldn't be too surprised if this is true, from my dealing with telportations all the time in the form of missing objects, food crumbs (or even half teaspoon blobs) arriving from nowhere in front of me, and the daily litany of imposed adverse fuckery I am exposed to.
I am going to post this now, as blogs will be more a daily reportage, as there is plenty of spare time as no more farm work.
1840h
This a Monday, and following a stayover at the First Feral Family house last night, brings on all kinds of extra harassment, noise and strange behaviours of others. It was a rare 0900h start, as normally farm work begins at 0800h, or when berry picking is on, as early as 0600h. And it was most strange that my four co-workers, including my supervisor, were wandering around in a semi-daze and not seemingly knowing what job to do. I pitched in and helped on bin repairs and then onto clean up, as the place is in semi-chaos most times. After a half hour of this, and no one telling me what to do, the potato washing job was on, and so I was on the outside after the washing to remove reject potatoes. These were from a 40' wide and 8' high mountain of potatoes that I had been clambering on four days ago to pull the huge blue plastic tarp over them as the one in place had split for some strange reason. Not every day does one clamber a small mountain of potatoes, but it seemed it was up to me at the time as my co-workers had "faded out", seeming to lack intitiave to get this job done as we were all pulling in different directions at the time.
Anyhow, one ton per truck load, and three truckloads on the day, quitting at 1540h, also unusually early. But as the work seems to be less, despite the boss saying that I could "have as much work as I wanted" last week. The topic of work, or lack thereof, is a big perp theme that has been consistent for the past 9 years or more. I have no idea what this is about exactly, but it may have some connection with the present day recession and the rampant job losses over the past three years. Don't know, and I don't understand why these significant themes are such a consistent perp issue.
11-08-2011
Still on with shorter work days, starting at 0900h. We didn't have enough time to complete the last run of potatoes for washing so we packed it in at 1530h, same as yesterday. Hmm... but with an extra hour of light in the morning why didn't we start at 0800h, the usual daily start time? I don't ask these obvious questions anymore.
Mainly, the job was potato washing of a truckload (one ton or so) the large mound (per above), as it seems this is the only activity on the farm, apart from repairs. Many of these potatoes are green, getting chlorophyll from being too close to the ground surface in this freakish delayed season this year. And a perp "insight" (read planted thought) was that the greenish tones were to emulate skintones of the green men I might have seen during the memory blanked years, 1956-59. Well so what; I don't know why the perps are on this green color binge of late, but it too seems to be a featured enough to suggest that it too might be an Unfavored color. Which begs the question, what color isn't Unfavored? Blues for sure, maybe violets and purples. Ask the Men In Black Fleece as the current day MIB's dress.
Two days ago it was a run of white potatoes that had plenty of rot in them, black and brown tones, and lo, if the perps didn't plant the notion that it was skintones of certain Unfavored races. Another so what as far as I am concerned.
A different set of freaks on the bus of course, taking it at 0815h, instead of an hour earlier. This is the kids and parents run, in keeping with the perps' insane need to plant children around me, sometimes going to absurd lengths. e.g three year olds on the bus at 1930h when they should be in bed.
That didn't stop them planting a negro woman next to me and her child on the bus this morning, my first weekday bus trip at this later 0815h time. (Yesterday I came from the First Feral Family house via vehicle).
And it is the perp season/current initiative to have me make typing mistakes and adding incorrect digits into my credit card number when making online transactions. An online transaction triggered a call from the firm to get the credit card number correct, and lo, if the incorrect digits weren't the very same ones they messed with when making an online transaction the next night. Exciting times in Perp Subjugation Unit.
Other perp sponsored activity has been to re-start me at the tanning salon, the last time I was there was August followed by some outdoor tanning. So... two gangstalkers were hot on my tail when I went in, and presumably they tanned in other rooms in parallel. Then to the LD store following tannign where they put on a male gangstalker on his blue cell phone handling the very chocolate I was going to purchase.He took a single bar ahead of me and then I picked a larger quantity as it was on sale. This dude was on his second reprise gangstalking, and I was also treated to the same ponytailed male apparent staff member in the same aisle doing the same thing (stocking the toilet paper) in the same location two weeks ago. I suppose, in the perp's world, there is an continuing after-effect from being under the tanning lights, and they wish to capitalize on it when I make a financial transaction following tanning. They also put on their best babe cashier at the LD store, I haven't seen her for at least six months or more. Then a cute and adoring babe in the elevator and so marks the opening salvo of tanning salon activity in winter. Soon, the thuggy dudes, freaks and other Unfavoreds will be populating the gangstalking scene following tanning.
And a blast from the past, one of the swim club members I knew until 1999 "happened" to stop by at the farm, but he was looking for the chicken farm down the road, with the same surname. And lo, if the assholes didn't totally blank me out as to what his name was, though he knew mine, and he didn't offer his, even when it was clear that I "forgot". So... I spent the next potato washing/sorting hour trying to think what his name was, or more like, the perps were dropping names into mind and I was rejecting them until some hours later when I was allowed to know it. Such are the travesties of living in a total mind-fuck environment. I had spoken to him many times, had visited his house as part of a swim club social, and even had a tour of his pottery operation, and somehow I got totally blanked out. Needless to say I am totally pissed at this cognitive incursion.
And what is it about the perps they need to fuck me over as to meeting deadlines? I applied for a three month Viticulture course at a college, and they sent me an email which indicated a letter was to come, and then I get it six days later and lo, if they didn't spring a deadline of Nov. 14, 2011 for admissions requirements documentation, aka transcripts. As Nov. 11 is a national holiday, and it occurs on a Friday, one can sense there aren't many business days between now and deadline, (writing this in the evening). So, on with getting the transcripts sent by courier, and even at that, they promise 3 to 5 days with courier service. I might make the deadline for both transcripts sources, but I had to re-submit one request to have courier delivery, "forgetting" about the national holiday, and that Nov. 14 follows on the Monday. And it seems to me that no real mail, save flyers, ever gets delivered on a Monday. One stream of cluelessness added on top of another, and all of it perp created and managed.
11-09-2011
Finally the farm work nonsense was ended today, partly by my instignation as the farmer's wife, and farm administrator, "happened" to come by after lunch when all five of us farm workers were milling about and wondering what the next job was as the farmer had taken off without giving us any direction. Or, at least, that is how it seemed, though one can be sure this was all stage managed to some extent, though some of the dialog and communications might not be totally scripted. Hard to tell.
We had just finished the last of the washing and grading of the mound of potatoes (per above) before lunch and that was all it seemed there was to do. The farmer did finally show up 10 minutes later and then got into an angry retort with his wife beside me, and I had to explain what he said in part because I had heard his same angry rant a few days ago. Later she told me that this outfit that won't purchase his carrots (50 tons of them) due to seeming new corporate buying interconnections accounts for 90% of their carrot sales. Ouch.
As I was talking to the farmer's wife about payday and the no apparent work or work plan, the others slowly slid out and by the time I got back to where the potato washing equipement was, why, there were all stationed in their places and ready to go with a new load of potatoes that were going to be re-washed by dumping them from their boxes. Like WTF; how did everyone know about this new job for the next few hours when there wasn't any apparent communication? Same thing in the morning at the end of coffee break; the Asian guy gives me a scoop shovel and says we have to help the loading of the potatoes where the farmer was loading the truck up with the tractor loader shovel at the potato mound. As we had bee working from this pile for the previous two days, just the farmer operating the shovel, how was it that our help was needed and how did it get communicated as they were some 100' apart? Like always, I contend that my entire life circumstances down to the last microsecond are scripted and the players all seem to know somehow without any apparent conventional human communication methods and over any distance.
The early afternoon consisted of me dumping four pallet loads of 50lb boxes (1,500lb) of nugget potatoes onto the conveyor line. Some were rotten, shrivelled or disfigured, so the concept was to run them through the washing tumblers and to the inspection station at the end, with no interim inspection like usual. And so when I began the task, the farmer's pal was 30' away in his red vehicle with the headlights trained on me for five minutes waiting for the farmer so they could go on a their odd drive-arounds that they usually do, kind of like mobile coffee breaks. The instructions were to dump them on the conveyor in a pile and let the washing tumbler even out the flow. And as these are small potatoes, there are many more in a 50lb box, so the inspection effort is substantially greater, per potato. It seemed that we were ramming them through again, not applying significantly more quality inspection which created the problem in the first place. And then the re-washed potatoes were put back in the emptied boxes, replete with mould and slimy potato remains, all to reinfect the just washed (and wet) potatoes. Doesn't make any sense to me, if one expects a better quality outcome, but as we have being doing this for various potato varieties and grades for the past month, it wasn't out of the ordinary. Though when one applies the perp perspective, who just love to have work re-done, it make somewhat more sense. The only difference this time was that any hope for better scrutiny and inspection was nonexistent due to the small potatoes that were in much more significant quantity. All too strange for me to consider this activity in economic terms, so there must be a perp rationale behind all of this seeming potato processing inanity.
11-10-2011
A busy day, and always a big perp event when transitioning from one lifestyle (working) to another (now, not working). And it started early, sometime when they had me jerk off sometime around 0200h, coming out of a sleep for the event, and really not wanting to complete. I get two to four ot these a year, with minimum sensation, so it is more comparable to "remotely influenced mastabatory rape" than a response to any kind of imposed horniness. That brought on getting up early (by their doing) to attend to laundry before intending to head out at 0930h. And at least 15 rage-fication stunts this morning over the smallest of events; teleporting crumb inundations, sending me to the wrong cupboard or drawer, have me open a cupboard or fridge and stand there dumbstruck because they deleted my intention from mind, and a few other regular games to rile me up. One can be sure it is a big perp day when the rile me up in the morning.
Then the assholes screwed me out of getting the bus, by running it two minutes early and temporarily pre-empting the bus stop I was walking toward by arranging a crane truck on the sidewalk that was lifting stacks of drywall up some four stories. So in other words, the assholes double fucked me over getting my intended bus; running it early (very uncharacteristic for the N. boung #27, 28 routes) and then arranging the bus stop to be unavailible and also pinching down the adjacent three lanes down to one with the ubiquitous dayglo flag girl.
That wasn't the end of overhead boom trucks/cranes, a very common gangstalking arrangement. No sir, there were at least three more such jobs on my travels today, not only constricting traffic down to one alternating lane, and never less than two boom trucks together, as that seems to be the minimum as of 2004 or so. The perps cannot get enough human activity close to the powerlines it seems, and arranged when I come by.
the bus to the First Feral Family house begat my freakshow as usual, this morning's star freak was the slouching dude in the red hat and the red pants and white top who later removed it to reveal a slightly differing red T-shirt underneath. It is just fucking hilarious to be hounded with red dressed freaks and fuckwits for nine years. But that abominable color arrangement wasn't the worst of it, as he was seriously tattoo-ed on his arms and neck. So.. I got to look at the freakshow out the window instead. Regular readers will know that I loathe the sight of tattoos, and the perps like to chase me down with gangstalkers with such self-mutilation features. Eyewitness reports from the 1950's place the infamous Dr. Cameron in Montreal examining "patients", (nonconsenual human experimentation subjects, including children) who had bald heads and tattoos on them to provide repeatable reference points on their heads. And of course regular readers will also know about the placement of male (nearly always) bald heads, aka skinheads, around me as part of the gangstalking milieu/parade. I too was in Montreal as a child 1956 to 1959, aged 2 to 5, and most of my recall has been wiped out from then by some means. Funny how I never, ever remember to ask my mother about what happened to me then and where I was,- mind control writ large IMHO.
I got my negro gangstalker on the bus again and they hid him mostly behind the lower deck bulkhead, and he even put on headphones over his head to limit the amount of his frizzy hair that I could see at once. And to touch on another Unfavored demographic feature, I now find tight or loose curly hair abominable to look at. And lo, if their aren't pics of military personnel stuffing negro, Caucasian and blind children in cages in the mid to late 1950's on the Indian Lake Project site.
And it was a big event for laundry over the day. Once I dropped off my mother at her dental appointment I took her vehicle to my place to drop off three new towels that had been laundered at least five times at her place to drive the lint out. Going back, I took the three regular towels (two of which that were laundered this morning) to get laundered at my mother's place as there is some residual scuzz on them I cannot get off in this apartment building washing machines. Then onto the farm to get the last of my work clothes and gumboots, only to find the three Punjabis that I work with were continuing working. That is how it goes in Fuckover World, getting the shaft every which way.
Then back at my mother's place I handwashed the breathable Blue Storm rainpants, then pre-soaked the fleece vest that I had kept at the farm. Back to pick my mother up at the dentist, along with the traffic constrictions and boom trucks along the route, and then to dine out for lunch. It was dishy blonde babe waitress time again, and I can never get enough of that. (Because they like to intialize me with such Favoreds, and then slowly filter in the dudes around me, this time it was two parties of cyclists, four in all. This restuarant is about the most unlikely place a cyclist would go for lunch, so it was mildy amusing to see these Fuckwits so out of place).
I took my towels to the FFF house to get them laundered as there was a sheen of brown scuzz that I cannot get off. Said towels were in my duffel bag that I took on the homebound bus later, and it was another absurdity of gangstalking excess; over 30 passengers heading into downtown at 1730h on the #27 route. The biggest freak was the Fuckwit with the bald head that was covered with a ball cap, but even in side view one could see that his head was extensively tattoo-ed. At least they put an interesting looking babe in front of me, the dude-force that normally encircles me is getting most tiresome.
On the bus I got the backpack shove, the asshole next to me pretending not to notice that his backpack that he wore was contacting me. Been there, done that, only a few days earlier.
11-11-2011
Day of the elevens, and here, Rememberance Day, akin to Veteran's Day, a national holiday. And in this controlled existence I lead, I went out for coffee with the former farm laborer co-worker who goes the extra mile to cover my tracks, working at the same places that I have, and with a seeming perfect confluence of life activities/conditions going on that the perps like; skin condition, divorce, debt, job firings etc. Currently she is taking a 9 month horticulture course, attempting to get job oriented training in her mid-thirties. I sometimes wonder if she isn't a morphover a certain (in)famous woman who seems to show up with regularity in the planted thought stream (and seen twice). And of all things, she came with cleavage showing, a never-seen-before appearence, way outside her comfort range as known to date.
And what might of been the events prior to going out for coffee with this obvious perp abettor? I started using my new towels last night, and this morning. The use of towels are a big perp harassment subject, and their propensity to spread lint onto all the other laundry is near legend for me. They are the same color of off-white as the last set, now duly stored in the closet after getting a more thorough laundering at my mother's yesterday. The new towels were laundered some six times to drive off their linting habit, and have been kept at my mothers for over four weeks.
Other perp prep for me this morning was to have me shave my legs last night, when normally I do this on Saturday nights and never on Thursdays until yesterday. My bedsheets that were laundered yesterday were slept on last night without benefit of any bedclothes, also an exceptiopn. The entire sleep/matress/ bedsheets color and laundered state is always a big perp consideration.
At the cafe: the "backup" stunt with the person in the next table with her back some 18" away and she and her party were speaking sign language for the most part. Which makes this interesting, as they were having a conversation simultaneously, but silently. Which suggests the perps are working on determining the neural/psychic energies devoted to words and concepts, separate from the aural component.
A vacuum cleaner outside my door on a this statutory holiday; fucking absurd for the little they clean this apartment building. But it is not the first time the vacuum cleaner stalking has erupted outside my door, or when I am in the hallway. One building arranged a 20% chance of there being a vacuum cleaning job for me to encounter on my way to my apartment.
And Songbird, a free open source music player is crashing in an unusual way; the tiles/windows are interleaved with other concurrent Windows applications.
Perverse news: Obama Barrack has teleported to Mars. I wouldn't be too surprised if this is true, from my dealing with telportations all the time in the form of missing objects, food crumbs (or even half teaspoon blobs) arriving from nowhere in front of me, and the daily litany of imposed adverse fuckery I am exposed to.
I am going to post this now, as blogs will be more a daily reportage, as there is plenty of spare time as no more farm work.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Freak Pairs
2140h
Another short blog as I don't have much evening time any more, and must get to bed by 2230h. A personal best for daffodil flower picking: I did 575 bunches of ten, so that makes it $115 gross for the day ($0.20/bunch piece rate).
But was is apparent is that the Unfavored freaks are being paired up, even last summer's bulb picking with the "black hoodie sisters", two women of similar age and wearing near identical black hoodies and hanging out together at length. Today, it was the male skinheads turn, as in shorn bald male heads, the sight of which I (now- thanks to perp intervention) I cannot stand. This may be from subconscious traumatization associations if I got to visit the baldheaded patients/victims of the 1950's brain research which not only required bald heads, but also has tattoos to relocate the same reference points each day of experimentation. And my first three years of long term recall, age two to five, were mostly wiped out, and that might of been what was seen and experienced was too horrific. I just don't know, but I am consistently hounded with males sporting bald heads and also tattoos, something else I cannot (now) stand the sight of.
The skinheads arrived independently but for some reason hung out together to be seen for the wretched sit-about time (30 min.) when we return from the daffodil picking fields. This repeats the Turban-Twins, as they also linked up and hung out together since the second turban wearing person arrived a few days ago. The other turban was constantly hounding and posing for me in the summertime daffodil bulb work, and lo, he comes to repeat the gangstalking experience again. But it seems the perps want to put two turban wearing males together this time, and so a new "turban lite" male arrived with a thinner and less bulky turban. I don't like the sight of this Unfavored demographic as regular readers will know, but it seems the perps wanted to pair turbans as well as skinheads for this daffodi picking gig.
The Fugliest Negro was on his posing and gangstalking script, appearing at least 5x not including his front seat bus loitering this morning; behind a doorway (identical location to yesterday after work clothing was removed in the mezzazine locker room, and in other set ups where I "happened" to look. One such set up was in concert with someone I know from a past picking job, who also "happens" to be a regular employee, and she comes up to me to say hello, and we chatted briefly, and she departs, and I look around, and this horrendous Fugliest Negro is 6' away, doing his posing.
An identical set-up with this woman took place last week when she offered me I ride downtown. I had to go to the locker room to get my raingear (more like mud-gear) off, and she waited downstairs and outside for me. When I got outside the door, there was a loose-knit cluster fuck in progress where all the pickers seemed to be equi-spaced in random positions, and after getting through this maze and sighting this work colleague, why, they put me 4' from the Fugliest Negro coming at me. It was a horrific sight that I won' forget; it is just the way it is and I don't mean any disprect, but it is the way I am being run. And after hounding me in the morning, the Fugliest Negro was posted at the gear hose-down stations for over 20 minutes while they placed an intervening short bus of Mexicans between him and the negro, over 40' apart. Finally, after this senseless waiting around, we got to go to the bus, and lo, if the negro wasn't still there to tell us which bus. like WTF; who spends 20 minutes hosing their gear down? And lo, if the negro hadn't sprung some of his dreadlocks free instead of his usual habit of keeping this fugly hurl-do hair style in his tightly cinched jacket hood. Anyhow, it seems the perps are going strong on their Unfavored demographic group member stalking, and this is one of them that will be running for as long as I am on this picking job. Who knows, they may even pair two negroes together as part of their advanced Unfavored demographic specimens harassment.
And the perps have being also heavy on infuriating me each evening; some 30 rafgeifcations from faked touches, jaqbbing to my fingers and wrists, extra noise coming from nothing that I can see, pulling items from my grasp, flicking muddy water droplets around (of so seeming source) and placing crumbs around, also of no ostensible cause. They must of pulled over 80 rage-fications from their provocations last evening, getting me especially fucked with when making dinner from scratch and not having leftovers. It is too exhausting at times to do anything as I am constantly provoked into these controlled rage "reactions" which aren't really coming from me. I would of long adapted to these insults, and yet they screw me into a state I wouldn't ordinarily be in.
Enough, and I must get my gear ready for tomorrow's toil in the soil.
Another short blog as I don't have much evening time any more, and must get to bed by 2230h. A personal best for daffodil flower picking: I did 575 bunches of ten, so that makes it $115 gross for the day ($0.20/bunch piece rate).
But was is apparent is that the Unfavored freaks are being paired up, even last summer's bulb picking with the "black hoodie sisters", two women of similar age and wearing near identical black hoodies and hanging out together at length. Today, it was the male skinheads turn, as in shorn bald male heads, the sight of which I (now- thanks to perp intervention) I cannot stand. This may be from subconscious traumatization associations if I got to visit the baldheaded patients/victims of the 1950's brain research which not only required bald heads, but also has tattoos to relocate the same reference points each day of experimentation. And my first three years of long term recall, age two to five, were mostly wiped out, and that might of been what was seen and experienced was too horrific. I just don't know, but I am consistently hounded with males sporting bald heads and also tattoos, something else I cannot (now) stand the sight of.
The skinheads arrived independently but for some reason hung out together to be seen for the wretched sit-about time (30 min.) when we return from the daffodil picking fields. This repeats the Turban-Twins, as they also linked up and hung out together since the second turban wearing person arrived a few days ago. The other turban was constantly hounding and posing for me in the summertime daffodil bulb work, and lo, he comes to repeat the gangstalking experience again. But it seems the perps want to put two turban wearing males together this time, and so a new "turban lite" male arrived with a thinner and less bulky turban. I don't like the sight of this Unfavored demographic as regular readers will know, but it seems the perps wanted to pair turbans as well as skinheads for this daffodi picking gig.
The Fugliest Negro was on his posing and gangstalking script, appearing at least 5x not including his front seat bus loitering this morning; behind a doorway (identical location to yesterday after work clothing was removed in the mezzazine locker room, and in other set ups where I "happened" to look. One such set up was in concert with someone I know from a past picking job, who also "happens" to be a regular employee, and she comes up to me to say hello, and we chatted briefly, and she departs, and I look around, and this horrendous Fugliest Negro is 6' away, doing his posing.
An identical set-up with this woman took place last week when she offered me I ride downtown. I had to go to the locker room to get my raingear (more like mud-gear) off, and she waited downstairs and outside for me. When I got outside the door, there was a loose-knit cluster fuck in progress where all the pickers seemed to be equi-spaced in random positions, and after getting through this maze and sighting this work colleague, why, they put me 4' from the Fugliest Negro coming at me. It was a horrific sight that I won' forget; it is just the way it is and I don't mean any disprect, but it is the way I am being run. And after hounding me in the morning, the Fugliest Negro was posted at the gear hose-down stations for over 20 minutes while they placed an intervening short bus of Mexicans between him and the negro, over 40' apart. Finally, after this senseless waiting around, we got to go to the bus, and lo, if the negro wasn't still there to tell us which bus. like WTF; who spends 20 minutes hosing their gear down? And lo, if the negro hadn't sprung some of his dreadlocks free instead of his usual habit of keeping this fugly hurl-do hair style in his tightly cinched jacket hood. Anyhow, it seems the perps are going strong on their Unfavored demographic group member stalking, and this is one of them that will be running for as long as I am on this picking job. Who knows, they may even pair two negroes together as part of their advanced Unfavored demographic specimens harassment.
And the perps have being also heavy on infuriating me each evening; some 30 rafgeifcations from faked touches, jaqbbing to my fingers and wrists, extra noise coming from nothing that I can see, pulling items from my grasp, flicking muddy water droplets around (of so seeming source) and placing crumbs around, also of no ostensible cause. They must of pulled over 80 rage-fications from their provocations last evening, getting me especially fucked with when making dinner from scratch and not having leftovers. It is too exhausting at times to do anything as I am constantly provoked into these controlled rage "reactions" which aren't really coming from me. I would of long adapted to these insults, and yet they screw me into a state I wouldn't ordinarily be in.
Enough, and I must get my gear ready for tomorrow's toil in the soil.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Berry Picking Miscellany
June 20 to July 07, 2009
This posting will take several weeks to write, as I have limited time before going to bed at 2100h, all to recover from a day in the sun berry picking. We are still doing strawberries, the worst of the lot as they require extensive crouching.
Notes
A crew of six native Indians, save one, arrived by stealth in the next strawberry patch through the trees. I did not know they were there until the afternoon break, when looking for more berry tray boxes, the typical pint size one sees in the grocery store. The one native Indian I did meet of this group was in the morning, and she went off to pick in this partially obscured field all on her own, with no apparent direction. Later, another five arrived in vehicles, with the copper colored one partially visible through the intervening trees between the two fields. The woman went off to get the forman to tell him about running out of boxes, but she never returned, except at break when she was crouched some 120' beyond me at the end of the rows, not even picking with the rest of her group, talking on her cell phone. Hpw she got there without me seeing her arrive is another one of those mystery questions. When going in on her break, she then passed by me still talking on her cell phone. It would seem that the localized electromagnetic field of a cell phone has become highly favored of late, as there has been so much more "cell phone stalking".
Another weird event was after a lunch break when a never-seen-before dude arrives in mid-field and starts talking to the Mexican berry picker in English, asking to borrow his bicycle. The Mexican clearly did not know what he was talking about, except to say, "si, si" and the dude went off to get the bicycle. I remarked out loud as to the aburdity of this stunt, though not calling it that, and the Caucasian woman picker next to me gave me an extended stare without saying anything. More absurdity heaped on.
Then a banana "showed up" in the corner of a brown cardboard flat box under the table at the field edge where all the pint trays are transferred to the "flats", the packing boxes. The crew lead drew this to my attention for whatever reason, going on to say it was one of the berry pickers leaving his food about. As regular readers will know, "banana stalking" is a common perp stunt for yellow color reference, (insice or outside of one's stomach), and this one came without a person walking around with it, or eating it, the usual banana presentation habits of the perps.
Other nonsense of the strange is empty cardboard boxes that once contained the pint containers "arriving" in mid strawberry field, for no seeming purpose. No one packs them out there for any purpose, so why are they arriving by themselves. My stock answer is that it is a localized brown color reference as the fuckers don't want to have brown dressed gangstalkers/berry pickers for whatever reason.
And what is with the hoodie dudes on the city bus? They have their hoods down when waiting at the bus stop and then put them up when on the bus which is warmer of course. Other variations are to have the dudes wearing their ballcaps backward, both at the same bus stop, and when on board they pretend they don't know each other. Because when they get off at the same bus stop, why they strike up a conversation and walk side by side.
There are at least three different negroes on the city bus trips to/from berry picking, and they keep changing up their bus stop when inbound. In one instance, the skinheaded negro was on the back of the bus ahead, which got there by dint of some magical fuckery as it wasn't on the street beforehand, and isn't scheduled. Somehow, another city bus arrived ahead of the one I was on (only one route) and then the negro made sure he sat in the rear so he could be seen by me from the bus behind. Why all this posing of the Unfavored demographic group members (negroes, males) between buses, as well an on the bus behind me, then later on the bus in front of me, is all about I have no fucking idea. I want to be left alone, and don't wish to have my predilections, likes and dislikes to be paraded all over town, and of wide knowledge among the gangstalkers, shils and operatives, all sick assholes. In many cases I had no idea I had an aversion, say, to big black vehicles that keep getting placed around me. Often they like to vary the scale and have the side of a double decker city bus all in black to simulate the effect they are looking for. It would seem the scale of the object at the time of traumatization association is important; as a 2 to 5 y.o. victim the scale of the traumatizations would be very different to that of an adult.
And I still get to have the Punjabis (E. Indians) farm workers in my proximity like last year, though at a different farm. When they don't know the language, as it seems, they join the dispossed and marginalized as farm laborers. One of the long bearded males seems particularly chosen to rag me, so to speak. I was showing a book (Richard Hoagland's Dark Mission), to one of the other berry pickers who is interested in the conspiracy angles on our history, and then this E. Indian in light blue dress comes over and steps into my personal space and puts out his hand and says "gimme". I asked just what he saw that warranted this particular rudeness and he babbled something in Punjabi. So in other words, he had no genuine interest in what was of interest, and nor did he even care to become interested, nor could he, as he didn't speak or read English. One doesn't need any translation, that was fucking rude by any cultural norms, and I let him know it. He didn't seem too fussed about the caustic response he got from me, so obviously this was a stunt to get me pissed off. Mission accomplished.
Another E. Indian WTF moment was two days ago when an E. Indian with a plywood box that packs 10 pint trays for the fruit, a "carrier", was packed full of dirt when I arrived in the box of the pickup, and he proceeded to walk around the vehicle with this bizarre concoction in hand. Later in the day I got muddied up from the rain that came on at noon time (for lunch) and stayed that way for two more hours of weed pulling. This was a field of ever-bearing strawberries that needed shade cloth to keep cool; the plastic shade cloth was draped over tensioned wires on posts and forced plenty of crawling and crouching to get underneath. A plastic (shade cloth) over plastic (poly plastic of the strawberry bed) day, repeating in the same location when pulling weeds on another wet day, without the shade cloth and supporting posts and wires then.
This same E. Indian has the unerring knack of arriving ahead of the bus, and to be some 120' ahead of me and walking in mid-road, downhill from a hill that obscures oncoming vehicles. A fuck of a stupid place to be in the road given the extensive traffic at 0700h, though very likely gangstalking traffic owing to the color configurations of the vehicles when in file. Another stunt of his was to pass his ass some inches from my face when scrambling in the box of the farm pickup. So some reason he had to make some kind of panicked rush to sit behind the cab, and hence the ass planting jerkaround. A similar stunt unfolded with two other E. Indians in the cab a week later. The same light blue E. Indian likes to sit exactly over where I was sitting when in the pickup box when I get out, and he doesn't. It is like Peter Sellers in the movie, The Party, the E. Indian that constantly fucks something up and escapes any association with the cascade of adverse events. Except it isn't funny, as I have this fucker on me more than most. And if I don't like the sight of turbans, (another one of those dislikes that I have come to "react" to), why is it that this is public knowledge and they are planted in front of me with far greater frequency than is normal?
Other bullshit that has been going down is on the city bus ride, aka, the city bus freakshow. It is amazing how many surface on the 0611h bus to the rural hinterland, but there is an few industrial parks there too. I get the E. Indians (sometimes, per above in-street arrivals by no determinable means), the hoodie dudes, the curly hair types, and a few other Unfavoreds, often packed around me. The perps seem to be taking more liberties in sliding the Unfavoreds behind me, as they do with the negroes on board the bus, Though on the last crowded mid-afternoon bus, they put the male skinhead negro at the rear exit, like a sentry. They even had a blonde woman nearby who eventually sat down, as some kind of auric goodness comparator it would seem. And when I got to sit down I had a sleeping but very garlic smelly Korean next to me, doing the wide legged sit, a familiar male gangstalker pose.
I haven't figured out why the inbound city bus is so crowded as it is; the office crowd seems to be keeping the same hours as me, being there for both outbound and inbound bus trips, with more than one fellow traveller, the ones that get on and off at the identical bus stops as I do.
Enough rambling on the farm laborer gangstalking scene and the strange behaviors that erupt around me, never minding the cultural exploiting stunts as well.
This posting will take several weeks to write, as I have limited time before going to bed at 2100h, all to recover from a day in the sun berry picking. We are still doing strawberries, the worst of the lot as they require extensive crouching.
Notes
A crew of six native Indians, save one, arrived by stealth in the next strawberry patch through the trees. I did not know they were there until the afternoon break, when looking for more berry tray boxes, the typical pint size one sees in the grocery store. The one native Indian I did meet of this group was in the morning, and she went off to pick in this partially obscured field all on her own, with no apparent direction. Later, another five arrived in vehicles, with the copper colored one partially visible through the intervening trees between the two fields. The woman went off to get the forman to tell him about running out of boxes, but she never returned, except at break when she was crouched some 120' beyond me at the end of the rows, not even picking with the rest of her group, talking on her cell phone. Hpw she got there without me seeing her arrive is another one of those mystery questions. When going in on her break, she then passed by me still talking on her cell phone. It would seem that the localized electromagnetic field of a cell phone has become highly favored of late, as there has been so much more "cell phone stalking".
Another weird event was after a lunch break when a never-seen-before dude arrives in mid-field and starts talking to the Mexican berry picker in English, asking to borrow his bicycle. The Mexican clearly did not know what he was talking about, except to say, "si, si" and the dude went off to get the bicycle. I remarked out loud as to the aburdity of this stunt, though not calling it that, and the Caucasian woman picker next to me gave me an extended stare without saying anything. More absurdity heaped on.
Then a banana "showed up" in the corner of a brown cardboard flat box under the table at the field edge where all the pint trays are transferred to the "flats", the packing boxes. The crew lead drew this to my attention for whatever reason, going on to say it was one of the berry pickers leaving his food about. As regular readers will know, "banana stalking" is a common perp stunt for yellow color reference, (insice or outside of one's stomach), and this one came without a person walking around with it, or eating it, the usual banana presentation habits of the perps.
Other nonsense of the strange is empty cardboard boxes that once contained the pint containers "arriving" in mid strawberry field, for no seeming purpose. No one packs them out there for any purpose, so why are they arriving by themselves. My stock answer is that it is a localized brown color reference as the fuckers don't want to have brown dressed gangstalkers/berry pickers for whatever reason.
And what is with the hoodie dudes on the city bus? They have their hoods down when waiting at the bus stop and then put them up when on the bus which is warmer of course. Other variations are to have the dudes wearing their ballcaps backward, both at the same bus stop, and when on board they pretend they don't know each other. Because when they get off at the same bus stop, why they strike up a conversation and walk side by side.
There are at least three different negroes on the city bus trips to/from berry picking, and they keep changing up their bus stop when inbound. In one instance, the skinheaded negro was on the back of the bus ahead, which got there by dint of some magical fuckery as it wasn't on the street beforehand, and isn't scheduled. Somehow, another city bus arrived ahead of the one I was on (only one route) and then the negro made sure he sat in the rear so he could be seen by me from the bus behind. Why all this posing of the Unfavored demographic group members (negroes, males) between buses, as well an on the bus behind me, then later on the bus in front of me, is all about I have no fucking idea. I want to be left alone, and don't wish to have my predilections, likes and dislikes to be paraded all over town, and of wide knowledge among the gangstalkers, shils and operatives, all sick assholes. In many cases I had no idea I had an aversion, say, to big black vehicles that keep getting placed around me. Often they like to vary the scale and have the side of a double decker city bus all in black to simulate the effect they are looking for. It would seem the scale of the object at the time of traumatization association is important; as a 2 to 5 y.o. victim the scale of the traumatizations would be very different to that of an adult.
And I still get to have the Punjabis (E. Indians) farm workers in my proximity like last year, though at a different farm. When they don't know the language, as it seems, they join the dispossed and marginalized as farm laborers. One of the long bearded males seems particularly chosen to rag me, so to speak. I was showing a book (Richard Hoagland's Dark Mission), to one of the other berry pickers who is interested in the conspiracy angles on our history, and then this E. Indian in light blue dress comes over and steps into my personal space and puts out his hand and says "gimme". I asked just what he saw that warranted this particular rudeness and he babbled something in Punjabi. So in other words, he had no genuine interest in what was of interest, and nor did he even care to become interested, nor could he, as he didn't speak or read English. One doesn't need any translation, that was fucking rude by any cultural norms, and I let him know it. He didn't seem too fussed about the caustic response he got from me, so obviously this was a stunt to get me pissed off. Mission accomplished.
Another E. Indian WTF moment was two days ago when an E. Indian with a plywood box that packs 10 pint trays for the fruit, a "carrier", was packed full of dirt when I arrived in the box of the pickup, and he proceeded to walk around the vehicle with this bizarre concoction in hand. Later in the day I got muddied up from the rain that came on at noon time (for lunch) and stayed that way for two more hours of weed pulling. This was a field of ever-bearing strawberries that needed shade cloth to keep cool; the plastic shade cloth was draped over tensioned wires on posts and forced plenty of crawling and crouching to get underneath. A plastic (shade cloth) over plastic (poly plastic of the strawberry bed) day, repeating in the same location when pulling weeds on another wet day, without the shade cloth and supporting posts and wires then.
This same E. Indian has the unerring knack of arriving ahead of the bus, and to be some 120' ahead of me and walking in mid-road, downhill from a hill that obscures oncoming vehicles. A fuck of a stupid place to be in the road given the extensive traffic at 0700h, though very likely gangstalking traffic owing to the color configurations of the vehicles when in file. Another stunt of his was to pass his ass some inches from my face when scrambling in the box of the farm pickup. So some reason he had to make some kind of panicked rush to sit behind the cab, and hence the ass planting jerkaround. A similar stunt unfolded with two other E. Indians in the cab a week later. The same light blue E. Indian likes to sit exactly over where I was sitting when in the pickup box when I get out, and he doesn't. It is like Peter Sellers in the movie, The Party, the E. Indian that constantly fucks something up and escapes any association with the cascade of adverse events. Except it isn't funny, as I have this fucker on me more than most. And if I don't like the sight of turbans, (another one of those dislikes that I have come to "react" to), why is it that this is public knowledge and they are planted in front of me with far greater frequency than is normal?
Other bullshit that has been going down is on the city bus ride, aka, the city bus freakshow. It is amazing how many surface on the 0611h bus to the rural hinterland, but there is an few industrial parks there too. I get the E. Indians (sometimes, per above in-street arrivals by no determinable means), the hoodie dudes, the curly hair types, and a few other Unfavoreds, often packed around me. The perps seem to be taking more liberties in sliding the Unfavoreds behind me, as they do with the negroes on board the bus, Though on the last crowded mid-afternoon bus, they put the male skinhead negro at the rear exit, like a sentry. They even had a blonde woman nearby who eventually sat down, as some kind of auric goodness comparator it would seem. And when I got to sit down I had a sleeping but very garlic smelly Korean next to me, doing the wide legged sit, a familiar male gangstalker pose.
I haven't figured out why the inbound city bus is so crowded as it is; the office crowd seems to be keeping the same hours as me, being there for both outbound and inbound bus trips, with more than one fellow traveller, the ones that get on and off at the identical bus stops as I do.
Enough rambling on the farm laborer gangstalking scene and the strange behaviors that erupt around me, never minding the cultural exploiting stunts as well.
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