Monday, March 17, 2014

A concession?
(begun Monday 17th March at 3.50am.)

I believe in miracles. Maybe not your idea of miracles, like the feeding of the multitudes, but miracles nonetheless. Sitting comfortably out on the verandah at the precise moment the purple-crested loerie chooses to land on the birdbath and perform his ablutions is a miracle of timing, whether you see it that way or not.
Sitting up in bed for the last two nights in a row, to find the fixed laser path across my pillows isn't carrying the foul BackFire frequency, could also be construed as heavenly magic, never mind that even the dull ache to my lower spine is running at it's lowest levels, for the moment at least. That only when I cough am I aware that Someone sits here as usual at my shoulder, reading my scribbles.

So, after I got up, the little dog had wanted to go out and I'd obliged by opening the front door..Anything different from my vantage point out on the verandah? Why yes. I do believe the Pain-Giver has dumbed down his flashing light on the Bunker even further. While it's still achieving that sheet-lightning effect against the coral tree, it's but a shadow of it's former self. A concession? Far from it. I'd suggest that this minor adjustment has created yet another devastating frequency, and that it may well be the one that had the GameWrecker reeling under a hugely increased bout of nausea. The wireless song and pressure in my ears have taken over, and even as I write, I can feel the temperature increasing up to cookout levels.

The flames have just licked into life on my cancer and the faint thready squeak of a nearby enhancer has kicked in just outside the windows. As the dull ache to my right ovary area and my fillings begin to take strain from the direction of his three aircon units a few yards away, I'm reminded of the sheer futility of my efforts.
Leonard Els is the key, and I need to ask him stuff.
Like why, in his opinion, were our power cables stolen just hours before Tracey-Lee Dorny was due to arrive at ours, to record the emissions inside our home?

His own visit to ours had been in the pipeline for ages, giving the authorities ample time to ensure that the readings he'd taken from the Rose Ave/Barnard Rd. cellmast showed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Yet when he'd turned that device towards the orphanage building, he'd said that there was a great deal of power in that direction, but he had no idea what was creating it, and that was that.
Was he not startled by his device's intense reaction to our cordless phone? All he'd said at the time was that they were ten times more hazardous to one's health than cellphones, and we'd packed it away immediately and reverted to the old wired set.

*It's now 4.43am, and I'd looked up out of the kitchen windows just as the full moon broke through the clouds and began slipping fast, down behind the Polo's roof. A fruit bat swooped across it's silvery face, and if that's not a miracle of timing, I don't know what is...*
I'm a fool, but I'm a realistic fool, and on the million-to-one chance that any of you ever wished to save us from the fate intended for us by Agent Balliram and his cohorts, I think you've missed that bus by a mile...

We're no longer of any value to Balliram's Entertainment corps, and in fact, have become an irritation that needs to be obliterated.. Some of you sharper cookies out there will have realised this the minute you'd heard of our recent property invasion.. An engineered debacle that would've been captured by the invisible audio/visual technology from the beginning to it's nasty end. It was intended simply to liven things up a bit, Freddie? Just as the carefully planned hostage fiasco at No. 6 some years back, was an amusement?

Had Captain Lazarus been a part of the planning committee that had arranged for that young lad to arrive at ours at midday, or had he been excluded from that particular huddle? What did he think once he'd seen the footage, or had he for once declined to be present at both the live airing and the premiere, held later? Can he still tell the difference between courage and stupidity, or did he merely roll his eyes and consign me to the latter? Was he more than aware of how often the GameWrecker had chirped at finding the front security gate open, and I'd replied to my old man 'Not to worry, I'll protect you'?
Would Laz now agree that it certainly appears I was prepared to put my money where my fat mouth is?

Why, the Chirpster himself will advocate that in such an event it's best to remain submissive and to allow the intruder/s to help themselves while praying they won't beat you up anyways... What have we sunk to Stephen? Where a good bloke like yourself has to don a mask every waking minute, to hide the reality of what's taking place? You've already sacrificed a knee to the Cause, and have decided that you can achieve more by playing along and keeping your mouth shut?

Which reminds me - Somewhere in my more recent logs, I'd reared up during the early hours to note that Agent Balliram's laser-elves were tap-tap-tapping away at my right kneecap to weaken the tissue. It's probable that they hadn't intended for me to surface as they'd carried out their destructive work, but surface I had.
Was I surprised to hear yesterday that one of my Vice Chair's knees has taken to playing up painfully? That attention has finally been moved up from his beleagured (sp) feet, to the tissue surrounding his patella? For one whose livelihood depends on his mobility, I'm surprised the criminals have waited this long before changing the focus of their attention.

The biggest blow yet has to be the full realisation of my redundancy, although it's closely followed by my better-half's reaction to this latest mischief.. In the three weeks since that melee out on the lawn, he has aged ten years, and has become stressed and anxious. He no longer enjoys heading out to the shops of an afternoon, and paces about re-living the nightmare constantly. He shrugs off any suggestion that he go for counselling, although I'm of a mind it might help.

Me? I go about my business as usual (although I do lock the GW inside the house while I'm working out in the garden) as I'm more than aware that if our Controller wishes us hurt, we'll not escape, indoors or out. I have only myself and my incessant yapping to blame for this latest outrage? How tempting to revert and to carry the can for this, and just about every other evil that's befallen the country since 2005. Alas, I'm going to have to pass and insist that we were simply being used as examples of what could happen to you, should you be chosen as the subject of the next engineered demonstration of terror...

The clouds on the horizon have already turned from pink to gold, ahead of the sunrise.. You might spare a thought for the dozens upon dozens of us that are being cooked alive in the sanctuary of our homes, in order to provide entertainment and education for the quantum army recruits.

LATER at 8.35am

I've been up on the first terrace, cutting back the overgrown acalypha shrubs, with the result that our backdoor light once again has clear line of sight to godschild's powerful wall light, and any obstruction that remains is caused by Clive's mulberry tree that flourishes in his rockery.
Was that my Owner who'd tentatively jabbed away at my calves as I teetered above the courtyard with the cumbersome branch cutter? I'd muttered to whoever it was to bugger off and they had, although a minute later I swear I'd felt a touch of the old nausea frequency... Battling to keep it together, Balliram dear?
Itching to hit the red key and finish me off? WTF had I expected from a psycho after all these years? Kindness? Mercy? Hah!

Monday 17th March 2014 at 9.44am.