(begun Wednesday 12th March at 3.20am)
I've been sitting here at the desk for twenty minutes, eyes closed and shoulders hunched, in the hopes that he'll let go of my spine. For all my verbal air-boxing and bravado, in truth I have no stuffing left at all, and the thought of being PTS becomes pretty darned attractive at times like this..
It doesn't matter that he's OWNED me for going on a decade, and that he holds all the cards. I'm here to be abused, and abuse me he will..
Finally putting pen to pad here, merely increases my misery, as he hastily adds the Backfire frequency to the Spinal pinch in order to read my scribbles..
How did Allen Spence go about recruiting his army of Project Contractors? Did he start off by picking only certified Electrical Engineers, and after that it was the guys who'd had over 20 years experience up ladders and against streetlights? Much like the Muni's main collaborator, Telkom, they'd gone on to create dozens and dozens of small contractors, in order to muddy the waters...
LATER at 4.55pm
Right. I've tried to get hold of Mr. Spence's No. 1 Project outfit, Raw Power, and failed, so I rang kind Eddie instead, on his cell. Needless to say the line was corrupted within minutes, and the chap's voice had faded to a squeak. No matter. He said he could hear me perfectly. I explained to him that Howards were out here on Thursday 6th March to adjust the poles outside No. 12 and possible 18 as well, and that since then the shit has doubled in our home. I asked that he report it to his Boss (Richard) and to note my complaint.
I said that while I'd been sitting in front of the computer this morning, I'd been hit by a wave of nausea so extreme that I'd pretty much been knocked to the floor, and it had taken me twenty odd minutes to recover, and that I'm suffering an increase in bouts of earache as well.. I'd asked Eddie how much EMF he thought it would take to achieve that stunning result, although by then the line was so bad I couldn't make out his reply. I'd said that for some strange reason I continued to regard them as Good Guys (only godknows why), and to please see that Richard got my report, as it appeared for all the world as if Agent Balliram was trying to take us out permanently.
Allen? You're going to laugh off this latest outrage, same as you've done with all the others? You're going to use the Coward's excuse that it must have been the ARVs I'm taking that caused that episode? Come now, young man, be serious. I've been on those poisonous things for two weeks and the worst they've done is to increase the trots. The truth of the matter is that your Protege was reading my previous update on Facebook as I typed it out, and in typical thuggee style he couldn't help himself and had given me such a blast of EMF as to leave me supine, and bathed in sweat on the floor.
Are you hearing similar tales from across the suburbs, and do you carefully avoid getting involved? Would your mother be truly proud of you? Are you aggrieved by my constant barbs and accusations, despite that they're the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but?
So laddie, what's stopping you from changing the status quo out here on Abuse Street? Don't tell me you're also trapped as well? You're one of the Elite, who by now probably gets to hobknob with the likes of Sutcliffe's chum, Francesco Petruccione, and who may even have gotten to meet the great Stefanus Roux on occasion...
You're riding the crest of a wave and not in fact OWNED by anyone? You're absolutely certain of that? How is it that ordinary good folk such as yourself and Richard of Raw Power have willingly joined this wickedness? You'd be a downright Liar to deny knowledge of the inhumane activities carried out in ours, and yet you appear either unwilling, or powerless to put a stop to it. Have you figured out who rules the roost yet? Who has the final say on matters involving worthless labrats such as we are?
Could it be the likes of Roy Moodley the Race-horse owner, whose sneer adorns the windscreen of my car, or is it someone way more powerful from say, Telkom? Whose tune do you dance to, since your former boss retired to lurk in his apartment on the beachfront? Someone from the CIA perhaps? Someone that calls you regularly to encourage and flatter you, just in case a modicum of shame crept into your conscience?
Dealing with Intelligence Officers from around the globe on a regular basis would certainly serve to inflate the old ego.. After all, look at what it's done to the psychotic Cracker next door..
LATER at 5.40pm
Was that mercy that was shown me during the bathing session I've just completed? No attempt was made to disguise the artificial wind funnel that gusted along the edge of the bath less than a minute after I'd sat down in the tub, and I'd braced myself for the knives to my cancer that hit me from both the left and the right as I submerge..
It didn't happen, and I'd murmured my thanks...
The two poisonous Myprodol I'd chugged at 6am this morning in order to get the grass cut, have long since worn off, and as I sit here now at the desk there's not so much as a hint of what's to come later...
Do you wait for your wives/husbands to sleep soundly before assembling in my bedroom to dish out your wireless-laden lasers so cruelly?
I'm as flummoxed today as I was years back, when the sheer callousness of those wielding this power became apparent. The actual enjoyment so many of you derive from causing your fellow-man such misery remains foreign to this dumbass, and for that I'm thankful. Schadenfraude se GAT!
Wednesday 12th March 2014 at 6.44pm.