Gird up thy loins..
(begun Monday 7th July at 5.15am)

*Ja, I get the irony of today's update title, but do you? That no amount of 'girding' can protect your loins, or any part of your body for that matter, from the attentions of the heroic quantum warriors that now swarm about the airwaves..*

Remember Karl Muller, and how he used to hop into the mybroadband.co.za forum in an attempt to warn the members of the scale of corruption infesting the telecom's industry, world-wide?
Remember the flurry of consternation his posts had caused, and the calculated attacks he'd faced as a result? How he'd more than proven that the telecom's Strategist, Jannie van Zyl, was a liar of note, and not to be trusted an inch?
Karl was probably the only genuine egghead whose writings I could follow, and that was because he was a teacher with a gift for making himself easily understood. He stopped his visits to the forum eventually, when it became clear that the majority had fallen for the snake-oil crock sold by van Zyl, and that he was preaching to mostly deaf ears.

I'd suggest you search the mybroadband.co.za archives for his posts, specifically those on the iBurst cellmast that went up in Craigavon, Fourways, to see that my admiration wasn't misplaced, and that that highly qualified microwave/wireless fundi knew just what he was talking about.
Did the charming Professor Leonard Els from the Pietermaritzburg Uni ever share his knowledge of the Smart City quantum project with Muller? Did Els talk freely to Karl of the astonishing technology set up by Francesco Petruccione and Stefanus Roux at UKZN, or were his lips sealed on that score?
When it became obvious that the young Professor had no idea of the real purpose behind this quantum experiment, and that it was destined to be used as a weapon to control the country's population, I'd stopped writing to both Els and Muller altogether.
Has Muller escaped the spell unscathed? The enchantments of this eerily advanced technology, that appears to have swallowed up every last Academic remaining in South Africa, and has caused them to abandon both their integrity and reason?
I simply don't know the answer to that one, but I do hope that wherever he is, Karl Muller is safe and happy.

It had been sometime between 8-9am yesterday morning when my old man had gone up top to fetch the Sunday paper from the driveway. He'd returned shortly afterwards to say that only Cola had galloped up the stairs ahead of him, and that Sophie had gone into one of her 'turns' even before he'd unlocked the courtyard door to go out.
Judging by the number of times this has happened in that exact spot, she clearly presents an irresistible target right there by the door, and I'd question which of the cowardly quantum recruits continues to take such pleasure in nailing our two little dogs. Who among them regards the canine population as simply another useful means to an end, and abuses them regularly as a result?

Whoever the guilty parties are, you may rest assured that they'd have no problem unleashing a similar attack on humans. You've read how my own uncle suffers inexplicable blackouts or petite mals? How extensive tests had shown nothing out of the ordinary, and he'd been told it was something called Global Transient Amnesia, although the neurologist has no idea of the quantum 'warriors' who infest my relative's life, and cause this impairment to his health.
Without a doubt Sophie is being targeted in similar fashion, and she can be sent into that blank mindless weaving without any warning at all.

How's the chap down at No.4 coming along? He's a good guy? Seems like everyone has met him, but me. A little odd when you consider he's only one door down, and yet he sails by me regularly, studiously staring at the road ahead, and never once, so much as a nod or a lift of his hand in my direction.
Should this be ringing my alarm bells? Could it be that he's a colleague/friend to the self-proclaimed over-qualified ex-Sentech Radio Frequency engineer, Rezah Isaacs?
It certainly hadn't been long after Mr. A.K. Patel at No. 4 had his Smart City fibre to the home installed, that the horrendous Abdominal frequency had been unleashed.
Could it be that our young Mr. Patel cannot bring himself to greet me out in the open, as he sees rather more of me than he can stomach, INSIDE my house? Is it a combination of guilt and distaste that has him so studiously avoiding my ready smile? Shame.

Get to know your neighbours, Stephen? Now you know that I've done my best in that regard, and that I have contact numbers and names for each and every one on my stretch, apart from AK down at No. 4. You'll also be aware that most of them have by now invaded our privacy on a grand scale, as our home has been used from the outset as a learning hub for the quantum laser recruits, and that the resulting physical pain caused by their ongoing visits is in fact no laughing matter.
Up until the change-over, Agent Balliram and his cohorts had made a point of targeting the cancer between my shoulder-blades, either ignoring or enjoying the distress this causes me.

Months later, well after the smoke and mirrors strategy was hastily implemented, in an attempt to deflect attention from my sadistic Area Controller, my hips and lower back appear to have become the main focus of these thug's attentions.
Night after night I'm woken from my slumbers by an excrutiating pinch to my ovary area, or to my hips and spine. A crippling pain that, if I'm lucky, disappears magically once I'm up and about.
You'll know by now; that I've accepted the role that we've been forced to play in this mammoth and inhumane experiment, and that I've grown accustomed to having uninvited company 24/7.

Why then, do these co-called quantum Guardians continue to feel they have carte blanche to attack me physically after lights out?
To carry on with their vicious assaults well after their spouses or parents are snoring safely in their beds? Why are they being encouraged to cause my innocent animals such distress, unless these concessions I appear to have been granted are in fact fake, and intended to fool you all?
Am I sufficiently arrogant to consider that I'm providing a service here?
A service that's being rewarded by a regular and bloody thumping, once your more sensitive relatives are asleep?

The BackFire frequency has just increased suddenly here at the desk, as the Boss next door peers over my shoulder to read my scribbles. Go away Balliram. Did someone have to sit you down and try to explain the reason why I cannot hate you, despite your psychopathic behaviour? Did that realisation only serve to irk you even further? Affirmative? I've actually broken out in a sweat right this minute. How can that be, on such a cold winter's morning? Any ideas?

Peace.

Monday 7th July 2014 at 9.08am.