Tripping the light fantastic..
(begun Monday 14th July at 12.25am)
Do you remember all those symptoms that the residents of Craigavon, Fourways, began to display, once Jannie van Zyl had that iBurst cellmast up and pumping out unregulated emissions? The doctor's reports that had corroborated those claims, before the mast was finally taken down?
The GameWrecker had asked me sometime last week if I could see anything on his side, as something was itching enough to drive him nuts. Sure enough, he had some sort of sparse rash from above his waistband to below his ribcage, and now, days later, I see he's still scratching.
Would Miz Dorny the MastFighter, recognise this? Would she say it matched the rashes that several of the Craigavon residents had suffered, due to their over-exposure to radiation, from that cellmast?
He's not eaten anything different, nor has he changed the washing machine soap powder for a different brand, and neither does he have bedbugs, so....?
Is Someone having a concentrated go at my old man, by chance?
He'd come out onto the verandah yesterday and had shown me his eye, which had haemmoraged (sp) at some point, without his knowledge. He'd asked what I thought had caused that mess, and I'd replied without hesitation that it was the result of a laser assault. Cowards.
Anyways, I persuaded him to let me take a pic, and I'll share it with you when I can.
You're already aware that the Electricity Department's Security Division was out here earlier this morning, by way of Mike Oliver, and ja, our streetlamp is back to functioning tonight, although Fred's is, as I'd predicted, still sitting in the dark, despite Mr. Oliver feeding me a whopper by saying that Fred's handyman had told him it was fixed.
The darned thing was never broken. It just suits the current combination they're using, to have it kept switched off.
I'd glanced out of the French doors at 5.30pm this evening, to find the newest student res block ablaze with lights, and very pretty it was too.
They'd stayed on until about 8pm, by which time they were all off but for one at the cellmast end, this time on the 2nd floor instead of the top.
I can't help feeling how lucky those youngsters are. Free accommodation in spanking new apartments, free education, and even pocket money as far as I understand it, is not to be sneezed at. Yeah, many of them will be abused inhumanely by the nearby quantum Agents, and I've no doubt that a few will be adversely affected by the Barnard Road cellmast itself, and it's incorporation into these surveillance games being played with their lives. But given the opportunity, hopefully, many will go on to make good use of the advantages they've been given, and will survive to tell the tale.
What am I doing up at this unearthly hour? The students have yet to occupy the new block, and clearly the quantum Recruits are bored and seeking ways to amuse themselves. Unsurprising then, that I became the entertainment.
How can I put this without offending your sensibilities? Their focus was back to below the belt, and I'd be lying if I said it was all bad. Alas, it's the malicious intent behind their attentions that's become the turn-off for me now, and those particular ministrations have lost what charm they might have held for me some months back.
It was easier for me to leave my over-heated bed in the hopes they'd move on elsewhere, than to lie there drizzing into my pillow at their spite and contempt.
Anyways, it's now an hour later and I'm going to take a shot at heading back for a kip.
LATER at 6.15am.
The cat had jumped up and woken me at 6am, and I'd scooted to the loo for a pee before sitting back on the edge of my bed to assess the damage done overnight. That's how it usually works. If you're quick, you can nip to the lounge to check on the dogs, or to the loo, but once it becomes apparent that you're up and about for good, they'll unleash the frequency of the day, that'll have their over-night target areas shrieking in protest. And so it was. Today it's turned out to be my right hip area, and my right knee. (Which may now buckle under me, if and when they choose).
Am I serving any real purpose here, Mistuh van Zyl? Mistuh Spence? What do your Superiors say when you squeak for my head on a plate? For you to be patient? That I'm a one-man horrorshow, and that I'm serving admirably to frighten even the laser-wielding Recruits with my attempts to convey the physical cruelties that it's possible to achieve with this astonishingly advanced technology?
By bedtime last night my Good Neighbours at No. 10 had one of their big front door spotlights active, facing the valley, along with a light shining out from their garage windows. Will she escape this huge increase of power, or is she set to become just another statistic to be swept under the carpet? This Animal Farm scenario, where even those who view themselves as the Haves, or Elite, in fact have less every day. Once their usefulness runs out, they'll be discarded and forgotten as easily as the rest of us Have-nots...
Is your heart fluttering oddly in your chest, even as you try to make sense of my words? Do your fillings ache for no apparent reason? Jabs of pain to your eardrum?
Welcome to the twenty-first century and to Progress, where man has been judged correctly as being capable of wiping out his fellow-man on a mammoth scale, in order to please a few at the top.
Monday 14th July 2014 at 8.49am.