Now, granted - I don't particularly know or believe [completely] what truthfully transpires in a location outside of my sensory perception; stark and vigilant that I may be, at times.
I trust the news organizations and subsequent articles that get fed to me, through articles and media outlets,
at least as much as they fulfill my inherent fearful primordial mind.
That being said, I couldn't deny the truths: of the significance of the dailies of an actual "about town" trot through the locales, as various as I might, for as fortuitous as my strength and aptitude compels me to: typically, for the duty of feeding the birds, gathering their food supplies from the grocery store, collecting recyclables, and the breadth of how weary and road-worn I've become, leading up to the day that I face. I try to take it one day at a time; for all that it construes and that might be inferred from that saying. I've been trying to form my scheduling around the Grand Central and API 23 Intel crosswalk accessibility standards, be it that I am, commonly, colloquially construed of a multi-threaded and novel suite of minds, about me, as I manage my self as my vehicle - keeping the risk liability factors of scrumming up a misfortunate encounter that would lead to my arrest, for a warrant, for example. Trying to keep up the look of the upright recycling bum; as a minimum.
I couldn't deny that police officers and law enforcement have it rough in Los Angeles, in general rhetorical imaginations of what they face, in opposition; and so much of it mobilized and willingly militant, of the various terrorist cells that they are, in and of: essentially, that they fare brutality and innocent casualties as their modus d'operandi, however generally lacking in intellectual merit and statutory form of reasoning, that it stands to be, given a talking to, nowadays (even still), and for what they sacrifice in public relations for taking such short-sighted approach to their public relations vehicles.
Now, on that note, I sometimes find myself talked in to a vigilant cautious modality of transporting my self, and my carriage, of which, in my most-latest refactoring of consideration (of what I might be, and appear as such, to the public's eye, for scrutiny - this is DTLA and greater Los Angeles, California; that being said. There are sensitive tastes and finicky appetites at stake, on the much-as-for-the-(largely)-unsupposed side of the schtick, for many of us, young ones - particularly as that we had grown up in imperfect settings, and had been subjected to nurturing environmental sleights and abuses, rendering many a sort, out there, predisposed to a mutiny, so to speak, on this ship that is the vehicle of our lives - rhetorically speaking: we live in America. We've known it, from our upbringing, or from hearsay, or propaganda - be it as depravity's siren call, that it might, in becoming - on deeper considerations - some people do take advantage, of a slight and subjective bias foundation, ignoring the bigger picture, of consequences - sometimes: I'd say that sometimes, people simply choose to injure the lesser formidable primitivistic victims, of an opportunistic | misfortunate circumspect in dynamic relation to each other.
cir·cum·spect
/ˈsərkəmˌspekt/
adjective
- wary and unwilling to take risks."the officials were very circumspect in their statements"
That's about the degree of viable credibility that could be construed, out of organics in form and foundation, given a spread of days, given months, that the COVID-19 situations and underpinnings have been going on, largely underneath the watchful eye of « someone », I'll acknowledge at minimum that much: I do have to live up to a reputable aspiration seen through to fulfilling [at minimum] admirable deeds and sober words and affect that transpire, of me; improprieties that they might be, of various constraints, given ethics: I do try for at least API 23 accessibility and crosswalk Grand Central in time-threading. Sometimes, the timing is done for me.
This past outing, however, I jaunted my carriage through and up out of Santa Monica, by night. The drops in barometer seemed like trivial concerns, compared to conceit, that I might typically have of myself (I get abused, commonly, in my internalized mind. Autonomy; none, that I expect, of my mind and my framework, most typical, that it turns out, in being). Novelty-ridden bum, as the latest contention of what might and had been construed of me, being the topic consideration, of some, that it had come to pass, to have been laid down, upon me, as the significant delimiting factor in judgment that was being tossed about, in some remote-[unprofessional]-working environment: much of to woes, given tides of the days, as they'd come, recently. This COVID-19 stuff has been going on for months, now. Out in DTLA, things are at a serious pitch, at a whim.
Today,
(as it turns out)
Although, yesterday, in truthful actuality
I had just stayed up all night. Now it's the morning. I'm blogging the report, for the insider prospectus replete and formidable news drop sequester - the final word, on the street, somewhat, as far as the scrum of last night.
That being said, the night went on late, and people had been particularly « nearly » at a rioting whimsical, of my pigeons-carnival [other] as dynamics, in the situation. I tried to, and -
on some level, okay.
I did do the actually, of an actual day and night in passing.
Typically, I'd have fared worse. But I did take my medication, and I did fall asleep.
I slept outside a westside L.A. shop in a door nook last night. A guy came up to me while I was sleeping, and he was a bit [actually "way"] off, I'd say, but he didn't end up robbing me with his pepper spray deal about himself. Today I rested at the park. It was pretty relaxed.— Jay Ammon, Founding Director at iPigeon.institute (@jay_ammon) July 12, 2020
Although I had built up a bit of a controversy in my kixy-sox bum smell, which had become my weary-worn introverted [self] companion; I'd not quite have conceived of that I'd become overly popular, of a misfortunate self, of my most forefront of consideration that I'd had of my day.
Although, it was my day, after a night spent in sleeping, as I'd recounted, just prior. That being said, the linearity of comprehension was conceivably broken - a new set of concern, of just one, [at a time (somewhat | okay.)], being that I was muscularly exhausted; I did feel like the prior night's performance, as isolated and introverted that I was, and had been, most typically, given a stretch of as many days as might be organically memorable, of a construe and inference about my doings and whereabouts; I'd say that linear-timespan-consciousness [supremacy] was, and had been, the narcissistic supply of many a day, leading up to my latest conception: the standard workweek model, given a standard day's work, and a weekend.
That being said, something leading up to the moments of misfortune and caprice, in my choice-methodology, seemed to be ire and rotten, of the willingly-shown-up, of the crowds, of some of them. Some of the topic was Grand Central'ed on over to me;
For example: some people felt that my Juneteenth composition, on here, had been, in moments, a bit too insensitive, and because of that, controversial. It was a scrumbwitsies.us « fwaunch », on that day; a day of works that [to my internalized self, and mind (given the Grand Central and API 23 Crosswalk Accessibility models)] were made of the stuff that could make a hardened soul teary-eyed, as for conceptions that were conferred upon me. I don't quite peek, though; to do my way courteous, as that every moment in time, appropriate; not, rather, impropriety - is given it's time in the light, for that God might work, in his way, for the patient and meek, for example - a thing of aspiring to something more human than stats in organics; although methodology itself might be organic in form; we do live out intelligent design, in our lives, if we might have our best way, of ourselves, so to speak.
I was having a scrum bwitsies sort of day, and it's a true aspirant scrum swath swab of the deck; of the rebuke on the viable mutiny that had transpired, before, of the grounds and crosswalks and intersections of our Greater Los Angeles campus, that it is. Walker, vehicle, alike, I figured, and I jaunted the load|s| on my shoulder (being two bags of recyclables, this time), on out of Santa Monica, up Pico, and I stopped for a scrum bwitsies moment, or a few.
A scrum bwitsies motive and course of action is a basis of cleaning up, to ostensible perfection, by most conceivable perspectives and of viable observations on the matters: a clean up, to reiterate, for the fact that the truthfully pristine clean, even of novelties-bum ridden minds, that they might be: might walk down the street, unencumbered, of our former abuses laid down upon us, which we'd not quite yet, at the moment in time, recovered from, as that I'd observed, in life, could be suitably accommodated by novelties-ridden bum-like behavior, and scrutiny, of the bwitsies.To simplify, motivating an out, of the nomenclature insiders peek at "what, exactly?" am I talking about...
But the scrum? The scrum is the collection of bwitsies, of variable and organic in nature, that they are - they are the messes of the perturbed, the activist-anarchist, the unsober, the disturbed, the defiant, the psychotically blank-frame of minded ones, littering the street, and breaking the bottles.
That being the basis, there's some colloquial foundational work survey and analysis of a scientific method, of what an actuality of a fwaunch of on scrumbwitsies.us « claim » of an enterprise-able sort, in form - of which I'll fail to divulge, and get in to, just here, for the sake of the fact that it's dilettante in formational stage.
But the scrum is the mess, in having been cleaned up, essentially; for the sake of the purpose, in the eyes of the civilian, for the person that I am; such that is simple in deeds, such that cleaning the mess up is simple, as such; for the sake of a charitable merit to consideration for others, that it might be, for minds that they may be, or become - a novelty-ridden bum, that I am, that for some people; they'd find distasteful.
I had a kixy-bum fwaunch-57 type of flair about my |self|-smell, though, at times. I felt like it was pretty kitsch, yet obviously contentious, as it's basically gym-socks smell, before it turns to the truly vile, that we'd each, in and of ourselves, simply not have of ourself, or of others.
Most would think.
such a slight of such "last thing, of the moments that pass... (that last thought):
Yet, the inimitable mind of the un-imaginable other was rife, given some moments, as they had passed, on July, the 11th, passing in to today: the 12th, in incontrovertible admission that some folks who were out, about town, had little to none-whatsoever - a concern about COVID-19 social distancing ordinance cues, and dictum of law, there-abiding, that "most would think."
A Christian individual would do unto others, as we'd have them do unto us.
Simple things.
In general, I say very simple things, in this particular article. Hopefully it's not taken otherwise. I'd have, of inference upon things, that some people simply prefer to distaste upon others, for the sake of their birthright of what God had made of them, and perhaps, of the nurturing environment that had not quite been perfect, yet that many of us shared, of some sort; yet that we find each other on mutual or otherwise grounds, as for insight, and that God's way would shine out, from the dark of misunderstanding, if only a Christian manner was afforded to us, as well as for others, in times of mis- or unfortunate sorts.
That being said, I had no idea that there was a formalized Sheriff's order, in Los Angeles, for curfew, outdoors, from 6 p.m. until 6 a.m. nightly.
I'd say that right now, it's a tough call. But if you need to ask someone for timely advice about doing Los Angeles, by all means, get a hold of me, and I'll let you know what I know of what locales that I frequent.
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