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Showing posts with label Civic aspirations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Civic aspirations. Show all posts

Monday, February 27

iPigeon.institute 2023 classroom and activity ideas.


  • Musicianship and Introductory Piano - learning to sing, and rhythmic training. Learning to sight read music.
  • Illustration - Ink brush coloring and illustrations. Color theory, rudimentary figure (animals, nature) drawings.
  • Track and Field - Running / jogging exercises. Stretching techniques. Physical health routines.
  • Nutrition - Demonstrate how to barbecue. How to cook rice and egg. Nutrition lessons - 4 food groups, nutrition theory. Alternative diets (raw). 
  • Journaling - Scrapbooking, Typography / handwriting - choosing a font. Bullet Journaling. Page layout and Design.
  • Botany - Learning to plant seeds in pots. Plant identification. (Fruit or Flower tree planting?) / community garden. Preserving flowers and leaves (press-method).
  • Agriculture lessons - Chicken egg incubator. Animal care - livestock feeding techniques. Genealogy of Poultry and Game Birds.
  • Computer Skills - Hand / eye coordination and identification / discernment training. Keyboard navigation on desktop / laptop computer. 
  • Sustainability - Compost heap. Community service (leadership) and the ecology. Accessibility - pedestrian safety. Noise and light pollution.

Christmas lights wire art, powered by USB, for example. Available on Amazon. An unexpectedly “way” to dry clothes up, a bit, wow! - USB wired Christmas lights. Who would have thought?


Wednesday, December 15

How to [or who to]…? pick a post-pandemic (Delta variant timescale) - persona, for success.

 Let’s face it.

How rude a statement would that be, for someone? 

People are scrambling to avoid being caught in the crosshairs of propagandist ideation sublingual suggestive peripheries from taking hold of our young socialite upstart aspirations and takeovers, however distant and fartlorn we are, away from the nation’s capital, all the way at the other end of the country. Thankfully, in Los Angeles, the heatwaves haven’t been all too severe, and if it feels like it,
A fallen Japanese beetle, at the foot of an ominous, shadowy figure.

 

it probably is an infrared beam of “spotted you, eh?”

 

sorts of “dun, dun, dun…” 

how could a person possibly shake that sort of fate, and come out unscathed? I get scared, all the time. It’s always gangland wars, voices in my head, and sometimes, things, of all things, seem to become unseemly familiar, as far as that I feel I can identify people doing these things to me and my loved ones, and I can’t (usually) find a typology alter ego and spiritual boost timely and well enough to propel me in to quite, understanding and empathizing with what they claim is going on, in my life, and amongst people I’ve known, or my family, for example. 

I feel that some people take the concept of familiarity as appropriate grounds for dysfunctional catharsis to break ground and egotism platforming au contraire, for the sake of the fact that I… I just don’t do stuff like that. They’re the ones that are mad at me. 

Who could I possibly be, or have been, in order to not have become placed amongst these bingers on drugs type of judgmental and persecutory figurative individuals whom I’d known, or know, or some sort of vagueness that develops beyond scarcity of identity exchange, this being the remote sensing medium of communications and self | identity transmissions. It’s big, in Los Angeles. We do big things, out here, and some of us are without apologies or excuses for how, who, why, and what, and where? It happens to be, out here, that people are as slight as the breezes out here, in the hot summer nights. 

Just don’t… just - just… nah, you just really ought not to… I’d say. There’s something that sounded like screaming outside. I should go and check on it. Goodbye. 

Never mind. I don’t know… and then, South L.A. has been making lots of news stories happen, recently. 

Hmm. Sorry, I’m still adapting to this concept of that I am (just slightly) having my content served on Google News.

I was thinking that the hobbyist parfumerie enthusiast thing was the thing, for me, but I’ve got to be agile and swift, and I can’t do all things, or all people, and I can’t much solve my own problems, lately, because I don’t really know just who is doing what, and how I could better gain people’s good side. 

The JoyBuy miniature misting fan thing is blowing up, now that it’s summer. I bought four of them, and I think that some of them were broken by someone else, playing with the crumbs and knickknacks of my room.



Then there was idiot deluxe, the most everything guy (or lady), butt shittle, definitely, it would be ladies and gentlemen’s only - prowess, to become: the one who says the most iconically irreverent fwopp.


Thursday, November 4

The put-off slight home exhibition, of the iPigeon.institute art effects and fragrance-making collection: the stand-off days.

 Days and night, on end. 

No regard, whatsoever, for typical formalities, I’m becoming aware of, of the casual “village idiot” for the crumbs and knickknacks offer of playing around in my closet; this notion-deprecation had instilled itself as permeably “aught could be” more respectable, of a generalized notion, in that the general public might also appreciate patronizing the art collection and collected documents and transcripts of the early days of establishment of my iPigeon.institute pigeon-feeding enterprise, of a story based upon a travails anecdote of a guy who “made it work” in Los Angeles, through dedicating time to taking care of others (the pigeons), while making his (or her) way out of homelessness, and the pitfalls and shortcomings incurred, in establishing sociable currency and relevance, amongst the common people, and their good graces, in the land of fables, of greater Los Angeles, turn of the 3rd millennium. 

Yesterday ended up being a strange standoff kind of day, where I was stuck on pwsshh… fwipp - smashhhhing people with the iPad Pro, busy with it sort of thing that I’d established, while the stranger next door was completely keeping to himself, sort of thing, although I must say, of on pissless shift he must have been pulling, of some sort. There was this notion of a constant threat, of my room’s security being defiled, on consequence of enforcing an of on pissless - the identity and embodiment, thereof - the guy. It’s typically mostly always a guy, except that the bwipsies eccentric girl had murmured some unintelligible notions, of that she finds herself cute, and then - some other stuff, of an intimation of that there’s something that needs to be done out somewhere else, such as at some place that I couldn’t really hear her say, as her defining traits. I figured that she just can’t compose herself as formatively congenial enough, of an impetuous sub-superficial need to be shameless and un-humble towards me; I figure it’s because she’s discovered things about me online, and she doesn’t care to admit it. She’s never give, me her name. She’s kind of borderline like that, and she was framed, towards me, recently, of that she had shown up to play with my fragrance ingredients collections, as the village idiot, for the crumbs and knickknacks notion that I had flouted, although these people constantly flout the rules as dismissible, of that there be some tacit agreement and supervision involved in the village idiot indulging themselves around aerosol-industry sort of slight manufacturing environment, that it is. 

Could they possibly seem just simply better, for skirting the premise of speaking to me about it, whatsoever, for … I dunno. I just see worse of them, and for that matter, it’s not everyone who appears to have been framed in this particular manner, leverages upon this fragrance ingredients thing. It implies  a gross notion of childishness and entitlement, and worser things tend to come snowballing out of that establishment, quite easily.

Sweating it out, after having been a stark schizotypal paranoid one, in a mid-day’s hot water and medicinal oils-infused bath tub.


Wednesday, October 27

Future Halloween Costume Aspirations - Chimera Sparrow (via Google AI and Vector Q [imaengine])

 What a concept to bring to the out-doo-doo port-a-potty: doing the best costume ever - here, I assert that, as of 2021, that title couldn’t possibly be aught else than the chimera sparrow, rendered through Vector Q (imaengine), brought to life, thanks to: my choice for local fashion and crafting aspirations: Michael Levine

The first run print of the chimera sparrow ex imaengine | Vector Q ex Google AI Chimera Maker Tool


Oops, I guess they’ve shuttered their doors. But I’ll remember the guy, and perhaps I’ll catch him at a future 12 Steps meeting, or something. I spilled milk on his floor, over there, once, but I bought something from there, 3 times. For me, I felt that it was the relatable (for me) fabric store and supplier, of the retail shop sort, within the DTLA fashion district locale. It was cool to see the owner of the brand on the showroom floor on any given workday. 

Where can one catch bird-spotting the chimera sparrow, short of future Halloweens-to-come, of my costume making aspirations to-be (I purchased a $200+ sewing machine, off of Amazon, but I don’t know how to use it, just yet. It’s been sitting pretty, and my chimera sparrow [failed print] is guarding the fashion realm closet micro-space modular portion of my room, as et cie cute as can be). 

My micro-space modular closet features an Epson printer, a many-stitching patterns sewing machine, from Amazon, an aquarium pump au jour eau de (… it’s au jour) aerator and percolator, a black light, a lithium ion batteries bass trap ex large fabric roll ex fashion district DTLA discards haul, a (mostly) Nordstrom set of cold-weather clothes (or, for long-sleeves lovers), crumbs, knick-knacks, and some hummingbird juice. A moth had taken a liking to the stuff, and I don’t mind the moths. Oh, and there’s a chimera sparrow standing guard, off in the back, here.


Anyways, 

I need to learn how to use the sewing machine, and my readers get to be the insiders in to future developments and productivity cycles of iPigeon.institute - to come. 

Where can one view the Pigeons and Friends prints collection? 

I am commonly out at Los Angeles State Historic Park, in the late afternoons and early evenings, and from time to time, I can bring out the prints collection so that passers by can view the prints in person, as I sit and do stuff on my iPad Pro, or something. I can also have small samples of my fragrance creations out, once I finish fixing them, to my satisfaction. 

Saturday, May 30

A methodology of choice in movement patterns within the context of collecting recyclables.

A simple photo-aided workflow of how I « most effectively » "could" establish a search inquiry in to the trash cans around a formative establishment of a recycler's good fortune: a well-traveled and well-patronized gas station establishment, such as the Shell station at Olympic at Grand, in downtown Los Angeles. 

The gas station is placed at an impeccable location - right up the street from the Staples Center, where sporting and entertainment events are common. I'd commonly discover rich caches of discarded recyclables in the trash, for example. Sometimes food. On a couple of occasions, a patron of the gas station would offer me charity. A man, who called himself Baba, had chatted me up, one time. He told me that I seemed like a good person, as I dug through the trash at the gas station. He offered me some change. The Indian Subcontinent people can be endearing, at times, as this man was, in his persona about me. He related to me in a spiritually enlightened sense. 

Here, I had left the gas station, and I set out to do a full survey of the « recyclables » area, as I was intent on seeking out, and discovering - all the recyclables that I might find, and collect, on my outing, for the night. Perhaps I had an endeavor to pursue; a bill to pay, an aspiration for the coming morning, perhaps. 



The next block over is Olive, I believe. This slight locale features an up-and-coming corporate identity and persona establishment, with the Oakwood corporate housing complex seated next to a Starbucks. The height of developing adults' expression of self-esteem in the confidence of their burgeoning professionalism careers. Here, in this trash can, I'd typically discover nearly-to-wholly-eaten meal packaging, drinks from Starbucks, and hard Seltzer's, which are common recyclables to encounter in the trash, for the fact that drinking alcohol in public is illegal. Do the patrons of the trash can |slight| locality conscientiously disburse of their cans, after drinking them inside? [the car? ... perhaps?]. 

Maybe. I, as a recyclables collector, would hope so. On one hand, for my own benefit, but also to engender the notion that such recycling jaunts are a venture establishment of the overseers of the Grand-Central-|ing| of the schedule rotation of who the up-and-coming aspirational homeless ones are, of the recyclables-collecting sort. It's a semaphore development locality, in this neighborhood; somewhat bordering South Park, and just up the street, on this one, some eclectic and clichey small cottage establishments that made it out of the garage, or apartment complex - in to the relatively walking-distance-capable campus identity that a dedicated walker could suit, for the sake of establishing a local guides locality and persona marketing identity suitable for accommodating some leisure time, of the tech and lifestyle establishment afforded by the Google Maps and Contribute arms of the Google umbrella of companies and entities afforded by Google. Doing local guide "stuff" around town will definitely work the walking muscle, for the square mileage that DTLA is; although I say that it's all walking distance. I figure that I can check this trash can out, on some nights, and in the interim, establish some publishing merit towards a « perhaps » readership and participatory contingency of "people who talk to the Cloud Platform identities - the overseers and administrators of the City Quadrants: in a civic center where 1 or 2 streets "over" could be a completely different vibe, it's important to timely acknowledge and homestead the locale that one lives in, in a place like DTLA. I feel that the USC-large presence that's been establishing itself, through the Keck Medical Center, and the USC-labeled former AT&T highrise, is a demographic that's largely included in the Cloud Platform civic and governmental development prospectuses of the overseeing city controllers, whom a fond former acquaintance had related to me as a significantly impressive technological operation, behind the office doors, somewhere. 


Then, across the street, there's another trash can. This place, next to it, is a kitschy dive bar, or something. It's kind of a dog-poop trash can, but I checked it, on this night, and I was duly rewarded, for my efforts, even in spite of the fact that it's typically a dump and poop trash can. 


There's four trash cans at this intersection. One on each corner. The one at the corner outside this [seeming] city administrative building is largely likely the same story as the last trash can, as far as poop goes. I checked it, and I believe that I found some more riches of recyclables here. 


This is the last trash can, seen for the conquering of the intersection, by the recycling bum, [also a mobility-lifestyle techie-trekker]. This trash can had some wealth of some discarded stuff in it, for sure. 


The point is, is that, in Grand-Central-|ing| the semaphore of the slight locale, here; somewhat subdued, within the context of the recycling bum persona; yet rich, behind the scenes, of the stories of the people who patronize the trash cans of the intersection here - which is a fortunate one to « hotspot » for recycling's sake, in that it's conceivably trying and difficult to search out every trash can of all of DTLA for recyclables, yet it's a reasonably good jump off point of an outset and basis of a recycling bum identity, which reaps the rewards as such, miniscule in fiduciary scale ad it might be - it endows the partaker in a more rugged and well-heeled, more sustainable and pervasive identity of homesteading one's way in to appearing to be a valid local, which is an enviable pursuit to succeed in, in the high-threshold rental basis of the apartment lofts and condos of South Park, DTLA, as well as the furnished corporate housing establishment that is Oakwood (I believe that they are the primary corporate housing establishment, nationwide, last I heard). They do furnished and short-term leasing, on a more choicey budget scale than a well-situated budget, of establishing locale identity in a persona of young-life professionalism, as I'd formerly discovered, and lived out, as a renter of the Marina Del Rey Oakwood apartment complex branch of the company's several offerings throughout the greater Los Angeles area. 

Maid service, too. 


The point is that, in proper methodology, in data-scrumming; here, recyclables from the trash cans, context, basis, intent, and Grand Central semaphore development contingencies, such as seen in more refined establishments, such as cloud computing, are portrayed, in the scope of the trash cans, for the recyclables - for what it's worth, the seeker who goes the distance: here, it's only four corners of an intersection - gets the rewards, at least sometimes. 

In executive and administrative functioning, it's important to viably monetize every moment and movement about and around completing a task. The developers of civic establishment and zoning do the ground work, and corporate enterprise provides the visionary paths through which people live out the meaningful pursuit and outlook of their lives, meanwhile also having the potential to affect others within the locale. 

Neglecting suitable and viable monetizable facets of an archetypal city quadrant, or data set, of a subject-contingency, is sure to suit all of the unlikable facets of neglect, in the first place. 

The recyclables aren't going to collect themselves, after all. 

Friday, May 15

A super-cute look at the famíly behavior of sparrows at feeding time. (Updated)

I'm still out at the Spring Street end of the Grand Park lawn, although earlier, I had gone out for groceries and cigarettes, both for myself, as well as that I had considered others, of the micro-locale of the tent-city thing|s| going on, around the corner, and on blocks nearby, down by the 101 freeway overpass. 

A male sparrow hopped up, out at me, from the edge of my bags, beside me, and he chirped, assertively. It was super cute how he greeted me. It turned out that I had a half-burrito from outside of Atelier.

Friday, February 28

Pretty pigeon, fluffy feathers.

I would term this “kitsch;” (perhaps, - :/ .. ) yet charming: I’d say, for its playful, candid, yet charming and affectionate [that it were, for the sake of the fact that the bird had distinguished itself before me, ahead of the boundaries stayed at by the rest of the flock, as though it were wittingly posing as the pretty bird, and that he’d been brought up of virtuous establishments and charms of his plumage, that he ought demonstrate and appeal upon me, as the morning’s caretaker of the animal’s daily necessity of, and significant life’s formative pursuit [of a pigeon, and it’s companions in the flock] - of discovering food, that he is also a good bird; for me, a personally touching moment, in that I had regularly frequented the Grand Park grounds, in years past, as a homeless person who was, then, and now, and from the time therein, between when I had taken upon myself the promise to nurture the local flocks of sparrows and pigeons, such that were found at the park, and as well, in other areas in DTLA, and outlying localities where I’d come across flocks and establishments of  [somewhat] “homed,” (I estimate, colloquially an amateur of the richer and obvious context of a more well-domesticated and intentionally localized, through nurturing, over years, of effecting a lofted (perhaps) establishment of pigeons), that might be more imaginably relevant, within a personal context, given urban society, of that we acknowledge that people in other urban metropolises have established trained flocks of pigeons, for racing, for show, for messaging, etc. 

In all of the richer context of what might be understood of the charm of the photographic composition, and of the story of that the bird might be seen to have been intelligently attempting to “woo“ me of a more consistent affections and cares to be offered to them, it’s fairly deeply much more tenderly sentimental, in that I’d, at times, have become ineffectual, forgetful, neglectful, detracted from, or thwarted in - various claims, all amounting to that I had neglected to return to the common establishments of the various flocks, around town, that I could regularly and capably fulfill my commitments to them, and that the purpose of such things were that I would expect that the birds would perform slight miracles of animal behavior for people to admire, of them, for having been cared for, and nurtured, of my participatory influence and small acts of attesting to the virtues of perseverance in seeing the promises carried out, on a gradual, and measured basis - attesting to the religious connotation of establishing a serenity amongst the surroundings of nature among us, and of God’s creatures, that the figure of Saint Francis of Assisi is carried forth, in our common societal mind, as classically relevant and emblematic of an unending foundation of what goes to be carried forth, in life, and society, of that we accept Christ and his teachings, and his notable followers, throughout time, as constantly needful identities in and of ourselves, to discover, and praise, for the natural and spiritual truths that the hold in our lives, that we might, in that Saint Francis is a popularly celebrated saint of our nation’s embrace, and understanding. 
as one significant context. The other, I imagine (having become distracted, for touching upon the more important context of religious significance in our commonly spiritually destitute lives, in urban society - [and doing it long-winded, at that] {hopefully within grasp of comprehension, though} - that this bird was, indeed, one of my ones that I’d cared for, in previous years, and how personally at detriment I’d become, of battling through irreverent and seditious human affairs, to the failure of loving kindness and nurturing, of which the (aside <_ -="" a="" addressing="" all="" and="" as="" asunder="" at="" attesting="" been="" bird="" bitterly="" but="" care="" carrying="" cast="" center="" contexts="" decree="" demand="" diet="" disavowed="" effecting="" end="" environment="" ethical="" fearfully="" field="" finest="" font="" for="" forth="" friends="" go="" gone="" grounds="" had="" have="" i="" in="" is="" issue="" it="" knowledge="" lack="" locales.="" many="" me="" minds="" mouths="" native="" needful="" needs="" not="" nurturing="" obviously="" of="" on="" other="" our="" performance="" perhaps="" pigeons="" positive="" psychology="" reinforcement="" s="" sake="" sciences="" so="" social="" sparrows="" support="" surrounding="" sustainability="" that="" the="" their="" there="" these="" things="" to="" understanding="" unfed="" upon="" urban="" was="" we="" weeks="" well="" would="">

In summary, the bird seemed to intelligently attempt, in a common bird’s psychologically natural manner, in preening himself, in evincing affections upon me, for the promise of returning more regularly for a feeding, of his formerly more consistent expectations that I would have been seen to have fulfilled for them, when I lived amongst them, on a day-to-day basis, as that I lived outdoors, nearby and within the same park, itself, which they’d since have had established some community and charm, of that the sparrows accompany the pigeons, as well - and that they have their own amusing and individual species’ manner of eating the bread, or tucking it away, for collecting, as the little ones do. 
 

Tuesday, December 4

Early December, 2ⁿ18. The Broadway windy Corridor at Manchester .farm nursery seedlings from Armstrong's Nursery Center in Pasadena.

As an .institute Founding Director of a domains.google - purchased web property purpose(ing), today {-esque} I've reinforced the notion that slakingAF trawl-mining is bisque, to a reasonably-chowder reasonably pork-shoulder slow-roasted oven night; for the sake of the fact that trawlin' webAfFs never ends, yet milling crête materials-resources into slakenAF trawlin' feed is unfashionable; the notably fux*swquif-⅝fwa-BAMM! af : most world-class-trendy Renegade Craft Fair Nº of ChinatownDTLA 8-9th

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