Alternatives to Gig Work, Now that the Federal Extension Unemployment Benefits are Ending.

 Although it may seem like a bleak outlook on the newsfeed, lately, I'm not going to freak out. There are plenty of ways in which I can assert my enterprising self and my entrepreneurial spirit, even as of yet;

Hopefully you'd also managed to procure and safeguard some capital investments, using unemployment benefits from the Employment Development Department, etc. - for me, it was perfume and fragrance | aroma ingredients that stuck things out, beyond the stock market and the cryptocurrency craze that hit many newcomers, from the wayside, with attractive and compelling distractions from what few opportunities many of us were afforded, due to the Covid-19 pandemic, and subsequent social strata fallout that was the Black Lives Matter movement and associated civic center occupations and unrest. 

In any case, you might be wondering what else there is to do, now that much of the attention is on the presidential administration, the weather, etc., while here, in Southern California, the weather is relatively balmy and cool - at least for a few days, now; we',ve got raindrops notifications coming through on Dark Sky, and it's only the height of mid-day that's unbearably hot and overly bright. Things could be worse; they « had been » worse, previously... 

Then, from out of what seems like nowhere, Google manages to pull through in some new releases; there's the Pixel 6 coming out soon, and with it (preceding it's release), there's plenty of self-starter enterprising frontier, development and production space that's rich as all of the major topics of Big Tech, as of late: AI, ML, Call Center stuff, IoT, online retail, ad marketing, domaining... that sort of thing. 

For me, Google Workspace reignited the development aspirations fire within me, and I was drawn in by Gmail's chat space, which, for me, is constantly dead space, or non-existent, as I work primarily on mobile; finger-flipping up and down, checking on this and that, waiting for my benefits to come in, ... although that was bound to come to an end, at some point in time. Now that those things had come to fruition, during their time, it's obvious that we'd expect to have something to show, as for ourselves, and for our adult life and professional careers, to come. That's how I see it, in any case. 

There's Dialogflow, which is the linguistic version of what was, and is - the visual foray of Machine Learning platform, which is TensorFlow; we've all been familiarized with the notion of what TensorFlow does for us, in having to go through Captchas, as the intelligence barrier, between us, and some fated necessary task of scripting, that comes about, as a result of browsing the web, sometimes. 

There's the Tovusound Organ Pipe Music Boxes, which I'm a huge fan of, as a DTLA pigeon carnival enthusiast and proponent (lately, I've been getting shipped around, various parts of town, for the sake of tending to the other pigeon flocks and small establishments of them, in numbers, whether they were known gatherings of birds, or unbeknownst to me), given that the birds are likely to flourish, here and there, regardless of whether or not it's the civic center, or not. In these many various locales that I traverse, I encounter signs of that the pigeons and the people are getting along well, and that the birds are treated well in various parts of town.

The importance of expressing affections, in order to attain fulfillment of our needs.

 I've arrived here late: 6:45 p.m., here, just outside of the Civic Center Metropolitan district of Downtown L.A., by the 23rd St. | Orthopaedic Institute Metro Expo Line Station. I'd been hoping to get here, even days sooner, in order to check up on the USC dumpster pigeons flock, at the parking lot, nearby Popeye's Chicken, located at the corner of Adams and Figueroa. 

The pigeons usually hang out, as a large flock, lined up at the edge of the back of the buildings.

Today, it was a scant crowd, with some pigeons scattered about, on the street lighting poles, and here and there. Not much. 

Regardless of that I had missed their standard day's hang out, which peaks in the late morning, perhaps, through early afternoon (I had slept in until 2:30 p.m., today; I was quite exhausted, apparently, from having arrived home, last night, around 1:30 p.m.). My Google Maps location tracking timeline says that I walked 52 miles yesterday: obviously not possibly true, and I didn't go to Arcadia; I'm not sure why or how that was put in to the timeline. 

I tossed the birds some old soggy sandwich, broken in to pieces, that I had procured, along my journeys from the the previous days. The birds were not quite actively attentive to me, and for the sake of that food had arrived for them, although I did get some reciprocation out of a few of them, after a few moments had passed. 

The moment had reminded me of the figurative meanings behind feeding the birds: seeking a "some day (to come)" affection, out of the flocks of pigeons, given years of care and dedication having been offered to them, and hoping for this long-standing task to effect a semi-domesticated manner and characteristic about the flocks, around town, and hopefully, some day, the birds will be hand-tame, out in public. It's a parable about the importance of loving and kind affections, in a sense. We all long to be with our life partner, and to establish a family around the ideas, based on the American Dream, although, as the images of the pigeons, here, in this case, show; we are not always successful at attaining our ends, means, and goals, in life, despite trying. 

In the end, I managed to get the pigeons' attention, and they did a roundabout whole-flock flight, for show. This behavioral pattern is to signal birds perching nearby of that resources had arrived, in order for the rest of the birds to eat. It's a pro-sociable figurative gesture; the rest of the birds are similarly seeking food, yet they would perhaps be missing out on the meal otherwise, whereas they are of intrinsic value to the entire flock, given that they're scouting out resources, just as similarly as they are, in this chosen source spot, for food; behind the building. It's a naturally-derived behavioral more, of worthy ethics about it. The human-relevant moral of this event is that we ought to have an ambient ethical threshold of consideration and manners towards others; it's the natural order, and sustainable life's path to follow. 

After some time, other birds had arrived, and they didn't seem all that hungry, for today. At least there's food sitting out, and tomorrow will be another day. 

The 90071 | 90017 [U.S. ZIP Code] watershed fly (video blog).

The watershed area and surrounding sloping and terraced locales, architectural developments, and ins-and-outroads of the ZIP code locations 90071 and 90017 feature a rare flying insect critter; the watershed fly. This creature is borne out from luxury, with a silver spoon, in the mouth; so to speak. It's a much gentler « feeling » fly creature when it lands on bare skin, and it's notably self-aware of its non-offense to the observer and discoverer of this emerging unicorn of genetic modification. I've witnessed this special fly, in various formative selves; and previous ones had been more attractive than this one, for certain. This one is somewhat a tropical beach-faring sun-bather, and the creature came and said hello, up at the top of the U.S. Bank Tower's terraced enclaves, across from the DTLA Central Library. Undoubtedly, the ionization and resonance created by the nearby Maguire Gardens and boring drill machinery from the Metro development project provide significant influence over the genetics of some of these fly insect pompadours, given ideal conditions. 

Have a look at the video clip!

Product Review: the Suorin Vagon Nicotine Inhaler (Vape | Vaporiser). [DTLA Smoke Shop - $40 | 223 1/2 W 6th St, Los Angeles, CA]

Your review

Jay Ammon

 just now

This smoke shop is pretty cool. I came in looking for a refillable cartridge piece for a push-button THC oil vaporizer that I found in the trash, and the clerk directed me, instead, to a device such as the "Suorin." Having been a Suorin device purchaser and user, in the past, and given that it was within my budget, I took him up on his offer, and purchased the device for $40, and some 55mg/mL nicotine juice for $18.99. Not a bad deal, all-in-all. The nicotine juice is very strong.

 

On Juneteenth (June 19th, 2020), amidst the media rush, some calm, in the park.

Hmmpf. I'd say that this is a poor time to try to compose a blog, yet I ought to reflect upon the fact that it is a newly endowed holiday upon the internet media masses, and I'd been huge on keeping up to date about news, lately. 

On one hand, it's a bit of a difficult space for me to fulfill, as I've had personal problems laying out broad forefront stuff, of my memorable or reclaimable self and identity. Meanwhile, though, the rallies and gatherings in community that have been showing up, in front of City Hall, [DTLA], as much as I had been, for the birds - suggests that this is a time of needful reform, and of re-affiliation with what makes us, or draws us apart, from one another.

I feel people out with their present and portrayal self - I get scant scud junk, much of the time, as far as voices that persecute me, in my mind. I imagine that they've got no oversight, and no cares towards a sense of authority, and maybe they've got a simply subjective framework of identity, from their look at themselves, and they'd perhaps neglected to know what was being lost, in the eyes of others. 

On some level, I saw it, myself, this morning. I'd tried to work out a standard work week, of a day's shift work, and heading home for the night. I made it through it, with well enough for showing up merits about myself, yet last night I stayed awake, in anticipation of getting my MacBook Air back from Apple Service repair. I had [then] unimaginable resource of capability offered to me on a desktop publishing platform that is the default landscape view of the widescreen - different, most certainly, from the handheld columnar profile of the mobile tablet or, in my case, my cheap Android base model phone.

In any case, I feel like I'd made some ground in attaining some unimagined knowledge and know-how, while scrumming around, on the internet, trying to get my stake and claims in, of the unemployment and worker's benefits programs, that had been distributed en masse, as well, along with developing and ongoing topics, largely of crisis and critical mass, in society. Perhaps some of the folks who are showing up in to town, recently, from elsewhere, had likewise, been disassociated from the latest in developments in what was afforded to society, as far as civil rights, which is a bit more consideration than I typically offer people, of what imaginative forms embellish themselves upon me, in life; whereas that sort of evocative muse ideation was simply a fleeting moment, for me, while in the bathtub, and I'd just got engaged, sort of celebration, type of thing. 

But I leave it alone, it's been known, and reputed of me. I've (sure), I've failed at it, previously, as the formerly known of, as it was - from the talk-ups of which I could now recall, in my memory: "the lost puppy," that I was. A hopeless straggler, of some form of desperate lonesome sort, who'd been abused, in the mind, looking at others, hoping that someone would fulfill some empty facet of self, in personality, through something engaging and life-re-affirming. Something like love. 

I chose what had become familiar, and I feel like I'd largely believe of myself, the same that I'd see in others, for what I'd known of people, at that stretch of time-span, that it was, up until my quaternary isolation, for a new web of "all sorts," whereas I was taken by stuff that I was in to, on the web, and that feels like it's so recently familiar for me, although it began happening to me when I turned 30 years old, 8 years ago, from this point in time. From then until now, it's still largely been a mystery, and a jumble of miscommunications, poor timings, and lots of the same ol' stuff substances-seeking behavior, going on, of what I could muster, in life, of what felt like the good life, for a long stretch of time, in my earlier young adult years, when I'd attended university, and paired off with someone. 

During that time, I'd developed upon my earlier youthful culture side-loading ingestions of hip-hop, psychedelia, and black metal music had formed of me, heading in to college with a unique and adventurous optimism over social bonds that had developed quickly, suited to my deeper sense of needfulness, in affection, which was fulfilled through meeting my [then] girlfriend, whom I'd developed a relationship with, over the course of nearly 6 years, from that point. 

That being said, it's a long stretch of time, in terms of young adulthood, even at my age - which is 38, at this point, of conceivable extent of relationship that lasts, and is tolerated, for the mess that we make of it; each to our own, yet, over the years, I'd learned much more significantly to acknowledge my own shortcomings, in recognizing when I was known, most certainly, by others, for what I would hide, of admission - as what would inevitably show itself playing out, in the lives of others, as I traversed around the locales of Los Angeles, as a homeless person, with no particular bond or draw on society; much - not many people much spoke to me, during those years. 

Yet, through much of the fog of what young adult life turns out, in being, for whatever ills that we ingest, and take of and upon ourselves, in knowing that we'd been brought up differently, for one thing; for another thing, we'd largely failed at socialization in life, for choosing to bring others in to our web of internalized problems and fantasies. As I got older, I became much more secure with being left to myself, and then, one day, I faced a reality of that people would deny me my former autonomy, irregardless. 

Even with this, in mind, I [somewhat] have a sense of that I just don't know, off hand, "who" does that to me. I figure, then I think about it, and then I remember, and it's just simply unpleasant, and I dissociate from the occurrence of ‹ some › people's images, in my mind, for what I'd believe that I know about them. 

For me, though, bringing things back in to present-day relevance, I find that the person who causes those problems, for me, has rarely seemed to have been a black compatriot, that I'd known, over the course of the various distinctions and stages in which I was brought up - through my parents themselves, through the teachings of the Bible, from kids who stole me away from that stuff, and from my parents' establishment of a more stable framework, in life, to university, where I had mostly free roam over the choices I had, given responsibilities to fulfill. 

The loving care towards each other, and the burdens that we, as outsiders of what is much more, (for most people of Los Angeles), to bring it into the scope of exploring and living out lifestyle-locales, such as South L.A., which is a vast expanse of territory of segregation by choice, to a large degree, based on fear that's been wrought of our minds, of cultural "others" in society. 

Black people have the kind of devoted and loving kindness towards others, whereas people draw fearful notions of them gathering in large groups - of the sort that sometimes brings tears to my eyes, of a truthful and genuine sort. For me, they carry that kind of needed facet of togetherness, in society, whereas I feel like I can relate, not for my own distinct "otherness," of my various stages of upbringing, but of what black people had, here and there, adopted, of me, for what I could offer, for them, of various things, or for things I was good at, sort of thing. I somewhat largely felt like a tourist, sometimes. 

But one thing I never do is disrespect a man for what's good, or better, about him, for what he could portray of himself, whereas I somewhat walk a thin line, it might seem - yet I'm woefully offered consideration, for publishing stuff, in timely-enough documentation, given that people are - out here, constantly pushing for the ends of structured society, for the types of things that I just don't care to remember, or reiterate. Yet I feel like some people would care to impose upon youth, yet again, the mistakes and transgressions, upon God's word, in the Bible, which some people simply seem to have altogether none of it, whatsoever, when I encounter them, out in the wild. 

These types of things matter. Cock don't matter, color don't matter, it don't matter, much, what some people say - in certain sorts of frames of mind, yet these are still common faulty beliefs of much of society, in to the youthful adults that come shored up, out in California. We get it out of them, in casual inferences, or moreso as unwitting slips of the slight, that comes to transpire, of what people seem to simply feel is themselves, whereas I'd be like, "nah... you just can't... you can't be that, anymore, sort of thing. You'd have to leave town, or something." [sort of thing]. 

The golden era of that sort of dissonant self, in expressing identity - comes to a concrete slab, of patient Christian identity, which, for whatever reason, for what, or whatever, I feel that the Christian identity is also, likewise, strongly represented in the black people, and they'd support a kick to the curb of a person on their way out of town. It goes deep, sometimes, out in Skid Row. It gets of on poo poo moments out in the open, yet people are not quite brought in, for arrest, for having to pare down to their bare and most human self, circus that it might be, aside from all that. 

Then, the pigeons-carnival of that which is the rest of downtown, is a large mix of so many other people. I don't know much of some other cultures I observe, yet I try to keep it upscale, and classy, after leaving Skid Row. But, as I'd offer, in affording someone new, some perspective in, on local culture - take in all of Los Angeles, with an open mind, when you meet me as a local guide, but some people... they're just trying to get out and rob me, for my devices, and stuff. But I feel like it would establish enough controversy, over time, for people to simply know better. Maybe it's my mind, that they rob me of, but some people love me, here and there, and some people seem to just be afraid of affectionate love, from another, whereas the device simply seems to show out, as the more compelling form of moment to gain, whereas the person is largely not there; for what truthfully could establish itself as compelling study in social media account portrayals of one's self. Some people are that blatant, in not otherwise being professional, of an established certification of rational and ethical merit, in life. Once therapy meets them, I'd have hoped that they could have been the fixie that fixed it - I'd done of their self, in identity; or maybe that it was lost, in the words that transpired, yet I'd feel that I'd done it to them - most surely, of spinning their mind some appropriations, in words: words that truthfully have meaning, and the lean, from the meat - or ‹ something › like that. I don't always say everything right. But usually I'm just tryna' take drugs and go feed the pigeons and sparrows, sort of thing. 

That's what some people game out, as a huge stretch of my own, as well as their own, of their life, that they make of my self. I don't know. Black people don't really treat me like that. They seem to understand, as long as I know how to act, and be friendly, and stuff. It's pretty standard not all that scary, yet I feel like some people really develop this alternate self, whereas for me, I've got to show up every day - for the birds, and birds live on rational schedules; they're nature-bound creatures, by all means of God's goodness. On that note, some people simply choose to be evil, for the moment, and it's a rare shame that it happens to a vested local of so many years of Skid Row, in showing up, but if a person simply never starts doing it, then it's not quite simply like I'd believe that they're sober and drug abstinent, to a disturbing degree. Some people could admit it, for others... they're truly disgusted by the rampant drug abuse and humanitarian crisis that comes with the casual neglect of fwaunching identity out in the Skids, shittin' porta-of-potty, of on, and come back when they ass-wipe next time, for that baby doo-doo shitsicle stint, sort of thing, if it ‹ might be ›. Some people would just have none of it, whatsoever, and they end up bloody and filthy as a wrinkled old one, by the time they make it out, in being honest, in life. 

Beyond that, there's so much of the arts, and of culture, that's been forcefully taken from me... sorts of faceted, deep-seated stuff, and some people just would have none of it, whatsoever, which I could somewhat understand, I'd not yet brought a friend out to Skid Row, with me, although I'd like to... I feel like they could pass, perhaps, and it wouldn't be an all-out slaughter of them, (over some reason). Yet on a day like this, I try to remain fairly grounded, and in truth, I'm doing this Scientology thing; here and there, somewhat, and it's vastly simply unfamiliar to many people, and some people just don't care - but to be worse than just "good enough, or better," was never quite, of most-latest, of tech, n' stuf, and then - that's what I've got in my backpack, and my sling bag - that's for my man-purse necessities. Then I'm collecting recyclables, and stuff. 

Pretty tough to wrangle up support against me, for my backpack, and stuff, and then, even walking up to me? Pretty scarce, that they'd last very long, or really like me, for what I could offer to them. 

But the bums, of today? They're somewhat not bums of just anywhere, they're showing up of on casting call basis, of scheduling, for being a stark one ‹ pigeon ›, which I do, which is okay. I'm kind of here, for bums, to walk up and try that on me, sort of thing. Sometimes, though, I just couldn't much have done any better for them, and it just ended like that. At some point - I just leave, somewhat... [in some other configurations of life, going on, sort of thing]. It gets problematic, and then, beyond entertainment - there's collecting recyclables and smoking cigarettes, yet, for the endless transcriptionist - an of on fwopp-mode bwopp, then I'm done.

A Black Lives Matter Rally. (June 6th, 2020). here, in

I took the trip from Ralph's in DTLA for groceries on foot, rather than via Metro, because I wanted to be sure that I'd catch any errant  and scattered birds that I had feared [had, perhaps] had not gotten a meal for several days, since I'd been here, at the bottom of Grand Park.

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. 

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.

Wednesday night - an iPigeon « peeped out » wandering about DTLA; an uncommon demographic to appear in the area; inevitably, I have to sleep, at some point.

Wednesday night, in downtown Los Angeles, California, was a hum-drum paltry showing, mostly, of the typically lively and vibrant social life that feeds the bar and restaurant scene in the area. On this night, it seemed, the locals of the DTLA area were mostly suitably dissatisfied with the offerings of what could be had, « despite all things » of that we were on lockdown, by order of the various higher-level government institutions (actually, all levels of government, I suppose), and the streets were, in turn, filled with a much different, and definitely seedier demographic, of which, I might surmise, was not unfamiliar to me, given some consideration; yet, to have witnessed the Los Angeles County Sheriff's busses entering the Justice Administration building, and the narratives that had spun off, from that, (from that morning) - the linearity of the sinister contexts that unfolded were that of a most "of on homie" « named » gang, of which some of my former peers had strong affiliations with | for, and, as well, strong affections towards. 

I remember the imagery of the persona | man who had stalked me in Santa Monica, detailing, from the time at the crosswalk stop light, throughout the crossing of the street - of that he had pinned me as a targeted subject of study, prior to meeting me; yet here, thankfully, the man presented himself as a woe-stricken, conciliatory, and repentant individual, having been in incarceration, (conceivably), with our interaction leading him there, whereupon we parted ways - the police officer succinctly had told me to "go that way," which was the opposite of where the suspect had been scooched over, on to the sidewalk; the police cruiser separating myself and him. I went to the Santa Monica Police Headquarters, as I had originally been directed to do, when I called 911. (The man continued to follow me, as I was on my way there. He spoke of things, such as "how about we commit some crimes together?" - which I felt was overly seedy and seditious in nature; in addition, he seemed to be aggressively in disavowal of a common space between us, from the moment I observed him - staring at me, wearing sunglasses, whereas he spoke of and at me with familiarity, and he seemed set on acquiring some trinket or token of my person, with this as the outset, of what might have been a different sort of acquaintanceship, otherwise.

Yet, here, in his desperate recants of his behavior, and of the people who had enticed his vulnerable-state self with notions of some notions of that "of on homie," for it's seditious and capricious nature; for it's formative declarations of sedition and caprice - novel, to some; mindlessly irresolute, though, I'd say. Yet seemingly (and easily) hundreds, if not thousands, of same such-wise formative individuals seemed out in staunch force, in Downtown Los Angeles, as I attempted to sleep through the night next to a Metro rail station by Staples Center, and the Convention Center, in a parking lot. A drunken man, otherwise sociable, flaunted features of that I could not help but not sleep, for his ministrations, of a decidedly Latino etymology - his pidgins, which were threatening and ominous in nature, as well as [perhaps] grandiose, in that he seemed to believe, (or have tactical awareness of my positioning, and travails, leading up to "parking it," at the parking lot, where I imagined that others (losers, perhaps, like myself, I might similarly have seemed), yet - 

Even the children we're fraught with problematic behavioral conditions - on one hand, they were older, for that age that they obviously were, audibly, as youthful teenagers, or was it that they had simply been of the age to receive oppositional-defiant personality disorder, their forebears, as well, and that none of them, of the conditional of, of the affiliation to "of on homie," the gang, whereas it's simply a bit troubling, in that some of them present themselves as kind, charitable, and sociably well-to-do, and just earlier that day, with me, in fact. 

The problem is, is that these "of on homie" behaviors and mannerisms are imbued in to subjects wittingly, and with effort; whereas the man who had stalked me was one to recant, and rebuke: the affiliation, the lies, the impropriety of the flimsy institutional underpinnings of the organization, whereas many others were | are treated with caution, for showing up, in the general public, on a Wednesday night, me, being one known, and self-aware individual-as-targeted-victim, some various other errata of things that perceivably went on, during the course of such an influx of revelers, of the Wednesday night, that it was, whereas there must | ought to be some compromise, in solution to the obviated problems, of that they were, many of them: disheveled, not well-assertively-bespoken, of the words that they would say, some of them gay, or seditiously so. Had I posted my other blog on "some guy" on the morning of this Wednesday? I believe so. He pulled some sorry drunken gay guy stuff on me; it made me think on Covid-19 social distancing demands, that (supposedly) everyone would have caught wind of, or at least have noticed, out in society, of that « something » was amiss. 

In any case, that was this passing Wednesday, March 25th, on my end. 

Thankfully, people are keeping the birds fed during this public health crisis.

I stopped over in DTLA, after returning an unexpectedly fortunate haul of recyclables to the tune of $7.70 at GP Recycling. 

A passing bike rider observes the Los Angeles Public Library flock of pigeons after they enjoy a meal for the afternoon.

Largely, aside from some scant touristy and locals type of population being outdoors in downtown Los Angeles, there is an obvious larger demographic of homeless individuaos, as well as individuals trekking about, after being released from Los Angeles County Jail. The other night, the depravity population was out in large numbers, many of them looking for trouble. I was fortunate to have some overseer protective status, as a victim of crime asset, of which, there was a vast underpinning allegory being portrayed to my front-of-mind, as the remote theatre of operations of a tactical nature, which had escalated in to Army Corps of Engineers being called out to make sure that the ground water was suffice to manage the ongoing enumeration of Civic individuals, and as well, as a courtesy resource management Target accommodation, in that the ambient temperature of DTLA is sometimes artificially warm, or unseemingly cold, and windy, to help preserve the safety of displaced victims, and to calm the seeking slight criminal nature of the otherwise also displaced, or perhaps gang-affiliate group injunction status of the street-walking demographic, which was rife, out on the streets on Thursday. 

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. 

 

Reaping the benefits of the film industry being in town (DTLA)

Being that the film industry is in town,  I've been able to resolve some of my interrent crises of happenstance everyday lifestyle 

Such as:

• I missed the food bank,  the other day,  on account of exhaustion from hauling a heavy recyclables-laden rolling luggage and,  at that,  challenging myself, on a suggested notion that I ought to jog-it-on-home, to manage my weight and for sustainability in endurance,  to come - in future treks out to DTLA for my daily work needs, of collecting recyclables and feeding the pigeons. I found some great-looking disposed-of food in the alley,  where I had serendipitously been lead to, as well as that it was a piss-alley premonition of that I needed to go pee,  after getting off of the bus (I have kidney issues due to intricate medical complications due to taking Zyprexa ODT Zydis, which is an expensive and well-executed antipsychotic). I usually try to keep good in my civic conscientiousness by peeing in to a bottle, but the exacerbation of my kidneys issue (due to that I'm extra-fond of [due to my medication] and robustly supported by [due to recycling] had been wearing down on my ethically better resolve, as of the past few weeks. Thankfully, I've been getting more rest, and managing my inflammation better,  at the same time. I also procured this new rolling luggage, of an artist's posterboard frame size, out in Echo Park,  which has proven itself to be a fortunate common destination for my recyclables-seeking. It fits inside of my current luggage, good for an emergency on-the-spot backup, in case the wheels on my old bag run ragged. 

• My Nike AirMax shoes (highly recommended) had run worn and flat.  I sounded like an air cushion when I would walk. Although they were still walking-functional, I feel that my chronic back pain may have been exaggerated by walking them flat. I discovered some good-enough Nike Airs,  as well as a pair of New Balance shoes, also fashionable-athleisure favorites of mine. Although I have the inclination to help dress the homeless as fashionably as I am dressed, for happening upon discarded clothing in charitable Los Angeles districts and locales, I commonly find that many disheveled or otherwise burden-fraught local bums and female-homeless are too conditionally unspeakably-dumb, or acutely neurotic, largely the female homeless,  presumably on account of being pursued and taken by the notion of free intoxication of bum-fare, and obviously smoking it,  at that. One of them, whom I had been taken by,  significantly,  because of the fact that she offered me a vent Starbucks, while she was reading the Bible (with the chapters of Jewish influence added to them - the silver edition), was friendly to me,  the next time I saw her. Now, she speaks in jibberish tongues [apparently Hijri-mockup dialectical pidgin-petit a'd hoc-ism], which is unfortunate, obviously. She's been of this habit since I once offended her by showing up too commonly where she typically hangs out. It could have been so different between us - now it's barriers of [according to her] Hijri-linguistics mock-up jokes between us, even though I legitimately show up at the park, as a bum. 

• My daily meals and food distribution efforts for the needy who hadn't been as outrigger trekker as I had been, about town,  we're exacerbated by missing the food bank this week.  I fortunately found a pizza and an Italian plate today,  still warm. They also let me sack through their dumpsters and private-party trash cans, without any down-on-bums drama about the disparity looks of a grown-man-(boyish-looks) dumpster-diver amongst them - film industry working types. 

A blowout great year for my Google Domains Blogger page, and a quick look forward to the new year.

By Jay Ammon

December 31, 2019

A quick overview of my year, here on iPigeon.institute, on Google Blogger, and looking forward, as it's New Year's Eve, today, in sunny Los Angeles, CA, USA.

It's been a graciously fortunate year,  and a growth-driven looking forward to future readership interactions and perhaps monetization of my Google Blogger and Google Domains sites,  with iPigeon.institute being the main publication site.  

This month has shown itself to have been my strongest month yet,  readership-wise. I feel like I've perhaps broken in to a new demographic for having placed a calculated marketing effort on craigslist, one week.  craigslist still proves to be a powerful medium for establishing localizable and targeted marketing promotions efforts. 

A look at the yearly readership stats.  I'm excited to see readership showing strong upward momentum on my publishing efforts.  Thank you,  everyone who's read,  commented,  and contributed in one way or another, to my blogging!

What will I be doing for this New Year's? Probably nothing much,  aside from collecting recyclables,  heading through Echo Park,  maybe look at the light installment at Grand Park,  DTLA (there is a well-attended New Year's Eve party at Grand Park, traditionally).

... 🤔 say hi to familiar faces (hopefully). I did come across one of my Facebook friends earlier,  on Skid Row. He'd been wanting to hang out. A fortunate sign; this serendipitous chance interaction.  

I'm excited for this upcoming month's expense budget and devices list update of a new 2019 iPad,

Indianapolis. Current location of my 128 GB Gold iPad (7th Generation) 2019 version. Slated to arrive in-store on the 8th of January. Hooray! Design| work in style,  with plenty of storage. [I couldn't quite afford the iPad Air 3, latest model,  with my credit card program fees,  with First Premier Bank] ($49 program fee and $125 annual card fee for the first year). (They are offering me a total of $500 credit,  though,  and it's nice to have a credit card).

a couple of small credit accounts, and a new home at a place just up and around the corner from my apartment and first site of iPigeon.institute (that location is hereby closed).

The new place offers food - a much welcome and appreciated amenity.  I've established some good face-to-face friends with the local RV  (recreational vehicle) parkers, nearby the local "pit."

Here's some photos of the local pit - for locals. 

How to casually jaunt-AF bwa-bwaio your jaunt in to the holidays (if you've been stuck out of luck).

Call it bold-AF of on of bwa-bwaio bold as the tundra, but some people like it simple when it comes to making casual acquaintances.

Such is the early morning rush-hour atmosphere at 5th at Maple, where locals and visitors alike congregate for a daily hosting to suit the most dire production and development schedules. These guys (and ladies) don't joke around much, and for the price of a Starbucks Frappucino, you can dump your year-end charitable contributions on a sponsorship of a young person, out on the streets, trying to make ends meet.

Although it may seem strange, I feel that this is the place where so many of us, struggling (holiday season or not) to find our place in life, are destined to end up - finding comradeship and brotherhood through helping out the less fortunate. 

Some tips for the locale - 

• Make it a suitable DTLA outing, and do as the locals do - get out on foot and make your way through the various locales, (if desired), of the area - the Toy District has great deals on Winston (just one street over) of mobile device cables. You can find cheap device protectors, new lightning-USB cables, iPhone cases, iPad glass covers, and more, for a fraction of the price you'd get from retail store shopping at places such as Target. The Flower District is also a great morning go-to of DTLA. I recommend curly willow cuttings in water pots with smooth river stones, underneath a well-lit office-desk space environment - for an easy greenery setting in-home or at your workplace. 
• If it seems a bit hectic at this intersection - don't worry. There are 5 porte-potties at San Julian Park, (just up at the heading of the photo), as well as a civic installation proper toilet at 5th at Los Angeles. It's good civic disposition to greet the street-dwellers, here. Many of them are regulars, and sometimes they put on small acts for the other patrons of the area, and for pedestrians. The park is also a nice cultural civic installation to check out. A lot of the times, they'll be passing out food and playing music.
• (Try not to) use the restroom on the streets. People have to live here.
• Bring some PB+J sandwiches for the pigeons! I don't get out here every day, but when I do, I always make sure to have some bread and fixings for the birds.

A man from South Africa told me I had good energy about me, as I was bangin’ Taylor Swift in DTLA.

Then he began talking about how I seemed spiritually well, which I would concede, after I gave a momentous talk on Scientological virtues in this day and age, where many young people have taken on significant ego arbitrariness in their disposition, in the throes of youthful angst and existential crisis, amidst criticism.

The point was that there’s always someone in charge of this technology, at hand, in which we are acquisitioned in (or, in that some ‘choose’ to) speaking out to make our point in this world of magnanimous proportions; although, at times, the proportions might seem to have bent, and in that, we become momentarily larger and more significant than we typically are, as physiognomical entities, as individuals.

All of this had played out over my Herculean task of making it out to mid-Wilshire, where I attempted to head out over to my former childhood credit union branch to open a new account. That didn’t pan out, so I sat out in a lovely nook park, where the locals frequent, for taking their children out, etc. it’s a truly lovely park.

By the way, check out my current view | perspective! A lovely post-rainy day spot to blog it out on a bench in Grand Park, 90012, next to the Children’s Playground.

A vista of beauty, here in the civic center of Downtown Los Angeles, CA.

Anyhow, this whole Taylor Swift - hits - driven good mood has truly done me well. I definitely recommend grabbing an Apple Music subscription and checking out her latest. These songs nearly move me to tears, with their great compositional nuance, performance, and orchestration.

Anyways, 

The man who had spoken to me, earlier this afternoon (although it’s now dusk), had wrangled me in to a slight debacle of holiday cheer and charitability, which I’d been careful to try to be fair and even-handed in, in coming out to distribute clothing and food to the needy, in addition to my daily pursuit of blogging and making sure that the pigeons stay fed out here. The difficulty that he had posed unto me was that he was a spiritually-riven man, as well, and he was seeking some financial kindness, perhaps (and that he perhaps saw me as dressed as luxuriant, such that I had portrayed good spiritual energy). He was trying to make it out to San Diego, with no money, with diabetes, no money for a meal, etc. 

Then he asked me what I thought about Donald Trump. He had said, earlier on in our acquaintanceship, that he fancied that I was a better man than Donald Trump. I told him that I felt like Donald Trump is a good man, from what I know about him. (I am, admittedly, a fan of our current President of the United States of America). He commonly gets a hard time about his position and disposition in life, from locals I come across on social media. It was a bit worrisome at this point, that I had encountered this man, as an off-handed opposer of one of my affinities for our public and popular culture | elected political figures. President Trump was simply, at the outset, a well-known and well-trusted and established man in the consideration of our Hollywood | Los Angeles, CA television screen output and upbringing, if it may, such that it be so - that many of us were brought up on some of his network television programming, in former years. 

And then,

He asked me what I had though about Adolf Hitler. A contentious topic. My take on the man is a very personal one, although I had never ventured to study his life and writings, at this point in my life. As a corollary, this theme of contentious figures happen(s[-ed]) to also correspond to Taylor Swift, who is colloquially fashioned as a contemporaneous Lady Hitler. I told him that I had a perhaps strange and uncommon disposition on the figurative Hitler that I could have, perhaps commented on. Perhaps not, though; I feel. (I was an MKULTRA ad hoc acquisition of a couple of weeks, or so, of that I was made to conceive, and live out - the existential corpus of a dictataphone-derived mad man of, in that he was commonly conceived, and derived, of our millennial upbringing, to be a histrionic and narcissistic dictator, in and of himself; although [short story], I ended up coming to see him as an internally and solitarily divergent victim, in that he was, as well, a subject of targeting of programs and intelligence technology that had preceded MKULTRA mind control. 

Although the man was fair enough, in asking me for generosity, I failed him, apologetically. I told him that I’m quite poor, myself. I do truly feel poorly about letting him down, since I do have $5. 

Hmmph 😳. I suppose that that’s what I can say about the situation. I’ll try to make it up in my coming outings to civic center DTLA.

I don’t quite feel as somber and sadly serious as this current photo might portray of me. Here’s a mirror shot.

My Taylor Swift positivity outfit look.