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Showing posts with label Home exhibition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Home exhibition. Show all posts

Thursday, December 10

From my materials research findings: pigeonite. (from Wikipedia).

This notion reminds me of my "ceiling pigeons" motif, of when I left the door open, and left to camp out, for court, at my old Section 8 apartment off of Broadway (the original slight home exhibition).

The ceiling in my bathroom had caved in and crumbled, due to significant dampness that had built up, undoubtedly from some transient who had occupied my place for a good time, in the bathroom. I could see the rafters, and there were pigeon-ish crumbles and pigeon icon "bamms" of the drywall pieces, and I spotted some nuclear echo pigeon interlopers, up there, in the ceiling, peeking down at me. I caught it on video, as well, but this is the line art ink brush version.

Friday, May 1

The folklore of сдит Бебе рубеои

сдит Бебе рубеои was a memorable facet of the original slight home museum exhibition.

Here, we see сдит Бебе рубеои's original sketch in tattered fade, due to discoloration from the museum's flooding. 

сдит Бебе рубеои was founded by works of technical analysis and rendering on wool canvas (missing photo). The bird itself was a lame bird; it fell from a nest underneath 18th St. bridge, underneath the 10 freeway, just outside of DTLA. He was very tame, and I was sad to see him go, although he surely got a good home at the Pasadena Humane Society. 

I do pigeons du jour.

Thursday, June 13

The bwippzies sideways-steppin' cockroach

... it sideways stepped its way into my life when I (inadvertently) kicked a hole in the wall, once upon an R.E.M. behavioral disorder episode of acting out.

The bwippzies sideways-steppin' cockroach won my favor over with the novelty of that it was sideways-steppin' its way in to my life, as a hole-in-the-wall (new one) creature.

From Google:

Oct 14, 2017 · In a person with REM sleep behavior disorder (RBD), the paralysis that normally occurs during REM sleep is incomplete or absent, allowing the person to "act out" his or her dreams. RBD is characterized by the acting out of dreams that are vivid, intense, and violent.

Thursday, June 6

Cleaning up the wreckage of my life.

The landlord for my home had granted me an additional month to try and salvage my tenancy here, at Messiah Apartments. 

I was very thankful to my social worker for getting the extra month for me. Prior to this, I had been going through the Kübler-Ross stages of loss (although I'd state, for posterity, that I believe that angst, instead of anger, as it is, according to this current Wikipedia link, stated as such. I don't react as angry unless it's a huge row against me.

It was a difficult time, as I have legitimate procrastination issues, being that I'm schizophrenic; it's been documented - that I have difficulties in cleaning my apartment. I am constantly distracted by persecutions from my former peers from my K-12 school years. The representative from the housing authority didn't have any sympathy for the fact that I experience these voices in my head as stalkings and harassment. 

So much of myself was put in to lost dreams, here, at my apartment. 

I'm still experiencing daily abuses in life from distanced former peers; just but a few, but the psychosis of the depersonalization and passive aggressiveness grates on my capable mood. I was starting to believe that I could begin living life drug-free again; it had not been since 2016 that I was completely drug abstinent.

There was the early morning fanfare of a plausible home exhibition pigeon-extravaganza; minimalist, museum-esque, open front doorway, the madman's closet of strumming through the scuck fluzz of the mess. All of this, except that I truly had visions of this place being much moreso minimalist: simple wall-exhibitions of the illustrations and earlier blog works. It was supposed of as being somewhat an extension of the downtown Los Angeles, California, USA monthly Art Walk.

Then there's the pigeon carnival aspiration of fixing up a prime local brood of pigeons. I haven't given up hope, yet, though. The other day, I sprayed the dirt nearby my home where the pigeons roost by the freeway for ticks.

The nearby pigons' roost by the freeway at 9200 Grand, 90003.

Fast Company recently published a relevant article regarding the distractibility of creative individuals. 

The gist of it is that creative individuals have a lower threshold of sensory input capacity which dictates that the individual will perceive and pay attention to smaller minutiae of sound or sensory input. The study was done on a small control group of individuals; all apparently of a particular sort demographic. 

Saturday, August 4

Reimagining the home exhibition.

With the new guests of the establishment,

The pigeons I purchased from 6th at Wall Street, by Skid Row,

I'm thankfully befitted with a quieter outlook; there were some notions that being guilty of cruelty to animals was a knee-jerk obvialty. 

Apart from reestablishing precedence, I'll take what I'm left with and go with perspective. Obviously, the place ought to be wrought with purpose for the pigeons. The place lives for them; they're significantly king and queen of the feral pigeons, in place and in purpose. I could expand upon this stated belief, but I believe I had done so, in previous blogs. 

The significant gist of the matter is that during last month's unseemly revue about the neighborhood corner I occupy, in my section 8 apartment, in which there were unending, relentless, and what I would aught consider to simply be a racial maturity divide, in which I simply couldn't possibly reach them, and I detailed it on twitter.

Link (collection - breakdown of last month on Twitter).

Regardless of anything, it was many things inappropriate. On some level, I had, in effect and in essence, elevated my status-rated universal significance bearing by a lot, on account of my habititude and whereabouts, which landed me a spot suitable, thereupon, to carry out a bevy of historically Wikipedia articles significant fare: of such things as common historical intrigue that had eluded me, previously, in scholarly works, research; investment.

That being the case, I'm very interested in getting started on my French Roll parchment transcription of my blogs, here, on, so far: in case some sort of fated disaster might happen, and also to slow the brakes on projected development, to take a step back and to go over the content I'd already produced, which I felt was compelling, at the time I wrote it. 

I've got a vast mess of clothes and kitchen stuff to wrest with; although I feel that, after the long battle and siege of last month, that I've been graced, by God and by virtue, with a wherewithal and wellness that will see me suited quite well enough to clean and organize my place; a task bearer's status claim which I feel was vastly laid claim over, due to my simple entrant's place state-of -in-life: that of a welfare housing recipient. I felt it my place to assert my wellness and buck the trends that apparently were, of those eyes upon me of people who were aught to assist me, who laid more than eyes upon sight, being that I was their client, and that welfare was their job.

Pictured here is the general task I'm forthwith faced with.

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