Lenten practices at iPigeon.institute - 2024

Some people, here and there, over the years since iPigeon.institute had initially been founded, out of my renewed interest in feeding the birds, in town, posed the question, or they had surmised, perhaps, whether, or that - I feed the birds out of some kind of particular connection or affiliation with Catholicism, being that they ostensibly draw a connection between the birds being taken care of, with the imagery of Saint Francis of Assisi, who is typically pictured, in art and in sculpture, as being surrounded by small animals and birds. In addition, a seedy side of suspicions, upon ulterior motives, assertedly at issue, is suggested about the practice of feeding the birds, as we, here, in Southern California, of this generation, have, as well, come to associate Catholicism with child exploitation, and other tawdry deeds, such as homosexuality. I'll address these issues, in the following paragraphs.

I had just received the notion, early in the morning, today, as to update my blog (finally - it's been since late June, 2023, that I'd last published, I believe, since I died early in July (it was encephalitis, or something like that, this time, that I had fallen dead). These days, dying could be, kinda... like that, I've come to discover. Nowadays, out here, Fentanyl is on the rise, and, in my first instance of dying, I'd snorted a bag of what I thought was cocaine - a foolish thrill to marginally indulge, since I'm immune to cocaine intoxication and euphoria, like it used to be. This last time that I died, I had no recollection or warning of that I was going to fall unconscious - I simply woke up, naked, with tubes in me, in a dormitory-like room setting, with young nurses, about my age, and somewhat my peer demographic, although I was very uncomfortable about the situation, since I had no idea, for some time, where my belongings were - being a materialistic guy, whereas I'd been keeping up with important bills to support owning my belongings, it was a dire blow to my identity, I could feel. I was feeble, to some degree, when I had woken up, with some numbness on a couple sections in my leg, and my good hand was weak, in the forearm. Nobody gave me any information as to what had happened, or how I had gotten there. 

All of this being the by and large underlying premise of how I could possibly compose myself, given the consideration of that today is Ash Wednesday, as well as Valentine's Day - two days in which Catholicism looms large, on the calendars. People who are Christian, such as myself, don't make much of Catholic traditions - and, in the case of Valentine's Day, largely being a popular point of reference to a holiday, perhaps, yet, on our calendar, most standard holidays fall on days next to the end or beginning of the week; around the weekends - I'd suppose that this practice of dating national and federal holidays, in the United States, is potentially a context developed from out of our American society's roots in labor and manifest destiny, in which, as I'd come to ascertain - of that it's difficult, over time, in particular, to sustain a laboring lifestyle and workplace practice that works, throughout every day. Compared to Valentine's Day, which is traditional, still, in American society, yet moreso an arbitrary distinction, of a specific date, rather than a planned and more generally described "day, out of some numbered weeks," given the various calendar months. 

This being the case, I find that it's somewhat too misfortunate - this aspect of how I'd unexpectedly died, of all things, and self-sacrifice had been a heavy burden upon me, since I used my iPad Pro for accessibility issues, and, since my passing away had been a tragic experience for me. I'm still being burdened and stalked, in the streets, even by activists, in addition to gang members, although I do expect better outcomes for myself, and, I'd suppose, I could fairly much, not speak for others, since nobody presents themselves to me. 

I've been to mass, before, however, so I somewhat know how it is - it's a bit more liturgical and formal, in setting and ritual, at least, on a more generalized basis, as far as how the service goes. As far as content, I'd say that it really depends - various cultures have their own flavor, at times, so to speak, on religious services. I find that I'm in too dark a mood, on account of that I am a stalking victim, to care much about religion, or of things that people say, or claim to care about. There's nobody that's actually speaking to me, there's just voices in my head. People that speak to me, as voices in my head, are being identified, regularly, as being developmentally disabled, and bordering on retarded. 

 Alright, 

so, that's my story, as for this year. My significantly primary goal is to feed the pigeons, and develop them in to fine birds and poultry, over the years and decades to come. I get the feeling, as such, as though some people read an account like that, and - as well, "so easily" attempt to mount and claim a stake upon what they ostensibly "fear," in fearing death, of some inevitable outcome, whereas they're sitting or standing around, or something - gathering, perhaps, for the sake of stalking me, in town; in turn, upon religious standards, general practices, and expectations that people who are rational, the throughout society - get by on; "live by," in other words. 

I'm not a large-scale influential individual - I have vast and rich facets of my personality that I'm not addressing, even, for much of the time, out of my days, most commonly. I could communicate some various things on many topics, quite well, yet, beyond what I face, as obstacles to my civil liberties and rights, as an American citizen. I "suppose" not that people are so limited in sociability traits, and decency, solely; I imagine that, rather, some of the other "people" in my head, speaking to me, have a grip on rational outcomes, for people who refuse to repent from sinful acts. Death was easy enough - once I'd passed out, and, as I'd said, I didn't even notice it coming, this last time. The first time, it was like a desperate nausea, overcoming me, and that portion of things lasted perhaps a half hour. While I was unconscious, I didn't know, or realize anything further. Once I woke up, it was about 6 nights' stay at the hospital, and I'd eventually recovered, and moved forward, from where I was at, in life. 

Pain versus pleasure - which one is the beneficial feeling?

[somewhat a Bryn Mawr-esque styled sort of meditation, upon societal ”… umm, stuff” I guess]

At times, 

I imagine that people are trying to get a hold of me, remotely. I’ve come to associate the premise of an actuality of this sort of thing having become a viable belief, or reality, even, in the lives and minds of people. It amounts to, I would suppose, a greater actualization of some degree, or threshold - albeit, only a given measure and extent of identity or persona, I would say. On top of that, it is a limited-use basis concept to stage aspirations and beliefs upon, given the ongoing presence of human shortcomings and failures in life, of all sorts of various forms that exist - the year, at the time of this writing, being 2022 A.D. 

Imaginably, at some point in the future, human personality shortcomings and abnormalities (disorders) would be undone and conquered, as it were, much earlier on, in the core education topics and subjects which are covered in school, or prior to school-age learning. Also, imaginably, there possibly are limited demographics of people who are brought up, of this more faultless form of a human, in learning. 

It made me question a notion, this previous time that this perhaps otherwise “delusional” sort of belief, as it stands, as for myself: ought I act upon a call for help, given a premise of absolutely non-verifiable synchronicity? What if I show up and it ends up being an inappropriate hour? What if people are stalking me, out in public, or something like that? On one hand, I’ve been a faulty-enough person, to imagine, for myself, that various people or entities would have it out for me, and that these types of validated or seditious indulgences - take your pick: are potential realities of exclusion that a person would have to go through. In an ideal world, we would more verifiably capably determine, more fluidly, and insightfully, whether or not a person has entered our lives, or persists there, for that matter, for our benefit, or for the sake of consuming us, as a resource of flesh, and of a subjective design, rather than a project of labor, and trials of development, perhaps, that a human could aught be. 

In this instance, I was “somewhat” challenged, for this outreach premise to have occurred, to me, of a completely introverted and “directed energy” sort of basis about it. The person had had what might seem to have been a trivial problem, yet numerous seditions exist upon this given premise - on one hand, it’s a “most obvious” sort of request to have, for a person - forgoing blurting it out, on one hand. “We all have this need,” some people might think, yet it’s very difficult, I find, to truthfully discern, whether or not somebody would display a given “human” trait of need, or shortcoming, as it were, unless we, ourselves, are the superior intellect and visceral discernment figure, in the human dynamic concerned here. In other words, it’s not until we become a superior critical mind, on a topic, that we become the appropriate person to resolve the problem, for others. 

It’s confusing, a bit, to think deeply, and to wrap the mind, effectively, around this subject basis, since it implies that we capably accept burden, which stands against a more “simple” and pleasurable life, being lived out, however temporary that it may be, for that we help others, yet it’s somewhat unclear, on one hand, whether or not extending this help, unto a person, could potentially develop in to a symbiotic, mutually beneficial sort of engagement and interaction, whereas some people are simply lacking in morals, whereas other people are unduly burdened, and whereas they “would” help somebody, whereas other people “would” help, or offer their help, and the circumstances amount to that they offer a less desirable solution than a better-positioned, more aptly capable person could offer. 

The corollary to this topic is that we would have a difficult time discerning whether or not a service offered to a person is even necessary to a person who is in a position of a greater extent of maturity - of many, or at least several - measures of “need” that a person has, whereas we become more ethically considerate, and capable, of acknowledging, and tending to needs of ourselves, others, society, etc., for attaining a higher degree of serenity and maturity. On one hand, sometimes we’re coddled, of some form, even in to our adulthood. We’re given graces of forgiveness; sometimes people look the other way - that’s the way my mind works, in any case. 

On this day, however, the topic of “Reclamation” was the outstanding decree, and seeming spirit, of the moment. I became a paranoid schizophrenic, of this basis, of an even earlier (oh, yeah… I forgot) premise that had been established, of that it was riot preparedness day, out where I started my day, for doing my daily rounds. To be certain, it was a shaky mindset, of all sorts of battering about, that I’d taken in, to wind up eventually finding my way home, while fitting my day in to various “demands” and threats upon me, of my home life, [somewhat], that it is - stuff such as that I need to get home at a certain hour, that I’m sometimes held at fault for things that had already been discussed, that appear to be my “fault,” for having acted out, violently, whereas I’m also being treated as a sort of “false idol” of some sort, of various measures of merit and attainment - in essence, it amounts to that I develop upon aesthetics practice and material attainment. 

I understand. It’s an easily fault-worthy thing to be guilty of - materialism. On the other hand, I “could” still be an unapologetic, relentless drug addict, and be the subject of distributed humor, in circles of superior displays of having attained a greater degree of maturity on the subject. The latest joke being something, essentially, like “oh, yeah. This guy. He looked like he had a thermonuclear explosion happen in his face.” Ha. I know the guy, for that matter. 

Sometimes, that sort of guy challenges me. Should I help someone who has absolutely no cares for etiquette, on top of a viciously seditious and remorseless attitude, simply because I’m a better person? Hopelessly devoted Christian dogma would largely suppose “yes,” that I do show unconditional love, turn the other cheek, and offer graces of forgiveness, etc. On one hand, displaying charity had been shown, in Pew Research, in previous years, some study and analysis (statistics, as it were, or is), of measures of virtue, in various forms, that distinguish people of a higher social class. That was ten years ago, however - what does it matter? - that’s somewhat the sentiment on my mind, yet I don’t quite expect that people would give me a hard time, in life, about stuff that had happened 10 years ago, or further back. On one hand, I was criminally incompetent, and I did criminally incompetent things, although I did pay the price, in doing so - some of these folks would disagree, and they take it upon themselves, in remote sensing applications, to personally abuse me, and threaten various measures of personal space and security that a person would typically assume, in life, for having locked spaces, a quiet personality, and a generally modestly considerate lifestyle. Who would imagine that absolutely all people surrounding oneself is, here and there (oh, how cute, right?), so casually interested in stealing and defiling “my” (i.e. supposed, or given “person’s”) property and personal, private space? 

Perhaps I’ll update further, some time soon. I’m getting cold, and I’m outdoors, at the moment. It’s sunset.

Some hallmarks of the times: 

It is near to the time of having been Easter, and subsequently, Ash Wednesday and Good Friday had come to pass, as well. Now is the time of Lent, where people in the Catholic religion are presented with the challenge of giving up some sort of worldly attachment. In practical terms, it’s a virtuous premise. My criticism of this premise is that sciences, of various ones, had been primitive, or pre-science, so to speak - sorts of knowledge base and philosophy about them, whereas in the past several hundred years, or so, sciences had begun to demand the rigors of objective proof, of an incontrovertible nature. Another corollary issue about this premise is that drug abstinence becomes an obvious claim of a needed thing to give up, for Lent, whereas in the twelve steps and self-help paradigm, the saying is that we strive for progress, not perfection. Ostensibly, a particular group of individuals, archetypal sorts, imaginably - get rebuked, and abandoned, during this period of time, every year, for the fact that drug use, and everything that comes along with the subject - commonly would become a sacrificed habit, or practice - a worldly thing that had been disavowed. The slighted one’s revolt, in response, and a person such as myself becomes a target for stalking, and I get let loose, of various elaborate ruses of the mind, at a costly rate to the establishment, for the nature of the fact of the matter - being that I only latently, perhaps, come to understand that I’m being robbed of my conscious mind’s continuity and sensory experience, whereas life seems to happen seamlessly, as though I’m not having some sort of lapse of consciousness, similar to an epileptic event. Today, for example, my non-laced shoe strap tightener constantly became loose. Another thing that happens is that my asspad becomes loosened, from between my butt cheeks. It gives me the impression that I’d been violated, somehow. It’s an issue of concern, because it’s a noticeably “just had” occurred, sort of thing - that doesn’t happen every day, yet it definitely happens over and over, on a day like this. Perhaps for the sake of confessions being wrought out of me, for some sort of “somebody’s” pleasures? Perhaps. I would, ostensibly, be the one to confess, in honesty, and I commonly do that, since it had been requested of me. The problem is that some people are not ready for honesty, and they react against the season of self-sacrifice with antisocial behavior. 

Then, there’s the odd flows of vehicular traffic, and there’s simply more people out on the streets. On one hand, it’s all basically opposition to self-sacrifice, but how could a person identify, with certainty - the perpetrators, while there’s such diversity at stake, out here, in Los Angeles, California, USA? On one hand, the strangeness definitely happens. The side-chained narrative of paranoid beliefs is the supporting mechanism that thwarts complacency, although, to reiterate - these strange things “are” definitely happening. Technology is established, at this point, in time, sufficiently such that a person’s mind could conceivably - at a great cost, be robbed of one thing, such as time, whereas it would seem, nonetheless, that “nothing” had happened, yet some changes that are incontrovertible seem to keep happening, regardless of that such detriments to self-sufficiency and upkeep would typically otherwise be uncommon. 

I’ll update more, in a bit. It took me from sunset until 11:00 p.m. to get home, today. 

Update: 6:48 a.m., April 29th, 2022

Moving forward, to bring this all to a point, of some various sorts; I’ll try to do that, here. First of all, given how commonly my overseers, or perhaps, at times, my directed-life designers, as they might be termed - given how often some of these people have as much as sensory insight, as much as I do, or more - about my surroundings, because - let’s face it. This is high tech stuff. People could be teaming up on me, while looking at what I see with my own eyes, while knowing what I’m thinking about something. Most commonly, it’s about “losing” something, for example, amongst my mess, otherwise known as my crumbs and knickknacks. Conceivably, they have a database of when I was last in knowing possession of the object, and it’s databased somewhere, easily accessible for them. On one hand, it’s my punishment, for doing something improper, perhaps, which I do, somewhat, and I’m otherwise allowed to float by, for the day, in general. So they try to make me believe that somebody had stolen my stuff, or moved it around, or something, while I was out, while I used the restroom, or was bathing - stuff like that. They tell me that my housemates had done it, to invoke suspicion and ill-will towards them. Sometimes it works, hence I’d broken some holes in the drywall, here at the transitional living home. Yet, I hold my anger, and aggression towards others, because… hmm. Because of various things, yet, I suppose that the most prominent reason is that I’d like to not fall out of form, and do something uncharacteristic, in another part of my life, more important than the material world; crumbs and knickknacks of my room, as it were. 

Which brings things to a pertinent second point: people who practice “anything,” I’d say, or even just “do” something - are likely to “do” that thing, of some offhanded slight, perhaps a social faux pas, for example, and conceivably, it would slip out, at an undesirable moment, such as when an opportunity arises, for that it’s an uncomfortable thing, which is a realm of un-knowingness, I’d say. That being the case, when we’re uncomfortable, we don’t quite always know what to do. Hence, as for myself, I was a self-injurer, and I punch the walls, because I get that upset. Some of these people get me that upset. Over time, the message slightly comes across, I’d suppose, or I get bigger, tougher, I get better “lines,” in remote sensing, for persona development and marketing purposes, and I have to be okay with that good enough is good enough. I have to consider that other people aren’t doing so great, such as the guy who had the… yada yada yada sorts of stuff to think about. A lack of restraint is an undoing of a man or woman, alike. It makes people nervous, amidst the presence of such - a lack of restraint. It signals danger. It causes people to become uncomfortable, and frightened of showing up where that sort of thing happens. It makes people judge the superficial. 

Alright, that’s my little morning’s update, for the time being. That’s as much as I have in my mind, at the moment. 

Ooh! A big one, really quick:

These sorts of things, in needing to be surveilled, polls run, people queried, reactions and responses taken - the cumulative effect of it all is that it drives the need for Daylight Savings Time, which, on one hand, we benefit from, here in California - we somewhat bask in the indulgence of having a long, warm or hot day, from spring until fall, largely, and it’s a largely vertical expanse of land, our state of California. It’s a popular destination, yet with people so commonly rioting about, in the streets, and following people around, it gives the entire place a poor reputation, and we used to have a huge tourism industry, as a source of revenue. 

Anyhow, the Daylight Savings Time “belief” thing is one of the “beliefs” lobbed at me, to establish my paranoid persona | identity, au jour. On one hand, people seem to combat and warmonger around town, with the basis of burgeoning California’s place, in benefitting from Daylight Savings Time, but it’s unkind to other states, other nations, who get the short end of the stick, with short days, colder weather, and embattled trade provisions being made out, as a result. Take the European Union, for example, particularly in the context of the Russia | Ukraine war going on. There had seemed to be, anecdotally, for example, a bargain-rate cosmetics ingredients supplier, which I’d discovered on the net, and I came to find out that they didn’t accept payments from the United States, even though their website said that they do. It was disappointing, because I was hoping to get a good deal on some hard-to-find ingredients. 

All that being said, we’re generally not as productive as, say, farm workers, for example, who do labor, by the day - I know farm work. Several years ago, I went out to work on a farm. Now I’m a bit nostalgic for that opportunity, and on one hand, I’ve got to print some flyers up, and distribute them, and see if I can round up some work. 

People who don’t care, don’t work, I suppose. 

Okay. That’s all, for this re-update. Thanks. 

Some updated observations: Saturday, June 25th, 2022:

As I’m out trekking, in a nuclear watershed South Bay community, I encounter that I’d found a slight diversion in what would have otherwise been my standard route, out to the place I need to attend to, for a pickl app gig, and I made a turn down an earlier, more nested street than the main street, where most of the non-local traffic might likely enter through. I sat down for a moment, having spent a fairly time-consuming amount of the day in resting, in intervals, already, whereas, for being out and about, and for trekking, I encounter various pitfalls and hazards of inefficiency in performance. Here, the problems had amounted to establishing warmth (not so much, since I’d largely been on the move), maintaining hydration, which I managed well, come morning, when I woke up rather cold and apathetic towards moving around, due to subsequent inflammation - by making good use of my fleece-lined pantyhose that I got, from Amazon, by setting them, fairly fully, yet not completely all-over, which I found to feature good protection against hypothermia, while being on the move, yet also good insular warmth, from the fleece, which is both cushiony and absorbent, while the elastic synthetic outer layer provides easy wicker penetration and breathability. Now that I’m closer to my destination, I stopped to have a sandwich: peanut butter and green tea cookies, and I started to cool down, a bit, which was accompanied by a reminder of that I had stopped approaching my destination as a result of becoming electrically exhausted - the kind of exhaustion that merits that the muscles can no longer be flexed; me, as a load-bearing laborer, for trekking with bags. On one hand, the same weight can still be carried, yet, simply not so, in the case of that the various bags’ centers of mass remain the same, and I didn’t quite feel like rearranging the bags’ belongings, as it was already late at night, and also because it had been a long day (a long week, in fact, in preparing myself to pursue litigations, of a personal nature, for having been put out of my home). I was told that my better opportunities for managing the worth of covering ground, towards my destination - on foot, for the fact of that it didn’t really seem as though buses were running, and for that I may have literally been an acute targeted victim of stalking, for various or unknown reasons, since last night, or yesterday, being that there was also associated unrest in downtown Los Angeles - the more unlawful gathering sort of unrest having happened at night, whereas I left, for the South Bay, to complete my pickl gig.