A Skid Row pigeon couple loses their home.

Two pigeons perch amidst the wreckage of their home.

Los Angeles’ homeless crisis affects so many, including the wildlife. Last night, two pigeons lost their home when a sidewalk shop’s sign collapsed, leaving the couple’s home roost vulnerable and exposed to the sidewalk on 5th Street, which sees a lot of pedestrian foot traffic at all hours, particularly during the day time. Since the structure collapsed during the nighttime, the birds were forced to stay there, for the night, because other pigeons claim the signs around them. These pigeons seem to not know where they might go, next, but it’s doubtful that they’ll stay here, because of the risk of threats from below. Pigeons usually prefer to have a safe and secure, secluded roosting spot, where they’ll return on a daily basis, typically in the late afternoon. The birds are likely devastated, at the loss of their home, having made grand plans to build a nest and rear some young, behind the shop sign, now that their meals had become regular, on an ongoing basis. 

A pigeon overlooks the street below, from his former home.

The DTLA Civic Center | Grand Park | City Hall Black Lives Matter Occupy Activism Event - Some Notes from Up-Close.

The Black Lives Matter Occupy movement is a slight of concurrent popular culture for many young people in the Greater Los Angeles area, who flock to the locale surrounding Downtown Los Angeles' City Hall, where some folks have taken up establishment of an "Occupy" basis, which is supported by various volunteers, and perhaps, through some local tax dollars, as far as keeping them fed.

One thing is for sure: these people are not here, per se, for the sake of seeking housing, such that many people might presume of a homeless demographic. Rather, these folks are here for an historical sit-in, where the popular movement that has become Black Lives Matter, amidst a tepid backdrop of that COVID-19 reports had not quite faded from the common imagination, or news feed, for that matter.

What's become of the Black Lives Matter sit-in Occupy movement out here, on the lawn, is an aggregation of various common popularly received and news-media outlet covered topics, ranging from the recent Supreme Court's decision on LGBTQ individuals receiving equal rights within the context of the workplace establishment, George Floyd's controversial death at the hands of a police officer, and of Breonna Taylor's untimely death. 

The campers, themselves, are quarantined off, loosely, in their perimeter within the Grand Park Event Lawn, by short metal fencing, where artistic renditions of what matters to protesters are hung, for decoration, and for the sake of offering a voice to the otherwise mostly silent tent camp-in community that's established itself out here, on the lawn. Other than that, the park's daily activities that had been in play, prior to this Occupy movement taking reign over some aspects of the park, go on, regardless of the activism installation that is the Black Lives Matter ongoing protests.

Then, inevitably, at some point in the late afternoon, the activism movement's assembling street marchers take to the roads outlining Grand Park, nearby City Hall. They march and chant, under the directorship of a man with a bullhorn, who leads the group in a collective ideation and evocation of what the purpose and credo of this activist assembly confers, unto the public, within earshot of the movement's manpower and social and civic impetus underlying the group's ideology.

Over in other parts of town, broken windows and shuttered businesses confer a tale of a more sordid assembly establishment, of that which is the trepidation and untimely failures, for some business and retail establishments, for the sake of being incapable of sustainability and basis foundry of keeping faith in the longer-term outlook for business, which has affected establishments across the spectrum of business economy. 

Now, nearly two years later (mid-April, 2022), 

There are some faint echoes of the as-of-yet still somewhat contentious racial unrest, in the society that comprises the Los Angeles, California, USA landscape. Here and now, at the lawn in front of City Hall, at Grand Park, the park is renewing itself, of its former days of people walking their dogs, there’s birds to be fed, and the park is generally open and being used by the public. I didn’t get a chance to connect with anyone who was part of the park’s occupation movement, mostly on account of that there were barriers to communication, such as “actual” physical barriers, as well as that I’d observed some hostility and in-fighting amongst the occupants of the park, during that time. Race relations are still, in some demographics, quite arcane and rigidly defined, or disregarded, in how racism displays itself, still; rearing it’s ugly head in unexpected ways, that it would. As for myself, I am tasked with the premise of that I’m the pigeon-feeding bum, out here, as my most standard self, of coming out to downtown Los Angeles, from my home, in South Los Angeles, yet I still do - here and there, experience a bout of literal homelessness, even though I am housed. I say: it’s on account of discrimination, yet it’s a seething issue of some other obscure nature (somewhat); I call it a lack of sobriety, or maturity, or cultural exposure and tolerance, perhaps. 

On one hand, out here, I generally tend towards that I “don’t” typically experience acts of discrimination, although my housing situation exploits the concepts of that racism still looms large, in various ways in which I can just “simply infer” that people see me as a simple and slight person, made up of my appearance and cultural heritage, which at times, becomes a trifling subject for the “locals” out in South Los Angeles - which is a place of a different sort, from the bustling big city, small town, that comprises downtown Los Angeles, in that - here and there, at times, archaic attitudes persist, which become visible in prejudiced and discriminatory behaviors that I’ve come to have observed. Today, here in 2022 (this article was originally authored on June 25th, 2020), we’ve been on a long journey - through unrest that had began it’s boil, following the civic unrest of many large cities across America, and later, through the more long-standing effects of the civil decrees that were laid out as part of the plan to combat the COVID-19 pandemic. 

My take on what’s left of the dilemma of failing race relations? Don’t make it about race, per se. Make it a topic for open conversation, if need be, but be equitable and just, in speaking of, or on - the matter of race. Many people, in this enlightened age of access to information and culture, burgeoned by the knowledge base that is the internet - slighter and higher levels of intelligence can be pursued, and attained, while greater opportunities are afforded, even still, after the Federal Pandemic Unemployment Award money had been distributed, as well as the economic stimulus payments - all of those things were a boon, to us, as Americans. We are all Americans, in that sense - I believe that we ought to seek a common identity, rather than define ourselves by what conceived of us, perhaps little more than that, as it would come to be seen, I would surmise, in the current day and age, and in to the future, for the fact that we are creatures, now - capable of intelligent design, rather than natural selection, or selective breeding, per se. Let the distinctions and nuances of knowing each other, and one another, be the measure by which we relate unto ourselves, and thereby forge our identities, while keeping true to our American heritage, for all it stands for, rather than seek to discover what makes us different, and thereby perpetuate the disparities between us, as individuals, and as representatives of our culture.

Adapting Virtues of Asian Heritage and Culture in to our American Concepts of Progress, in Conflict Resolution. [stub]

 Of the various Buddhist cultural heritages, in which I (off-handedly) identify three distinctions that make their way through and in to the modern day: Japanese meditative and chanting style of Buddhism, Chinese form, largely unknown to me, although the fat seated man, "full of riches of life," so to speak, as a prominent Chinese figurative symbol that makes it's way in to knick knacks of cultural commodities, say, for example, in Chinatown sorts of storefront offerings of cultural effects; the third variant being the various cultural and religious lineages of Buddhism of the South Asian Subcontinent of India and nearby Pakistan, Tibet, and perhaps Nepal (Nepal being correlated due to my encounters with the nation being associated in cuisine, not that I've identified them as a formerly Buddhist culture). 

According to Pew Forum, which is America's statistics resource in expertise, and authority, in my summation, Buddhist influences take us, as more youthful sorts, in studying religions and cultures that had existed, or do exist, outside of our nation's boundaries. 

Being that, in former generations, such as in the days of the hippies, cultural influences such as Buddhism became popular; also of that the psychedelic public relations and iconic figures from that time, such as Terrence McKenna, Alexander Shulgin, and Timothy Leary - either extensibly, tangentially, semantically, or directly - these figures and their influence contributed, largely, to a cultural facet, standing to this day, in our youth generations, as it stands, as that the influences of cultural and religious Buddhism are part of our cultural heritage which emerges from that transformational age in our society: the 60's, which I haven't studied, much, but I've had the good fortune to have had become acquainted with some of these folks, as Buddhists, themselves, in part; personally, such that I feel I can offer some anecdotal insights and first-hand accounts of what fed us, culturally, back then, and which sows seeds of influence and impact upon us, to this day, and that it should stand, as such, that other nations of our global community had been founded, in former centuries, in Buddhist cultural and religious beliefs and practices, and that we, here, in America, have inclusive virtues of our nation, in the study and assimilation of all the nations of the world, in a friendly nature, should we not be offended by the truths and cultures of other countries and their people. 

For example, (I'll make it quick, for now), I went out and lived as a homeless man, this past week, and it was many ways, shapes, and forms tough, but I did it in the name of non-aggression, which I'd been exposed to, of many various takes on the subject; various suggestions about takes on things; some of which I'd identified with, some courageous, some of it disinformation, some shortcomings in life, of my own doing, and consequence, and some ego that showed up - many things thrown at me, to suggest, of a formative self and decisiveness to come forth, from out of it. 

As it turned out, I was, here and there, simply deceived, by intelligence. I suppose that that's simply my place, in life, being a civilian, and for my shortcoming of desiring violence and it's outcomes, upon others, rather than that I was simply capable in changing a man, who I take issue with, for having been unclean. Now, just as reference, I feel that Christian virtues largely come first, in America, whereas these Buddhist virtues of non-attachment and humility (put simply), are things that we learn, after our secondary school days, when we pursue our own interests and novel influences. Given that, I have a huge set of ethical constraints upon myself, and it's challenging for me to be placed so nearby a challenging individual, of an unlearned and aggressive sort. 

People see me as that I ought to, and ought be considered to be a man; fortunate, and capable, for having been fortunate, of not finding myself deluded or judgmental over others, in any American virtue, brought forth, in to the common latest day of our times. For not having much communications with the man, I'd been fraught with dilemma and delusions over him. As it turns out, he's currently as unwell as I'd seen of what I witnessed of him, at his last stand sort, of himself; he himself, purportedly leaving, yet this quandary was lobbed at me, while I myself left home: who is he, of what I can ascertain, truthfully, and how much am I being deluded? What if he was a better person than what I'd been willing to offer him, and for not "liking" him, for who he is, and what he's good for, how faulty might I be?

Now, in general, I hold to the belief that a person is generally who they are, for their own reasons and best interests, and by and large, many people are good. About a third of us, from stats of my upbringing, are Christian, and some of them lackluster in that facet of themselves, in learning and in discipline. Many of us lead a fast life, so to speak. I'm faulty of my appearance, in being a narcissist, yet I somewhat "demand" respect, through dressing well, yet it's not all that serious, with everyone, and I do play around, at times, as an out and about transvestite. I won't go in to that, now, but these things merit some coverage. 

So it turned out that I was deluded about the young man, as I came home, and someone even more bum than himself seemed to have been shipped in, and taken his spot. As it ends up, he is still there, and still stricken with unwellness, same as I'd last observed of him, when he was purportedly leaving, for good. 

That's all I'll say, for now. But I'll leave with this offering: non-aggression méthodes, amongst us, as civilians, lead to heroic outcomes, at some times in life, and we're given many virtuous things of aesthetics from these cultures, as well as cultural virtues that we can adopt, for our own. 

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. 

A rough and tumble Valentine’s Day Weekend.

This had been, undoubtedly, a Valentine’s Day Weekend of much-peaceful rest-seeking to follow that would have been seen. 

That being said, I won’t gloat over the highlights and enumerations; I guess that we all came out of it bruised and sore, like it were an erstwhile trip to Holland, and we were ill-fated of our southern California dress clothing, such that we found ourselves out in the cold. I’m not sure what anyone else, of my peers, did, for the holiday, but I’ll divulge that I was much up for the celebratory part in participation, be it what it may or could be, such that I could make of it, although I ended up not going out in my unicorn cosplay outfit, and I ended up talking our heads off, ending up trying to salvage what I could of some spirit of grounding sensibilities that we could all relate to; that we’d all have had about ourselves, yet the spirit of romanticism, amidst this modern day dirge of materialism, and social status stakes of one-upmanship were highly touted distraction events, and I suppose that, of any of us involved, we were all slight to lose our proper and appropriate selves, in the flurry, and the cold. 

Hopefully the spirit of what transpired is not lost in what carries forth, from here on out. In essence, we all desire significantly similar things in life, given a common ground aptitude and shared lineage of upbringing that we had. In that, I managed to bring up, for consideration, some moments which I found to be compelling, in their plainness and simplicity. We were not so much of a quarrelsome and disagreeing basis of identity, and genuine authenticity in character, back in our early years, when we were all children, and we found ourselves fraught with a traumatic separation from each other. 

The weekend, for me, ended up being a labor of dedication and wonderment, as I spoke on voluminous various contexts, trying to manage the scope and coherence of maintaining a public face, and composing a linear contextually relevant basis; a common understanding, for all of those observing, while addressing much-neglected and needful aspects of ourselves, within a limited and containerized context, which seemed to be the overarching story that brought us together, over the course of the days and nights of the weekend, forget the commercial and traditional context of Valentine’s Day, or any truthful establishment that had been violated - we were all in a similar boat, without any uncertainty - all single men, this time around. 

I ended up sleeping outside, and waiting an entire day to recoup my belongings, and start off towards home - a disheveled and obvious failure, though I took pains to win some for the common ground participants and observers at hand. All in all, I couldn’t complain, and I didn’t ravage my living stability status, or reputation, all that much. Hopefully we all got through it well enough. 

Here’s to spring! To new beginnings, through the warmth of the seasons, bringing us some simple satisfaction as through natural cycles of the year. Let it bring us the simple promise of renewal, and rebirth. Thanks for being here along with me, all along. 

An ad hoc public social work service providership offering for establishing and verifying homelessness identity and basis for future housing placements.

It struck me, as an imposition of a potential problem (that people might have about me - here, and there; and continuing on in to the future, if I failed to address it): that some individuals whom I come across, or whom I envision in my “envisagé” mind, yet rarely speak to - might (or do) have an existential crisis about them, imposed on to me, as that I am housed in my Section 8 apartment, while they are not currently receiving services. 

I’ve addressed these, and various surrounding exigent circumstances, and calls-to-action, in an offering of an ad hoc public social work and housing / homelessness status identity verification and needs-validation endpoint communications entity, as it had not gone stated in words, on my part, any time recently; so I made a Google My Business post on it, for individuals who might come across my Google My Business listing on Google, via Google Maps, or by Search discovery.

I'm being thrown out of my apartment for problems.

Given that I've been commonly late on rent, and some windows had been broken,

I'm being thrown out of my apartment. [ Apparently ]

I feel like it's going to be difficult times to come, but I'll avoid an eviction on my record.

Update: - I'm seeing that the Housing Authority of the City of Los Angeles « something; » yet they dominate the SEO for at in to monopolization (*update), and I've got to be a one to rebuke this in:order; perhaps through complaining or by fixing the problem, whatever it might be.

The backdrop was that the notice seemed to have differing import of suggestibility in my mind - which is to say that the letters in the mail seemed to not matter, or that the topics « could not matter » in my mind, as I can portray it.

This would be in addition to a notion of that I might not want to live here anymore; somewhat as well; which becomes a confusing thing. They claim various things, since the apartment had been reported as a complete disaster once the sink flooded over. My mental prioritization to that matter had been a backdrop of [abused] as a poorly-cared for ad-hoc drunken episodes banter « guys stuff <_ alcohol.="" allergic="" font="" i="" m="" to="" whereas="">

Perhaps, though, I'll sign ply have to drop the situation. I'm not sure of which ulterior story plot I might attach to, from day to day, but I can be a bum.  

The Section 8 Housing and Urban Developments initiative is one that is backed by the Federal Government of the United States of America, and; 

It agrees to reasonably accommodate individuals with disabilities. 

Given that I hear voices, and these dictactiphoneurs' trifles had been playing out on social media, as I've recorded them, I would believe, somewhat, that I have a case of discrimination that might need to be examined; as I am a mental health services recipient. 

* Of typing in site:hacla.org in the search bar. 

Some aspects of what I'd written could ostensibly shift meaning; given that I'm not one who works on this housing matters stuff.

AndLocation GIS survey perspective and background topic research of DoF gravitational pull anomalies and material / resource draw on the Capitol Milling Company; LA Watershed Project Sites