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Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Friday, June 19

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. 

A diatribe, and reverie, over what my black friend brotherman done mean to me. lol


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.

Thursday, May 3

A jaunted, of the moment, yet not unaffectionate tête-à-tête on Paul Holman

It’s could not go without statement to that effect. 

I’d ventured into themepark amusement park notion enterprise, of mock-up talk- a la tête-à-tête too cute for keeping to myself; the short of it is that it’s a classic young guy’s drama of a “hey, lady (young, acquantaincship, etc., met -“ I need a place to not sleep tonight. Can I come over? And then, here, there’s no girl, obv 🙄 the guy finds himself as a free bird, ostensibly, suited to a particularly washed up homeless guy tranny effects ostensible amusement of a closet-lived scrum materials-had have been arrivée, pour soi, j’ai l’eu I’ll et non se Quotidien pas, pass the breadcrumbs materials nuclear recycling efforts, off handed resource enterprise morning after talk of a notably scrum-made asphalt decay and disrespect, as would have you: the neurotic self-loner, shown up by night, as an endless ranting stalking target -yet “perhaps,” as suitably cadential buttforce all pirates cadet unbuttlovin, though, no going beyond way butthole leisurely about it, it’s not wuffff.. 🙄😗 like Paul’s used to be.

But the a notable 2-3 segment attraction of amusement ostensibly non-constituent taxbearer trampled-on needful types as would find themselves, couldn’t but pay for the drugs, only, as fate would have it, obv. Etsy Etsy, like blahhhh a fuckboymusementtastictastic tête-à-tête accoutrement to an as yet unprecedented fuckboytastastic take on how bout this one, for tonight? How bout it? Slight broadcast ambiance, leave the French out of this one, it’s an all American jaunt, GW Bush would be proud of his daddy, then go on to shame the as yet unheralded sticklers of dick picklin’ swizzle sticks, as yet, but, not to go unfucked you, ballsack, what’s this? The okay, first off, stop pokin’ yer silly, a la Instagram of my doing. Perhaps add the kitsch, as a notable emotional peak of the check closet. GWBush. The new the scrum and materials crumbs check leisure hours of entertainment checkin? Then, ostensibly, I would have courted a suitably respectful clientele showing such that they wouldn’t steal my iPigeon iPad, with 700+ apps. Perhaps they would find life ostensibly suitable, as have you: an iPigeon institute? To speak of? 

That would be beyond an unslight ink brush illustration entrétien, French enough, amber Beardsley, check, couture breakdown prices thing, Chanel, check, then: yet French, to begin: a dalliance du jour fuckboy foray of so not unsuitably notable fuckboytastasticness, gotta see it. Handwritten originals: one wall. 

Now...we’re on to the aesthetics. Not shown up for Play, or anything. It’s a not unslight art exhibition of a so many personas trifling fletch pigeon feeder bum artistic Franciscan hermetic Dev ops tech-made silicon-beach talk up, to speak of, you know how bitch ass hooker they did this one: now, he does pigeons du jour. on the broadway of beach walk, broadway of dtla walk, all sorts of unprecedented pigeons flock for a sacramento’s Young boy aficionado dreams to the foray... so iPigeon.institute dot blog worthy asterisks could not deliver yet as of enough bitch ass hookers, yet pigeons? So better, how could you? 

🙎🏻‍♀️🙎🏻‍♀️🐥🤳🏾🤷🏾‍♀️🙍🏽‍♀️

How could you? Bitch ass hookers? There’s pigeons that need to be fed.

And this is the bum reality show real bums of Los Angeles, real pigeons, real bitch ass hookers won’t feed them, the bums, except through tossing out garbage, that’s a pigeon’s life. That’s the take on the bum showing up for an amusement park take on this apartment jaunt section 8 thing. Address is listed, if you care to find it. Don’t make noise there, though, and no smoking. No noise. No violence. No nothing, it’s  a pigeon slight ink brush illustration aficionado exhibit of hotness unslight French aficionados only: for aficionados : only. Patterns of clumped muse to see posed-as they did themselves pigeons? Srsly... in RGB ostensible fletch MTV fletch style parameters, as if stereoscopic could outflank an ink brush aficionado moment: for real aficionados, only.

It was so inktober 2017. It’s a slight living room exhibition. It’s a scrum checkin’ it jaunt dive movement, if it has you, at that. For all I checked, the last I left it, I couldn’t find the panties in there, for me, have at it amusement park, slight ambient occlusive yet as streets beyond hearing has had it, not an unslight bitch ass hooker jaunt, for an as yet unheralded walk out talk up mock up tranny du jour demographic. So on a lean, perhaps. I was. I figure, it’s ostensible, relatable, people wanted to srsly break in and supersede me doing digital as have you originals over of the ink brush illustrations front living room, to speak of. It’s a serious treasure of fuckboy Los Angeles: one of them - all ballsack, up in this apartment, for walk ups, for all Los Angeles to come.

No more would ... quotables. You understand. It’s a suitable social enterprise of as not to exploit the fragile femininity that’s at the truthful foray of the masculine’s identity debacle, to find him a suitable demographic walk-in suit yourself.quotable.


Anyways, it was me, well enough without you, enough to be a first take on a bold, more new, more assertive pigeon jogging bum fashionable techniathleisure able institute jaunt, here; as a single cardinal destination of a fashionable bum athleisure persona push it devops cartilage? No nepotism, of seriously corporate serious guys who can fletch an okay, feed them garbage, bums, for being a corporate deprecation mock-up, to speak of, him? And then others like him, would be, has had, have had you, had happened was, maybe, it trasncends even racial boundaries, 🤷🏾‍♀️ I dunno...? I need polling stats. 

It’s definitely not an unslight psychological foray of beyond Freudian unslips of social blunder whatever etsies: here, we recycle cosbies and make breadboard PCBs signature scratch. Printed flattened pennies of $.50 pennies paid worth; perhaps it’s cheese. I don’t provide food. Come in, do it like you’re there - blaaaooowwwww. A pigeon ink brush illustration exhitbition with notably esteemed, talkup french modernism 50’s aestheticism? No young Los Angeles know-better could have done better fuckboy tastastic tasteless marketing as the former craigslist software guy, “positioned: ‘but what about his art?’” 

What about I fuck myself all about his living space? He’s not there? 🤷🏾‍♀️🙎🏻‍♀️🤳🏾 

Okay, that’s dreaming, lol. You get the idea. But for, perhaps a daytime walk up couple? That kinda kinda could thing could pass.

The knee jerk physiognomy is beyond unsellable, such as to be reiteratively irrelevant - what I just said. Somebody would pay for it,

No.

They do art walks of young Los Angeles, okay. It’s free.

This would be a notable curated, at times, walk-off abandonment fuckme okay, he’s out feeding pigeons, again, as the notable athleisure pigeon jogging feeding the pigeons bum, yet again. Quotables kinda stuff. 

But people don’t like me, particularly, personally, and as such, don’t trust me. Perhaps maybe one day you
L catch wind and simply check it out for the serious pigeons, not unslight efforts into design aesthetic, all taschen, so fuckboy dicks in your face kinda aficionado, unabashedly, yet a dalliance du jour suitably lovable trifle notion foray, who could resist it? Yet I don’t trust people srsly to not steal, outright, the iPigeon iPad.

💁🏻‍♂️

Be it what it may, I might show you, Paul, my notable developments into your industry, as perhaps developments, etc., and also show you stuff that I’m notably working on, it’s on my social media public dump stuff also. You can totally check it out yourself, and I’d think that you would be on iPad yourself, by now, no less, seriously. It’s all of life, at times. 


Okay, that’s all. Love you, pigeons, muahhh!

Bye Paul. I’ll see you soon. 

❤️💕💥💥💥☺️

Some take on the notable real aficionados moments notions of a real pigeon aficionado (jogging, - feeder; bum type, with reasonable religiously austere concessions of discipleship)

iPigeon.institute entry 4/30/18

With a mind like yours, son, you should be leading a society.

Thanks, dad. One day at a time. At least, for tonight, I’ve got a big belly. 

I’ll think about that; a bit. See where it could fit. I’ve got no mind for outthinking such as have with at it.

Sleepless nights. That’s what this young man has at it, for what he’s with came to for. For endless pages of thoughts out on paper, this man has sleepless night at about him. That’s what I see. For endless thoughts out on paper ought be, sleepless nights are before him on iPigeon tablet dot institute discourse was integral foray of the night’s afternoon forthwith aught forthright coming today’s earlier on, and with that, it was a discussion of dot com disambiguation from notable internet search term foray of dot pigeon dot com not excluding the i pigeon dot something not com since that’s taken for racing pigeons internet site, so it was decidedly iPigeon.institute for all discussion’s sake. Stupidity aside, it was discourse enough to not verge on how bout it tryna fuck’s sake, for interest’s worth, that’s what’s left, been unsaid. 

That being said, it was better than the basest of conversation’s sake. Obviously necessary, given that I don’t likely think better of most guys. 

HTML 5 https blogger google domains $20 dot institute currently, at $60 .io you’d be better get your worm’s worth dot institute for a dot anything, without swearing, that’s the goal. Using all sorts of language utility without verging on swearing or sex, that’s a serious problem that I encounter all the time that iPigeon.institute can definitely overcome, in and of itself, from what’s its aught to be made of: pigeon fluff and good things, to considerably do, for pigeons: Taylor Swift pigeons of young America, late night pizza Pulitzer Prize pigeons biopic, waffles and syrup pigeons of continental breakfast America pigeons, all sorts of standard life pigeons ostensible, it’s the stuff that love is made of. 

Try it, but not without feeding the pigeons from out of the garbage one day, they’ll love you for it, for finding them food.

If all else fails, get them real butter and bread, they’ll not unthankful be aught for forthcoming efforts, for food’s sake, real butter and bread is what they’re good for, no doubts about it. Definitely warmed butter, all sorts of butter and bread. All sorts? Yet butter, component. Check. Bread? Is it edible? Check it, no mold on the edible, it’s good. Don’t feed pigeons unthinkable food, that’s just gross.


I have to go out and feed the pigeons reasonable food. Smelling a cozy nest bird is reason enough to let them aught poop on a person, and let it fly. It’s not that gross, if they’re fed well, and some say it’s good luck, if a bird happens to poop and perhaps if they’re perched, it was definitely meant to be. For bird lovers, it’s definitely within bounds. I might venture to state that people opposed to it would not make good parents, obviously. 

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