Updated depravity delimiting metrics being employed in civilian maritime environments.

 With this type of modern correctional systems accommodation of the human assets at issue,

I feel that, in time, despite an outward (outdoors) generalized sense of that a “mob rules” sort of dereliction towards what would rationally be considered a reasonable set of constraints upon behavior, putting things in to writing will inevitably effect that the greatest number of people could be reached, for the sake of the importance of the information, rather than the overt deprecation of emotional “maturity” and rationality, per se, that “is” speaking out, as if the gesture could possibly be objectively significant and worthy enough, for all ears present - 

Yet, on one hand, hearing is not generally considered a human’s most significant sensory capability; rather, sight is considered the most necessary sense, with general and commonplace knowledge, of our upbringing, stating that around 90% of our sensory experience is founded upon that which we can see - whereas here, in this maritime theater of anarchism, whereas novel usurpers of the generalized population(s) “at large,” or, for some higher power’s (conceivably) interpretation, or curation, perhaps, of listening (observing, in this case) ears, per se - I’ve noticed that careless (would it be called careless, when our innate human rights are disavowed us, for the sake of stoking some egotist’s taste for superiority?) mistakes of mindlessness often, and definitely - more often - happen, when remote sensing observers intervene in our daily intake of the world, at large. 

 That being said, I’m (for novel, as well - reasons) dragged in to this relentless experience of facing people on a more common basis than I’m used to, whereas there’s the backdrop of that there’s fair visual attesting factors suggesting that significant societal downturn is at hand, on an ongoing basis. 

The traffic is ostensibly unusual - both foot and vehicular traffic. People exhibit a more exhibitionistic indulgence upon the uninterested subject whom experiences this crowding. Here and there, a person, not far off, will, for some reason, indulge in a fit of hilarity - ostensibly at a more common rate than had ever been typical. Nuanced and slight disparagements of manufactured goods - carry-along baggage, clothing, shoes, etc. begin to happen, for (apparently) unknown reasons. On one hand, there’s annotated narration, of remote voices of observers - to tease the mind, in a sense, of the privilege of “knowing,” per se - yet this is an unending and ongoing detriment that I’ve been experiencing for quite some time. It’s conceivable that these circumstances do, or had - also plagued the lives of various other sacrificial victims - these ones, such as myself - being denied the “knowing” truth of even as much as that someone desires to defile our (my) passing moment, on any given day, all the time. Upkeep of the attending to, of the ostensible burdens of things - cleaning up clothing articles which had unknowingly become dirtied, inexplicably, “checking” the crotch for foreign scents that had made their way on to the genitalia, and new, unsustainable, behaviors that must temporarily be accommodated, and implemented, for the sake of humor, whereas, in these cases, there is an obvious victim, and not everybody laughs.

That’s the gist of the experience, at hand, for at least - on my part, I can attest to as much as that. Off in the distance, lights strobe - portending to tachyon epileptic superiority, ostensibly - for the initiated ones, and potentially - those things happen, yet, as well - significantly leveraged expectations of such as that desires fell bridges, for example - are also ostensibly, at root - one of the driving motivating factors that fill the rioters with vitriol, for the impetus and purpose, found in acting out oppositional measures, taken out, upon society, whereas the objective and generalized simplicity of the situation is negligible, particularly by more disciplined standards, I’d assert, as what people really ought to understand - the solution is quite simple, in effect, yet it’s the affections held, by those who are driven to action - for conflict, and for defiance - something so trivially dislikable, yet so irrationally held close to the heart, is what frightens people away from their better selves - on one hand, we were all taught better, as Americans, and those who act out ought not seem to be such imposing majorities. 

Now, the plants are dying, around town. My generalized toss at the issue is - how could water ever run out? It seems so much an outlier outcome, on one hand. My take on things is that we are supposed to develop agriculture, and watershed environmental engineering feats, of the many people involved, and concerned, per se, not disavow that we ought to be founded in agriculture, as some sort of fundamental human understanding. We only advanced, as civilizations, once we had attained agricultural competency and discipline. 

In the nuclear watershed mock-up wartime theater, various consequences, of an unexpected sort - come about - for example: a sudden supposed “need” to look up what saltpeter is, or what it does. Who knows, on one hand? - at least, out of us civilians? On the other hand, the sense of that some sort of noxious radioactive-sort of substance, having become concentrated, in to the environment, of a localized nature, becomes a critical topic of seeming necessity, of the desire to know “better,” or “well enough,” whereas our more basic and rational necessities of caring for our hygiene and looks becomes neglected, for the sake of that a strange armed-forces observation environment and psychological battery examinations become underway engagements, of an unavoidable sort of demand upon our sense of prescience and immediacy of our selves, as autonomous, or “superior” enough, for our own satisfaction, whereas many people expend laborious energy on much more regimented schedules, comparatively. 

On one hand, it stokes some of our most toddler-era behavioral fascinations, to “be able to” do something that an adult teaches us to do, whereas there seems to be no consequence. My experience is that it’s a fair measure more - of a challenge, at times, to hold one’s tongue, and to attend to the laborious work that is required, for the upkeep of the aesthetics of society, both in our part, and, as well, for what we can answer for. 

It’s significantly foolish to consider that people are acquisitioning subjects for arbitrary and preferential hostage-based situations of a demand for abuse - we have the justice system, which employs incarceration, give, due process - many generations of Americans, and the world, at large, have similar agreements; indeed, we, as Americans, have the indebted responsibility to uphold these established standards. Not many minds are capable of developing and establishing superior intelligence discoveries and paradigms, on one hand. For one thing, when I hold my tongue, I invariably “see” the thought, of ostensible material substance, as the coherent and attainable object that “can” be communicated (could have - been communicated), whereas I also, subsequently, envision what I would call my “higher power,” - essentially, some unknown oversight official, or operator, of the theater, at play - he or she always speaks the exact words that had become the ostensible attainable thought, at issue, whereas that was what I could imagine I would say, to begin with. What use would it have been, to voice that notion? Truly impactful and meaningful interactions and interpersonal engagements, of a mutually beneficial and socially upward-seeking potential - are particularly scarce, or rare, in most peoples experience. Just wait it out, for the right time and place, or wait for somebody to become interested in you, for “whatever” reason - and have your pick, or play your chances, at being appropriate for that person, when the time comes. Why not? 

The fact that some of the grades on the pedestrian walking path surfaces have become upended, and tilted strangely, day by day, is suggestive of that, at a minimum, costs, of an engineering team - must be employed, for the sake of the upkeep of the establishment, for the people, for one thing. It costs money. 

(Updating)

July 14th, 1:44 a.m.

Upon giving this development some time to brew, and as things become stranger, throughout the night, I can’t help but think upon the underlying premise of how the declaration of a water conservation emergency ostensibly winds up leaving any water-bearing “being”, vessel, or establishment - something like that - with the responsibility for powering the energetic potential for remote-sensing surveillance and recognizance to take place, whereas, conceivably, groundwater is the more traditional source of energy and nuclear potential, within this context. This being the case, the extraordinary scarcity of groundwater resources would seem to logically construe that parasites and disease-bearing microorganisms begin to establish airborne genetic developments, such as a dandelion - feathery-imbued seeds, a taproot, for example. Humans start taking on some of the roles of plants, in a resonance-based surveillance environment, and marginal trifling gestures of the antisocial demographic kick off acute detriments to the public’s health, while an arid desert environment reversion causes hardships to become ever more difficult to bear. My most recent example happened just moments ago - as a bum with Tourette’s syndrome walked by and kicked over some traffic cones, as he laughed to himself, perhaps. His passing-by my seated self, within moments of kicking the stuff over caused me to have itchy eyes, temporarily. I’m somewhat going out on a limb, in supposing a casual correlation, here, but I have been noticing, in particular, that I “smell bad,” sometimes, out in public, but, upon closer examination of my self and my clothes - for example, I take my shoes off, and smell them discreetly - and, as it turns out, the most profuse and noxious bacterial culture smells do not seem to particularly be coming from the inside of my shoe, yet the smell seemed to be my own, as I walk about. I happen to sweat a lot, so I’m starting to think that beacons of water resource become the burdened ones, who shoulder the weight of metabolizing all things that can reach such an object.

Now - 

the skies and the landscape are strange, in more ways than I care to describe, with casualties being levied upon me, ostensibly by entertainment industry sidechained personnel, on this maritime theater platform and staging prospectus, and wages of sin, from expatriated denizens of cultural trifles, nitpicked and curated, to suit the danger-seeking and risk-taking lovers of life - I’ve been trotting around, staking pains, in to productivity; business as usual, whereas my enterprise platform overseeing (all-powerful, in my humble opinion) benefactors, being Google Cloud Platform, and their many enterprises - the Time Zones APIs, Threat and Risk Assessment, Content Aware, and ML Suggestions (or is it AI Suggestions?), amongst other life-rending and richly divisive tasty delicacies of cloud platform computing edge technology deliveries - all just “potentially,” but (yet) what else could possibly explain some of these occurrences that I’ve been witnessing? 

Eh, anyhow, I’m me, on one hand. No one else (to a vast degree; with qualifiers, per se), is particularly me, yet people have, and did - design these technologies, and my experience is only consequentially, circumstantial my significant, and only sometimes, and provided that I do my daily work and deeds, well enough - to suit being in the right spot, doing the right thing, and reserving the rest. On the other hand, even greater elevated access and clearance technologies-awareness would understand that others “are,” even, experiencing the same sensory experience as myself, as the observation subject, at issue, and for performance benchmarking, for example, within this maritime environment of Los Angeles, California, that it were, and I learned many curious and substituent potential livestock and watershed allegories as to what this particular destination of many portends, in the lore of the lands and its people. 

Today, on August 4th, 2022, the day had ceased being so strange, so I naturally quit embodying the strange beliefs, within myself, and I live out a rational day, more fairly simply, as such. 

That’s all, for now. 

Okay. Some recollection - 

I recalled that, yesterday, validly fitting concessions were being given to me, as my rightful benefit, as it were, as a custom, of a Los Angeles, (global) - time and water tables scaled provision, for acting ethically. 

I’m working, right now, so I can’t really elaborate much, in detail, yet it was not rightfully happening, previously, for many years, and my mother and I had been getting treated very poorly. It’s been quite disturbing and upsetting, or worse.

Recent PubMed National Center for Biotechnology Information (NCBI) Articles Detailing the Roles that Real and Robotic Pigeons Live Out, in Burgeoning our Augmented Reality Future.

Although, 

in one of iPigeon.institute’s initial and formative published purpose and mission statements, I’d estimated that the “real” iPigeon consumer product release would be decades away - from that time, just over 4 years ago, to the date (June 14th, 2018, it was, when I’d posted that article, and it’s July 2nd, 2022, today, when this article was initially published), I’d been a comparatively young and pretentious public relations fawn, of a blog publisher, with great and vast ideas, of the mind, whereas I’d hoped, somewhat, that I was on the cutting edge of the robotic pigeon / augmented reality consumer product topic and public spectacle that would arise, as a result of this phenomenon and development, in society - it turns out, however, that academic and medical literature predates my claim-staking efforts. I’m always playing catch-up, in my relentless pursuit of knowledge, within the industry of biotechnology, apparently 👀🫣.

Here are some article leads pertaining to predating and since-then research and discovery developments upon the topic and subject matter of augmented reality “real” pigeons, robotic pigeons, and “real” pigeons, as some of the fore-bearing burdening birds (or beasts, as it were) of our developing technologies of correlated subject matter, such as Brain-Computer-Interfaces and remote-controlled brain interfaces, as well as some of the historical, previously classified, documentation, of our nation’s literary and intelligence heritage, which also predates even these late-breaking developments in pigeon-assisted technology. 

Historical background:

The pigeon, as a species, has maintained an illustrious career in the annals of the U.S. and British armed forces and intelligence agencies, dating back (upon a quick-search basis) to at least World War 1. 

A manual detailing the implementation and service basis of the pigeon amongst British armed forces, dating back to World War I. (Courtesy of the British Library).

In the United States, recently declassified documents detail the pigeons’ role in developing camera and image-based surveillance and recognizance intelligence, from a more advantageous position than could have been gained through other established technology, such as airplanes. 

Such documentation lends credence to the fact of that the pigeon has long been one of our stalwart lab and combat environment animals which have helped burgeon technology developments and national security efforts. Soon, I’ll update this article with some links to journal articles that cite pigeons as research subjects and as physics and physiognomical models for establishing remote sensing recognizance intelligence, brain-computer interfaces, and wirelessly controlled augmented intelligence experiences, thus paving the way for humanity’s progress.

New Developments in the South Bay (updating)

Since

I haven’t been receiving unemployment deposits on to my CA EDD (California Employment Development Department) debit card, any time recently - perhaps since early spring, this year, or so; I was upright and cautious enough to get through the whirligig of what had been the heyday of Pandemic Unemployment Award benefits, in addition to standard unemployment benefits, as well as Federal Disaster Aid benefits (something like that), which had made mid-2020 through Q3 of 2021, or so, an illustrious gilded pigeon-egg golden (imagined 🤔) phase for fragrance and aroma ingredients procurement and some product development along those lines, for iPigeon.institute as well as IoTpigeons.eco. I had done some bungling preliminary work on branding the fragrance-interested arm of the enterprise, as iPigeon Aroma Company, but so far, it’s not had a foundational establishment to ground ideas, from out of it, or retail-ready product line, to present to testers. I’m a bit overextended, in other words, but I’m working out some of the latent consequences, such as uncanny neck pain (I’ve been developing what’s been described as an expert technique - perhaps quite niche, since I do “oxen” types of hauling labors, lately, and even more so than I might, otherwise, since I’m flat out on the streets, and looking for a new place to call home - a board and care facility, in this instance, rather than a transitional living home (whatever that means, 🙄 it ended poorly, I must say). At any rate, I’ll update the advanced next cracking video series, for the specialization in self-help | pressure point healing that it attends to, in blood circulatory wellness. It’s not quite massage, and it looks pretty jacked, but I’ve been finding it necessary to correct myself in public; strange that I might appear to be, for doing that sort of thing, but nonetheless, it’s not necessarily my fault - the dirt on the topic was that it felt like there was electrical lines running underneath the floor in my room, and I’m not quite all that much paranoid, like, a for real squirrels type of paranoia 🫣, plus, there was marijuana being grown in the garage just below me: my room was ostensibly adjacent to the corner of the ceiling of the garage. Strange developments from out of that sort of thing can be found on my Twitter feed.

Now, 

though, I’m out in the open air, and these charges that I’ve been cracking out, illegal that they’d been called, have been getting normalized, and attenuated, for being pressed out of my joints and connective tissue. I’ve also had the good fortune to be able to try out, for product reviews that I’m hired for, and I feel that they’ve largely been fairly okay, and sometimes better than just imagining that they might be working. It’s been a boon to my enterprise developments, post-Covid-19 gilded age era type of thing. 

So, I got out of town, this evening

and I’m over in the South Bay - a nice diversion from the business and chaotic identities that make DTLA such a hyper-vigilant real squirrels type of reality basis life - I’m out, feeding the pigeons, guys are wondering, this and that, sometimes they want to fight, or catch me sleeping, vulnerable, which sucks, because I really do “have to” sleep outside, and I can’t really accommodate people trying to rob me and ask me questions in my sleep. It’s just rude, and I have to see people when I look at them, and being a stalking victim really makes a superficial me, out of myself, which I’m okay with, for the most part, yet the not okay stuff is still just not okay, at the same time. On one hand, it couldn’t possibly be okay, but I’m also committed to paying my taxes down for running a pigeon-feeding bum enterprise-able lifestyle thing, pigeons that they may be - they do need to eat, and I have been getting a lot of oversight accommodations to the stuff (that I do). Feeding the pigeons, and stuff. 

So, I’m thinking, wow - that’s pretty awrr rawr rough and tough, on a pigeon-feeding bum, but for this past year, being that the Covid-19 pandemic emergency basis had been established, I figure - they got a good assessment on me, some professional person who took a good look at what I do, and what basis for tax code things pertain to me, and I guess I can’t really say that I haven’t been a pigeon-feeding bum, and I made all sorts of claims about things on Twitter, and I can’t afford to look like an idiot, for very long, and try to talk my way around things, over at the finance office front counter, or something. There’s got to be some way I’m worth this money, and the Los Angeles City Office of Finance had arranged to have businesses be allowed to make reasonable offer accommodations of some sort, to get the taxes paid, and get the city running, and stuff. I’m not a complainer, but there could obviously be some improvements done and made done - I figured, in my case, I could keep it kinda bum-basis “looking” kind of thing, and I offered to clean up the streets of south Los Angeles, which are notable for regular, ongoing, and mass site dumps of trash and garbage, all around town, to a large degree. It’s a shoddy notable characteristic of the place, and I run a “clean-up” blog, for that matter, that I hadn’t really updated, for most of all of the year that I’d been keeping it up, as far as last year. The blog got tons of hits, though, relatively. I figured I ought to nurture the clean up thing, on that end. It was really a Trump-era aspiration to fulfill, and I was big on supporting Donald Trump, as President, for the good that I saw and knew of him, from what I could discern, and infer, as far as who he is, or might be - even though it went against the grain, so to speak, as far as most of my Facebook friends were, as opinionated people, at the time. 

But now

I’m in the South Bay. Things are a bit more reserved and upscale here, as far as presentation and as far as “the rules” go. Out here, in at least a few of the South Bay cities, a person could (and I had) be stopped and taken in, for example, by the police, for smoking tobacco in public. I got a misdemeanor charge dropped, after attending and participating in supporting 12-steps activities and groups, amongst many uninterested (or otherwise interested - in “other” kinds of stuff - a lot of it stalking-basis kinds of things: fairly distasteful, in my opinion). I’d met the lovely young ladies who’d warned and cautioned me against doing this and that, sort of thing - even though it would seem enticing and like, that things could be like I imagined they were - like, first date night kinda stuff, but back then, to be honest, I was a much different-minded sort of person, and I thought that various more so thing that I’d like to do would wind up being rewarding, whereas I was just setting out on my early illustrious homeless years, speckled with incarcerations, involuntary hospitalizations, and more homelessness. Here and there, I got to (or tried to) grab a boob, and stuff, but even that kind of fluff got further and further away from being likely to have had happen, and, at some point, I just stopped trying. I worked up some self-sufficiency, and resilience, counting on this pigeon-feeding bum thing, and associated blogging efforts - along with the fragrance and cosmetics line developments to come: by all means, appreciable materialism that I’d been fortunate enough to have gained capital in, and hopefully, will continue forth, in maintaining a hold of - there’s been some nasty disputes about my “actual” ownership of my purchased property, and just tonight, in fact, they’re planning to riot in DTLA, and piss on the trees I’d been trying to nurture and fertilize, out there, rather than that they just don’t show up to downtown, at all, by night, to do that, but for some reason, they seem to feel emboldened by that sort of display and destruction - part of it, on at least one person’s mind, having that he’d taken particular issue with me, for personal reasons - reasons of dislike towards me, towards which, I’m like, “…” well, nah. I’m just, like, nah… about it. But he was doing something, not telling me about it, and apparently, my stuff is “gone.” Quite a hostile takeover, but I’m working out the legalities and jurisprudence consequences of the matter, for as much time as I can devote to it. It would be a significantly closely held loss to the enterprise and my productivity. 

Anyways, 

there’s some cool new developments out here, this area being neighbored to the Ballona Creek | Los Angeles River project, which begins at the beginning of Marina del Rey, at the south side edge of Venice Beach, winds through Playa del Rey, and here, in El Segundo, perhaps some groundbreaking work, where the Raytheon establishment had “seemed to” have formerly been (remember the rocket man news articles? (add citation - note), a new commercial hotspot development had popped up, over just short months that it’s been, since I’d been here - I love the Del Amo Fashion Plaza Nordstrom, here - it’s my favorite 😍, and there’s also a huge water main - perhaps some exciting work that’s new, and ground that’s been laid for some new sights to see, and development sites, as well, that pertain to the Los Angeles Watershed development program and progress, thereof - I’ll venture out more, towards the shore, from here, and update with more reports, as I come across new things that I notice, out here.

The El Segundo Golf Course, (I’m not sure of what it had been named, previously), is now a notable TOPGOLF establishment. It looks great! I ought to really try out this spot, since it’s been newly renovated, and make use of my Turnway padded foldable golfing bag, which I had been using for carrying around my gardening tools. It’s available on Amazon for $78.99. It’s got great wheels on it, and it can support at least 15-20 pounds, traveling on even the streets and concrete, for miles at a time, without fading out on the wheel support. 

I overnighted at the El Segundo Plaza. Not much all that new, there, but I did have a penchant for the place, given that there are power outlets available outdoors, with lighted trees, in the parking lot. The lights shut off on me, though, along with the electricity. Perhaps I ought to check on that, moving forward, at some point. Hopefully it wasn’t something that would be a significant fault of mine, but I’ll look in to it. Come morning time, I woke up, and the people in the locality wound up having various appreciable offerings and leave-outs for me, which I detailed on Twitter:

Downtown Los Angeles’ new pigeon babies - season by season (Updating: 2022 - *)

In most cases,

A typical pigeon that a person would come across is simply a standard pigeon. Over he years, however, with some dedication, investment, and care, the creatures become slightly diversified, of their physical appearance, in various ways. Here, in this article, I’ll document some of the images of the young, whom I can identify, of the season’s offerings of pigeon and sparrow babies, of some notable distinction in their appearance, compared to the standard varieties of wild pigeons or sparrows that are to be found, as adults - whom may, themselves, be newly homed or released birds, whereas I also attempt to manage the general day-to-day presence and feeding of the birds, within the Downtown Los Angeles area. I’m beginning this documentation at the end of May, 2022, a well-enough point in the season for babies to have hatched, been fed in the nest, by their parents, and now, they’re capable of getting out and about, and they’re capable of feeding themselves. They would also have taken on enough plumage to demonstrate their fully-adult appearances. 

2022 - Doe eyes and soft pastels, and a squirrel pigeon.

During this season, at the end of May, when I began documenting these birds, for the season’s developments, in the birds’ appearance, I noticed that some of the young, whom I could identify as fledgling pigeons or sparrows, had taken on some development around the eyes, as more pronounced, or outlined - in some cases, nearly decorative and cosmetic changes had seemed to have become established. On one hand, my task management capability here in town is somewhat a quite broad and challenging effort to fulfill - I’ve gotten up my daily small-localities visitations up to a definite 5 areas, whereas there are easily perhaps anywhere from 75-200 or so birds that show up to eat. Some breeders and pigeon specialists are capable of establishing very regimented and impressive defined features in their birds, such as alternating feather color on the wings, for example, but I’m not particularly going for that type of establishment, in these birds - mostly just focusing on keeping them fed. One of the challenges is that the birds seem to be getting poached, or targeted, for capture and abuse - I currently had recently taken in “Virgil,” so-called, a pigeon whom I found, out on the street, about a week ago. I found him with string, hair, and a metal spring tied around both of his feet, and fortunately, I was able to win his trust, take him home, and assist him, as best I could, in removing the objects that were binding his feet, although his skin was already very inflamed around the trauma areas, and the string bound the skin deeply, more than I cared to injure the pigeon with, in attempting to remove the string any further. 

June 2022: Cheetah zazzles and more doe-eyed pigeons.

Three doe-eyed pigeons; one, perhaps, a parent.

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.

Updating: the DTLA Pershing Square flocks of pigeons and sparrows - cute! (Photo blog)

 Here’s an updating photo blog documenting the attainments gained, the social developments, and sometimes just the plain cuteness, of the pigeon and sparrow flocks that reside in the Downtown Los Angeles park of Pershing Square. These flocks are perhaps the most prolific and showy flocks in the DTLA civic center area. 

Update: 12/09/2021

Today was a rainy day at Pershing Square. Check out the wet pigeons!