I’d been big in to trying to get my IoT development platform up and running, lately. Lots of expenses.

 Thanks to the California Employment Development Department, 

I’d been fortunate in having been a recipient of Unemployment Insurance money and Pandemic and Disaster Award Money, for having been affected directly by the COVID-19 disaster. My latest procurement is the Apple Watch. I’m interested in its platform basis in that it’s marketed as a tool for communications, but more so compellingly, for me, at this point in time, of that it’s an Apple device that’s concerned with the users’ health and well-being. 

And then, if you’d ever been in to working aspirations in to developing on IoT devices (bare chip boards, with embedded circuitry and processing microcontrollers), then you know how the nights on end can be relentless endeavors of discovering and perusing internet literature and forums for a glimmer of hope, short of being reportedly well-dialed in and having successfully SSH’d or provisioned the hardware and accessories appropriately, attained a fully autonomous Internet of Things microcontroller project, co-processor project, Machine Learning, prototype, or embedded device. 

My current “Things” are a mix mash of trying to maintain finery, amidst the shortcomings of small enterprise, in a world of just-burgeoning documentation, coverage, and marketing of a platform-profiteering move in and on topic of the Google Coral platform, which is the current IoT | AIY platform that I’m (trying) to successfully get up and running. I’d been covering it on Twitter. It’s been a whole lot of splotch bum asides and subsequent coming-clean, of that 

okay, I fwushuthuthuthuthgghhh:

I fwopped it.

In fact, I flopped it so bwamm, that I ended up landing on the first page of Google Search for Google Fwopp:

Here’s how I’ve been getting by:

That’s pretty much that, as far as daily nutritional intake and self care. 

And then, 

I’m working on this orthogonal counter-ingress and directionality assertiveness motive of in-home aesthetics and a bit of complement to the great outdoors, of which this locality features the much of on greatness: the jet stream, which, as for the ionic mineral concentrates that I have, purportedly mills the ions and organum matter of the witting participants of such, as well as that of the gross polluters of the nearby and surrounding ecology of the area. I try to clean up some of the mess, sometimes, as per my charity arm of my enterprise in blogging, at scrumbwitsies.us. 

Just a quick check in, for keeping up with something on here, for posterity’s sake. I’ll try to check in with something more compelling and pleasant soon. 

Opinion: What the nationwide uprisings signify, of a sociological and urban evolutionary perspective.

First of all, I'll be succinct about my stance on the Minneapolis crisis over the death of a suspect, in the process of detaining the man. I fully support law enforcement in their protocols. 

I feel that this simple basis, as a perspective in on the issue is largely what's at issue with the crowds of protesters, who are obviously primitively flaunting their suppressed egos and battered self-esteem, in times such as this; not to mention, it's the end of the month (May, 2020), and it's a duly fearsome time for many recipients of welfare. 

Whereas my general disposition imperative, of several to many of recent years, has been to ally myself with the dogmatic spirit of the 12 Steps program, in recovery and rehabilitation from drug abuse (which had just last night wreaked a bit of havoc upon my life's stability - I indulged in a debaucherous night in the Baldwin Hills Motor Inn - a local dive spot that was discretely introduced to me, for it's hourly rates and chintzy mirrored walls and ceilings. 

I couldn't take my eyes off of my new MacBook Air, which I had purchased just earlier in the day. 

... 

Which brings up another point in perspective - I got my Economic Impact Payment, from the U.S. Treasury Department - which I find to be a significant ringer in the debate as to whether or not Donald Trump will be re-elected, as far as the margins leveraged upon his persona and supposed identity, which has been largely exploited and unduly defamed, of reasons and intentions unclear to me, despite the fact that these views are also [had been, and still are]: first hand relations to me, on my Facebook profile. These types of contentious posters are somewhat just casual relations and acquaintanceships, from meeting once, or several times, perhaps, of a superficial sort that had not seen much reciprocity in nurturing a deeper connection. 

Oh well. Such is social media, for me. 

Then, there's the world of shortwave frequency band resonance broadcasts of the futuristic world that began nearly a full century ago, and which was developed through programs such as the MKULTRA intelligence programs, of fabled lore, yet not undocumented, and relevant, at that. 

The force with which a person is being controlled, for the subject (as each individual, of this abnormal psychological assay and surveying battery of diagnostics and tribunals lays it's vast expanse - of the world of psychology, in it's many facets. 

The duly manifold consequentials of that the COVID-19 pandemic are somewhat that the logistical and embedded worlds of the Physical Internet, the internet of Nearby Connections, and the Internet of Things are reachinga state of maturity in technical engineering, of a finery sort, such that devices of a physical circuitry board, and manufacture, are resonantly scalably accommodated, as virtual periphery - what we (I, at minimum, can acknowledge it) experience as remote sensing and remote surveillance; of which, amongst my peer groups, of social media, and former school days, of corroboration - I am a most centralized subject of inquiry, for the sake of efficiency and efficacy of the observants, in and around my periphery and contextual relevance; of indices of influence, of measures by which statistics and logic lay fare of their basis, upon the inquisiting mind, over man, that it might sometimes be. 

That being said, I've also come to a fairly mature stage in my development, of future technologies, within the facet of remote sensing, as well: known as space drama, as inquirers of the internet in to a short-term study in to Scientology, for example, could attest to, as familiar basis. 

That being said, these sorts of engagements are vastly cutting-edge urban and civic evolutionary models of establishment, and of expectations thereupon, and thereof; yet, in professional spheres, such as law enforcement, the psychological contingency of behavioral and forensic analytical skillset are largely at issue, of their formative scientific and civic basis, to begin with.

That being said, [I just recalled, in the non-editorial form of my writing as linear establishment, history would attest]: interestingly, (earlier on, in this text), the statement of "I just received my" was quite intelligently followed by: 

See for yourself:

 

 As you'd observe, let your attention fall upon the livid realization that Gboard, in all it's ubiquity of many libs and resources of development, in to the cutting-edge technologies of contextual DialogFlow, Tensor and Machine Learning, Artificial Intelligence, and more - all part of the host developer's (Google, LLC) significant investment in to establishing transparency in ubiquitous efficacy of user autonomy; ever becoming more [potentially] momentous, in it's small and every day facets of reach in to dynamics far beyond the individual's capability to suppose, and to « correctly » [accurately] intuit and predict the behaviors of others, the goings-on, of the world around us, and at large. 

Imagine that, for many centuries and millennia, thinking back on the topics of scrying, Inquisition, tea-leaf cadtings, fortune telling, and prophecies - these are all antiquated quasi-and-semiologically based interpretive fields of pursuit. 

These days, which we live in, technology subverts the unknown, through nurturing intelligence, establishing context and basis in people's lives, and in and of their formative establishment of relationships and social dynamics across a vast remote spectroscopy global endeavor. The linearity of individuality in contextually autonomy, per se, is such that could, ostensibly, have had been established, for the observant remote sensing participant, as well as on behalf of the counterpart observant, participant, overseers, authorities; such as this. 

Keeping in mind, that, in particular, in the field of technology, it's simple to acknowledge that there are authorities on various subjects and issues. Some people are simply better at certain things, at the time we find ourselves fraught with a technological existential crisis, that it oftentimes is. 

That being said, to centralize the contexts a bit, in mind:

Bluetooth Low Energy ephemeral identifications of signal broadcasting strength, par relevance of ostensible proximity of a signal gatherer, within the context of passersby and plotted IoT Nearby Connections, Physical Internet, and Beacon technologies - here, relevant, on account of establishing location and proximity data - are capable of synthesizing resonant mock-ups of physical and manufactured devices - simply through the harmonic resonance of matter itself, at inquiry - lately, the vastly relevant topic, as the Coronavirus testing subject is at issue, and as that Google and Apple had determined that their devices could, and would - with the ingenuity, [at scale] of civic and local governments, put to task: of establishing the localized contact tracing app, of which the whitepapers had been released by Google over the past month or two, in digitally published and distributed form. 

Remote sensing and shortwave and frequency-band spectroscopy is the more intelligent explanation for schizotypal madness. The assumption that we are ever truly "ourselves" within the foray of multiple autonomous intelligences is at issue. Conversely, at that, a lack of significant diversity in intelligences, and perspectives, opinions, morals, ethics, for example, is also an issue that comes in to play, when minorities assemble and become activist - violent. 

On one hand, the violence isn't much really the issue. Just as there are superiors and intelligence hiérarchies in tech, just the same - finding a superior of physically violence-force and willingness to commit - such things are primitivities, in the scale and scope of what civic and urban life entail - that people of many various social strata and structural underpinnings exist together, yet the social distancing prescriptive is something that becomes suddenly more frightening, to the peaceful observant of civic culture - for having been primitively violated - for having been bitten, for feeding a needful one, for example, or for being talked up a bit socially unintelligently, by a filthy homeless person, who was perhaps unaware of his detriment upon others, perhaps intentionally depraved and socially demerit, by decidedly marketing that persona, for whatever drives that person. 

What's the point? 

Perhaps many individuals were simply fraught of a multi-faring several dilemmas in life, and "... Who knows?" 

- just what business owners who shuttered their businesses are, or hàd been doing, during the pandemic, and now, in the reopening phases? Many establishments had significantly drawn back their Enterprise's physically indoor locations' accoutrements and offerings to the public, [through looking through the windows, from the sidewalks], and many other establishments partook of their entrepreneurialism spirit in offering marketable and within ordinance boundaries offerings of take out, and delivery, for example. 

It was a mild ecosphere for the modest entrepreneur to venture a new enterprise, for the outside mask vendors, here in Los Angeles. Some people flaunted a spark of social entrepreneurialism, by couturizing their statement and participation in wearing a mask, or face covering; here, of a decorative sort. 

Some people chose not to wear a mask. 

How things turned violent, in so many distributed locales? 

I'd venture that some of these cultures are languishing behind, in societal and civic evolutionary ecospheres, and appreciations of the magnificence of what technology, today, offers us, of aversion from needing to assemble, through establishing things that are marketable and duly just and fair, for an establishment entrepreneur of modest means and of humble intention; yet some things, of a biased identity basis ring clear, in recent interactions I've had. 

"Everybody knows English in this country." 

It's not [quite] how I was raised, so I'm not a biased one, on that contingency. 

I really don't know. 

... « what some people are saying, sometimes » ... 

But when the higher tiers of social and societal and spiritual support mechanisms are thwarted, the contexts of intent, and of affect, are of issue. 

Some people are simply deprecated, at the time we encounter them, as far as the societal standard goes. 

In civic activism, of a disruptive and violent nature - perhaps ignorance and neglect is at hand. These were ones that couldbt have been reached, in time, over here, in Los Angeles, and maybe some of them are simply not invested in a standardized and accommodable American identity, and through such identity - the lifestyles and promises afforded to Americans, which we had grown up learning about in our public schools. 

I'd say that it ought to take more than a physical identity (of a visceral and visible nature) to truly determine the quality and sustainability of a person, as individual, in this day and age. 

People are capable of adjusting and accommodating; of assimilating, and of evolving. Higher modalities of mindset and of acquaintanceship lead to much more fruitful establishment of identity and fortune in life. 

Over time, the violent threats become standoff talk-downs, from the ledge of leaving establishment, and for venturing off in to a sea, or ocean, of unattractive social identity foray; unsustainable, perhaps. 

For me, I remarked on attractiveness. It's one of the formative tenets of the recovery establishment, which, in and of itself, branches off in to the social psychology spheres of relationships, within the perspective of recovery. 

Handing over abuses and violence is quite simple to establish, and primitive; at that. The simple and primitive life is afforded to all creatures, lest we lose the good graces of what technology establishes, as a much finer engineering and scientific endeavor. 

For parents of antisocial personality types - an outlook and perspective from the front lines.

Being a parent is challenging, and perhaps a long-gone memory. (20 years, 10 years... I couldn't narrow it down, completely). 

Pigeon-Toes!!!

I'd say that I could relate, though, in that I used to raise fine pets - dogs and birds. I've raised a few litters of dogs, and dozens of birds - for me, it was lovebirds, but also several wild specimens - a blue jay, a sparrows, a hummingbird, that didn't quite make it.

The point is, is that I'd developed what I'd assert, is an advantageous position in the foray of nurturing environment - coupled with intensive personal studies, outside of academia - of abnormal psychology, both to repair damages that had been committed upon my youthful years, and, in turn, to understand the underlying psychology of the personality types that form, out of the young adult mind of the millennial, the later generations, with keeping in mind, the challenges and spectrum of diverse ecology of the mind's apparatus, within the scope of the nuclear family, as well as the extended family type. 

My type (currently) is clean-cut, work-ethic minded, heavily invested in laborious deeds, and acts of merit to sustain my station in life, as a homeless person, yet at least, that I'm a free person. 

My shortcoming is that I have a stimulant abuse problem, although I don't smoke or shoot up, only intranasal usage. (Perhaps once per week, currently). 

I hear voices. 

When I was a child, I was directly bullied for acting out, as far as that I imitated gang and popular culture behavior of the hazing and subjugation of females and cultural others. 

I've made my peace, as a sober man, in practicing the 12 Steps. 

etc. 

What I can report about this generation, is that many types of likewise-aged individuals have not yet come clean, and she'd off the young-life prejudices and joking natures of discriminatory and racially-slight attitudes. Many of the "unique" subjects, of my demographic, are being bullied in their own ways. 

Drug use is an obvious mechanism of this. 

Sexually acting-out also plays a large role in things. I can assert that many types of social strata cases, of your children, are fraught with identity crises of various sorts - narcissism, antisocial personality, borderline psychosis - I see individuals regularly who are speaking in to the air "at nobody," expecting a response. 

Now, I'm sure that you all know that they are not alone, in speaking themselves, and expressing their feelings and thoughts. Yet, the trouble is, is that they are largely loose cannons. Petty thieves, relentless drug abusers, sexually-indulgent sorts. I had been all of these things, myself. I do try to be a role model for your children, when I encounter this sort, but I oftentimes have a challenge of establishing that a higher power, in the social establishment, and in religion - exists. 

It's a challenging world out there. 

I'll keep people updated, as the years go on, with the results of my efforts surely to produce recognizable results, alongside other modalities of treatment and intervention that largely go unspoken, between parents and their case workers. 

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. 

Who pays the toll of the confounding [f]actor's role in a role-weary incompetent or insane subject?

Somewhat - 

Alright, « okay » like, I really needed that (most times), or, like, people really [don't] bother to conceal their formants, and self-such character-isms of speech and poise, but I don't really get the lack of sociable attainment, the thing about "just getting it done," 

Rather,

There's this vast contingency of avoidant (I'd forgotten about that one [of abnormal psychology]; the avoidant, the passive-aggressive, the decades gone on, in lacking sobriety and 12 Steps fundamentals, as life. People really do live their lives off of the 12 Steps, when they're in the supportive arms of truly good-meaning sober individuals - I've always self-managed my drug abstinence, because I have a hard time speaking with strangers, and some aspects along those lines. 

For that matter, it feels like you guys are abusing the child of my life-in-suspension - I used to pull Tarot cards for this type of thing. But that was years ago.

Then, I became a person who simply never does the thing that is so characteristically immature, and short-sighted. I did the most menial of digital life-styling reputational upkeep, in cases where I had done others wrong (undoubtedly while in the midst of a manic spree on life; by all means, un-sober): I went back and apologized to the person - digitally, at that, since it was my digital Life up for self-criticism, and for matters of integrity of my self.

The point being, is that, all-in-all, I did do those things, and I could move forth in life flinching with the sour memory of those things lingering - nonewhatsoever. 

Okay, there is this guy, and one other guy, I owe them each about $40-$45. Eek. That's literal money I owe, to leverage my business ethics statistical "perfect," otherwise.

But some of you guys (and ladies) - sheez, ... I guess maybe you guys (and ladies) perhaps never made it out past suburbia; whereas [I seem to have recognized destitute and laboring] {some guys} I've seemed to recognize, out in the open wild, while I'd been "trekking," and how natural the interactions were - just in passing; just maybe, it was "them."

Those kinds of guys don't have this passive-avoidant histrionic persona that pops in to my mind, and acquisitions some arbitration or leverage about my wherewithal and my going-for-show-pigeons better pedigreed self.

On one hand, there's the notion of replicable personae-identities, yet who would be comfortable knowing that I simply « believe » these horrible things about people? Some people.

Some people who don't really do Facebook « well, or properly ». And then, there's this whole thing about speaking in to the phone's speaker {thing} and the expectation that the audio clip-bytes reach me?

 On one hand, I can concede that this is about as "crazy" as I'd come off, given my willingness to « once again » relate the long-windedness and intricacies of a schizotypal personality disorder, such that I have; whereas most people claim that they don't hear voices, whatsoever. 

That's it, though. That's the limit of how « actually » crazy I look; it costs me a blog of relevant content, somewhat, to digress, again, in to abnormal psychology, once again, yet here it be, plain and simple - I'm 38 years old now, so's most people involved, or better (or lesser of consequence, for being third-person removed) - most perhaps-so. The opposing face-to-face second person disposition is truly a rare one, but I do sometimes speak at long-winded lengths about formative aspects of all expected contextual realities and foundational underpinnings, which lead to critical analysis of the "other" person, at hand, but that's not to say that many people who encounter me don't actually mean me harm, given a turn-of-my-back to them. They do, and I realize these things, even as they trouble me.

------------

Then, I inevitably get some web-crawler "bot" hits, after publishing the post to social media, and oftentimes, a colloquy ensues. But I'm moreso that I'd just rather be done, and done with the issue. I could do coffee, at a coffee shop, and forget about it, over a sweet one.

My blog stats - minutes after posting the blog and sharing it to social media.

It could even be a home-spun drink, in a recyclable bottle - but these types of sociable accommodations just fail to get done.

What im im see, here, though, is an imminent troll-of-all-web internet activity, for lack of a better term, in the all-hours readiness to check out my latest blog, type of thing - which could only be « somewhat » okay. The thing of the internet of all hours "thing" is a tired subject - I'm commonly neurotically fraught with the consequences of having done a night of the internet of all hours "thing," and the cost of repairing that deed, with ionic minerals, with medications, with attending personnel and professionals about my mental health patient status, not to mention my social worker - these are all tolls of being improprietuous of what ends up being "for my sake," in which case I have to answer for my [obvious] shortcomings.

The desire to shield one's identity behind remote sensing technology is a dark, loaded vehicle, carrying the impetus of the person's wherewithal that could have been - for having jaunted a fresh, new, identity through stimulant abuse that many find so compelling; yet many also fail to remit a sustainable [or any some-such] contribution to society, whether it be digital or real-life. For that matter, I find that my schuzotypal self commonly lends it's nature to a more familiar term, in that I perceive it as an augmented reality - one where a person's reputation could « precede » their physical presence. Sometimes the voice {conscience} hanging over the shoulder of the guilty is a partner-in-arms, with the self of such person. 

Pretty pigeon, fluffy feathers.

I would term this “kitsch;” (perhaps, - :/ .. ) yet charming: I’d say, for its playful, candid, yet charming and affectionate [that it were, for the sake of the fact that the bird had distinguished itself before me, ahead of the boundaries stayed at by the rest of the flock, as though it were wittingly posing as the pretty bird, and that he’d been brought up of virtuous establishments and charms of his plumage, that he ought demonstrate and appeal upon me, as the morning’s caretaker of the animal’s daily necessity of, and significant life’s formative pursuit [of a pigeon, and it’s companions in the flock] - of discovering food, that he is also a good bird; for me, a personally touching moment, in that I had regularly frequented the Grand Park grounds, in years past, as a homeless person who was, then, and now, and from the time therein, between when I had taken upon myself the promise to nurture the local flocks of sparrows and pigeons, such that were found at the park, and as well, in other areas in DTLA, and outlying localities where I’d come across flocks and establishments of  [somewhat] “homed,” (I estimate, colloquially an amateur of the richer and obvious context of a more well-domesticated and intentionally localized, through nurturing, over years, of effecting a lofted (perhaps) establishment of pigeons), that might be more imaginably relevant, within a personal context, given urban society, of that we acknowledge that people in other urban metropolises have established trained flocks of pigeons, for racing, for show, for messaging, etc. 

In all of the richer context of what might be understood of the charm of the photographic composition, and of the story of that the bird might be seen to have been intelligently attempting to “woo“ me of a more consistent affections and cares to be offered to them, it’s fairly deeply much more tenderly sentimental, in that I’d, at times, have become ineffectual, forgetful, neglectful, detracted from, or thwarted in - various claims, all amounting to that I had neglected to return to the common establishments of the various flocks, around town, that I could regularly and capably fulfill my commitments to them, and that the purpose of such things were that I would expect that the birds would perform slight miracles of animal behavior for people to admire, of them, for having been cared for, and nurtured, of my participatory influence and small acts of attesting to the virtues of perseverance in seeing the promises carried out, on a gradual, and measured basis - attesting to the religious connotation of establishing a serenity amongst the surroundings of nature among us, and of God’s creatures, that the figure of Saint Francis of Assisi is carried forth, in our common societal mind, as classically relevant and emblematic of an unending foundation of what goes to be carried forth, in life, and society, of that we accept Christ and his teachings, and his notable followers, throughout time, as constantly needful identities in and of ourselves, to discover, and praise, for the natural and spiritual truths that the hold in our lives, that we might, in that Saint Francis is a popularly celebrated saint of our nation’s embrace, and understanding. 

as one significant context. The other, I imagine (having become distracted, for touching upon the more important context of religious significance in our commonly spiritually destitute lives, in urban society - [and doing it long-winded, at that] {hopefully within grasp of comprehension, though} - that this bird was, indeed, one of my ones that I’d cared for, in previous years, and how personally at detriment I’d become, of battling through irreverent and seditious human affairs, to the failure of loving kindness and nurturing, of which the (aside <_ -="" a="" addressing="" all="" and="" as="" asunder="" at="" attesting="" been="" bird="" bitterly="" but="" care="" carrying="" cast="" center="" contexts="" decree="" demand="" diet="" disavowed="" effecting="" end="" environment="" ethical="" fearfully="" field="" finest="" font="" for="" forth="" friends="" go="" gone="" grounds="" had="" have="" i="" in="" is="" issue="" it="" knowledge="" lack="" locales.="" many="" me="" minds="" mouths="" native="" needful="" needs="" not="" nurturing="" obviously="" of="" on="" other="" our="" performance="" perhaps="" pigeons="" positive="" psychology="" reinforcement="" s="" sake="" sciences="" so="" social="" sparrows="" support="" surrounding="" sustainability="" that="" the="" their="" there="" these="" things="" to="" understanding="" unfed="" upon="" urban="" was="" we="" weeks="" well="" would="">

In summary, the bird seemed to intelligently attempt, in a common bird’s psychologically natural manner, in preening himself, in evincing affections upon me, for the promise of returning more regularly for a feeding, of his formerly more consistent expectations that I would have been seen to have fulfilled for them, when I lived amongst them, on a day-to-day basis, as that I lived outdoors, nearby and within the same park, itself, which they’d since have had established some community and charm, of that the sparrows accompany the pigeons, as well - and that they have their own amusing and individual species’ manner of eating the bread, or tucking it away, for collecting, as the little ones do. 

 

A second-degree-removed 💗 flub. Some seminal thoughts, here: on dying.

As I had been a guy for the sociable scene this recent holiday week (July 4th, 20¹9);

I felt a confidence about the air, of that love, of that cleanliness, and good old-fashioned romance might win many over, including myself, as I saw many couples. 

Then, (twice, I believe « on a släde couch jaunt », I interred a heart flutter. I say twice-(removed) because it was <_ about="" along="" and="" as="" athleticism="" be="" better="" brought="" confidence="" deluded="" dying="" folklore="" forth="" get="" h4="" had="" how="" i="" immortal="" in="" it="" life="" many="" me.="" mortality="" my="" nbsp="" not="" obvious="" of="" on="" others="" our="" self.="" sense="" some="" that="" thoughts="" to="" we="" well="" with="" yet="" youthful="">

That being said, I'm fairly well-to-the-self as far as routine (getting back to it), and it was a good several to many hours spent in caring self-healing therapy; mainly of pressure-point massage. 

Some repressed memories came to mind, during several of many traumatic-crisis incidents that bubbled forth, upon my ⁴th of July weekend. 

That I am 37 years old, I felt it fairly iconic celebutante of me, (nearly) incurring a heart-attack. It made me realize several things.

1. First of all, the attrition. Who wouldn't [given Scientology] be held at questioning and tribulation for justice? Is my objective reality different than others'? 
2. Second of all, I felt like I was suitably seated only somewhat to have faithfully only dalliançèd a heart attack « émbue », as it were. Just a flub. My rote and good deeds unto faith towards the feeding of the pigeons had done me well, as for this go-round. 
3. But what about others? Would they have haunted so bwamm, just like myself, and fared so dauntless jaunt regardless fwamm . . . the sidewalk's upturned now-ish? 

Fairly bwammAF to note, it's fairly unexpected conversational topic to bring up recent circulatory issues outside of the medical field, yet I'm a fairly astute abstracts-by-night reader, with a fairly well-to-do IQ to go with it. 

I thought about my interrent peers and their such-to-suppose (also [nearly]) heart-attacks. Regardless of (whatever), I feel like perhaps it (I); ergo: ought be wrought out in the public. 

First of all, it's a looming spectre for all of us, some day. I've determined that it takes death over fighting and waste to produce crystal methamphetamine. Nobody (supposed)...<_ div="" nbsp="">

Well, okay. People do give effort and produce will and means for the [<_ div="" go="" good="" identities="" much="" nbsp="" of="" others.="" psychology.="" standard="" the="" through="" we="">

But okay. Fwiff. But what's the point? We all fwiff, some alike, some different. 

The heart murmur, and subsequent blood circulatory debacles, which I had worked out in my self-physical pressure-point therapy, over many hours, became a self-evident article of forensics, given repressed-memories, time-elapsed had withheld from myself; I felt that it was so; as well, unto others who cho[o]se to a abuse me. 

Perhaps we were all harboring hidden resonances of childhood traumas that none of us were grown up well enough, by far - to the expectations of that God would not burden Man with more that He Himself could ought handle. 

The Bible rings true, and in society, we have the seminal works of others as upon our Daily Bread offerings of choices we might make, rarely noticing or remembering the unique traumas within each one of us who had been unduly abused, yet a formative self of abusive concomitance that had become our spectre alter self; our Sympathetic Resonance of pain, that formed our early lives; the framework that we had grown up within and amongst. 

Perhaps leading us to nearly die early, at some point in our lives. 

Cleaning up the wreckage of my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I keep getting put out of my spot where I can charge my device and get online; now I'm on the corner trying to get some money.

CanOn top of that, I had my bag of warm clothes stolen from me the other day, 

and I was yelled at, in the restroom, at Target at USC, for no particular reason except that I was homeless and smaller than a larger man.

I had supposed that it was not that disparaging, since the man was Japanese, and he had a particularly expectable Asian restraint on himself, as far as an immediate violent threat was concerned,

yet he was threatening, nonetheless, and it's a bit strange to begin with. On one hand, it's so ostensible of a dysfunctional family life that he lives out, of any sort of thing to consider about himself. Aside from that, I would suppose that he takes drugs, every now and then, just like I do, except that I'm in the more acutely threatened and disparaged situation and circumstance in life. 

I was followed to GP Recycling Center by black people. It's turning out, in all sorts of ways, that black people simply choose to fuck with me and my family, and supposedly it's alright; then Hispanic and Mexican young people pick up the slack and hold it down for minorities against a Chinese / white / Eastern European guy. 

It's simply been so many simply minorities and blacks, and whites, and Asians, of various sorts, that I can't much but help significantly being of an oppositional and hateful sort to so many people. No one has ever apologized about it, and people have been glorifying breaking in to my home and disparaging my works of art and literature. 

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.