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Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label racism. 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.

Wednesday, December 4

A man from South Africa told me I had good energy about me, as I was bangin’ Taylor Swift in DTLA.

Then he began talking about how I seemed spiritually well, which I would concede, after I gave a momentous talk on Scientological virtues in this day and age, where many young people have taken on significant ego arbitrariness in their disposition, in the throes of youthful angst and existential crisis, amidst criticism.

The point was that there’s always someone in charge of this technology, at hand, in which we are acquisitioned in (or, in that some ‘choose’ to) speaking out to make our point in this world of magnanimous proportions; although, at times, the proportions might seem to have bent, and in that, we become momentarily larger and more significant than we typically are, as physiognomical entities, as individuals.

All of this had played out over my Herculean task of making it out to mid-Wilshire, where I attempted to head out over to my former childhood credit union branch to open a new account. That didn’t pan out, so I sat out in a lovely nook park, where the locals frequent, for taking their children out, etc. it’s a truly lovely park.

By the way, check out my current view | perspective! A lovely post-rainy day spot to blog it out on a bench in Grand Park, 90012, next to the Children’s Playground.

A vista of beauty, here in the civic center of Downtown Los Angeles, CA.

Anyhow, this whole Taylor Swift - hits - driven good mood has truly done me well. I definitely recommend grabbing an Apple Music subscription and checking out her latest. These songs nearly move me to tears, with their great compositional nuance, performance, and orchestration.


The man who had spoken to me, earlier this afternoon (although it’s now dusk), had wrangled me in to a slight debacle of holiday cheer and charitability, which I’d been careful to try to be fair and even-handed in, in coming out to distribute clothing and food to the needy, in addition to my daily pursuit of blogging and making sure that the pigeons stay fed out here. The difficulty that he had posed unto me was that he was a spiritually-riven man, as well, and he was seeking some financial kindness, perhaps (and that he perhaps saw me as dressed as luxuriant, such that I had portrayed good spiritual energy). He was trying to make it out to San Diego, with no money, with diabetes, no money for a meal, etc. 

Then he asked me what I thought about Donald Trump. He had said, earlier on in our acquaintanceship, that he fancied that I was a better man than Donald Trump. I told him that I felt like Donald Trump is a good man, from what I know about him. (I am, admittedly, a fan of our current President of the United States of America). He commonly gets a hard time about his position and disposition in life, from locals I come across on social media. It was a bit worrisome at this point, that I had encountered this man, as an off-handed opposer of one of my affinities for our public and popular culture | elected political figures. President Trump was simply, at the outset, a well-known and well-trusted and established man in the consideration of our Hollywood | Los Angeles, CA television screen output and upbringing, if it may, such that it be so - that many of us were brought up on some of his network television programming, in former years. 

And then,

He asked me what I had though about Adolf Hitler. A contentious topic. My take on the man is a very personal one, although I had never ventured to study his life and writings, at this point in my life. As a corollary, this theme of contentious figures happen(s[-ed]) to also correspond to Taylor Swift, who is colloquially fashioned as a contemporaneous Lady Hitler. I told him that I had a perhaps strange and uncommon disposition on the figurative Hitler that I could have, perhaps commented on. Perhaps not, though; I feel. (I was an MKULTRA ad hoc acquisition of a couple of weeks, or so, of that I was made to conceive, and live out - the existential corpus of a dictataphone-derived mad man of, in that he was commonly conceived, and derived, of our millennial upbringing, to be a histrionic and narcissistic dictator, in and of himself; although [short story], I ended up coming to see him as an internally and solitarily divergent victim, in that he was, as well, a subject of targeting of programs and intelligence technology that had preceded MKULTRA mind control. 

Although the man was fair enough, in asking me for generosity, I failed him, apologetically. I told him that I’m quite poor, myself. I do truly feel poorly about letting him down, since I do have $5. 

Hmmph 😳. I suppose that that’s what I can say about the situation. I’ll try to make it up in my coming outings to civic center DTLA.

I don’t quite feel as somber and sadly serious as this current photo might portray of me. Here’s a mirror shot.

My Taylor Swift positivity outfit look.

Sunday, October 28

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. 

Sunday, July 22

My yesterday-early morning geocache localization development efforts - Mark Twain Branch LA Public Library Review, [stalkers showed up during the day, substituently, regardless]

The Mark Twain Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library is a branch in it's youthful stage in life; it is clean and new, on one hand. The book selection is probably mostly dependent on reasonable accommodations for any branch or local offerings, although it seems like they shuffle through some up-and-coming book titles here [although I typically seem to like it better when I do a quick flip-through of the (then) interesting stuff.

Without this "place" in the area, serious criminal autonomy over some rare victims of profiling-for-stalking and pwn jaunt athleisure dominance games of young folks, some of whom are simply incapable of being honest...

I go here to reconvene on my social media outlets when I've been somehow deprived of my mobile device. It's super close to my new move-in section 8 lifestyle thing going on, and some people jaunt on stuff like that, for buntiglios crowd-stalking efforts, and for (commonly) Freudian oh FML! wtf fluff demographics, but the locals are nice. Locals are always nice.

If I had to pick between this branch, as an outing, compared to the central library, the stalking-group violent-threat demographic commonly keeps me home-bound, so I stay home and jaunt. Now I have a mobile phone, but it's not quite like a resourceful impactful research jaunt at the central library on a gallon of milk diet (per day) for the AF fluff gastronomical novelty when I pass by non-eating types on that day. [I fart...].

Aside from that, people take pretty standard poops in the bathroom, comparatively; 95% of the homeless around here are transients, so a non-local triste fluff demographic is notably strange, I'd believe people would think, as well as myself. Even the people who aren't stalking people might agree that some people show up as stalkers, and it's weird. Sometimes they try to pull the most ostensible racial disparagement au jour, strangely.

That being said, most people simply don't stalk people, so it's noticeable when non-local fluff moves in to hold people hostage and the Nuclear Regulatory Committee gets micro-bots peepin' in on the slight Holocaust long-standing identity stuff [people of stuff].

On the other hand, I get talked up a srsly get some timing together to handle the stalking threat at an inconvenienced discrepancy of WGAF, they're stalkers? I know I'm being watched, and being a sociopath on top of that is so stopping my central library researching jaunts, and I'm being held up for:stalking him:purposes, can't clean my home type of thing.

I think that schools around here don't really fill up, and I read in the Economist that people are halting on having babies, statistically. People make stark decisions to simply die off around considering a life to be disparaged for any reason, to be honest. To some people, it's just obvious that people look and act as they will, and for racial disparities in South Los Angeles, simple as that. (also for stalking for sex trafficking, as if life couldn't be better, to mention on broadcast).

I try to fill my mind with book-like thoughts, instead of stuff like that. 🤔

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