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Showing posts with label resonance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label resonance. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 23

Ask iPigeon.institute: why do my genitals smell like I’m dirty from out of nowhere, lately?

 I’ve been experiencing this phenomenon going on years, at this point, albeit in intervals. The experience of having this sort of debacle befall one’s self is a traumatic and humiliating one, to be certain, because most of us take care to keep ourselves clean. So why does this sort of thing happen? It would nearly seem as though we had somehow had a lapse in consciousness, where somebody had molested us, intentionally wiping their body odor on us, whereas we may have become aware of this; for me, for living out on the streets - it becomes a questionable occurrence, as well: then I clean myself, and it ends up happening all over again, whereas only a short time had passed, and there had been no established belief of that I had had a lapse in consciousness, or a strange encounter. Is it epilepsy? How could the continuity of time have been so seamlessly thwarted? It would, on the surface level, imply that there is a state of warfare, here in The Militarized Zone of DTLA and surrounding localities, of an unimaginable cost. There may be this sort of unspoken, ongoing strife and expenses wrought upon society, from where we stand, and stay, here, while intimations of “perhaps” truths are lobbed at us, some of them, an attempt to evince belief, others, to challenge us, of our beliefs, and some things that seem beyond belief. 

So, what is the truth? 

On some level, it’s important to simply just not freak out. Just recognize, or look it up: we do live in The Militarized Zone here. I didn’t know it until I started studying for my A+ certification, and I got the big book, for my studies. It seemed a somewhat aside note, yet somehow conceded, here, in this premise, for the techies. For the tech guys to understand. To gloat over it, or to disavow it would suppose that they’d been lying in this book of standard literature that many of us (perhaps mostly guys, this being the tech field and industry) had studied. I never went through with taking the test and certifying, but this inclusion of information was a preeminent and formative small facet of truth that was imbued in to my life. 

To continue, upon “not freaking out,” it simply “makes sense” that we’re here, by our own choice and volition, and many of us had been indulging in the vice industries, here. On some level, it’s somewhat “allowed;” even included, in the list of startup business licenses that are available out here, in the city of Los Angeles (at some point, perhaps I’ll come across this moment, once again, in my own startups pursuits, and I’ll include the link; I feel that it would be a bit of an arcane lore thing to rediscover, and cite, at this point in time. At least the article will have been written, already, though). 

The perhaps more sensible truth, that I’ll offer, being that casual remote sensing acquaintanceships and “portrayals,” I’ll say, are common - particularly for a guy like me, who tries to appear fetching and attractive. For example, an attractive young lady, about my age, or so, passed by me, as I was bummed out on the ground, earlier today. She was walking her dog. The supposition that I’d been attracted to her was gleaned, via intelligence, observing all of my interactions, feelings, thoughts, and emotions, all the time. Just maybe, she was attracted to me, as well. I personally choose to tread carefully, on this sort of context, since I know that I’m a bum. So how does this sort of thing happen? Is she a prostitute, smelling her day’s partner, and it becomes transmutable upon my own personage, for that a compellingly charming flirtation episode unraveled itself, as though she knew that I’m the pigeon-feeding bum? What did she really feel? was one of the suggestions lobbed at me. She was sociably a superior to me, as many women of this sort are: they get at the truth of sociability, in regards to many types of guys, and of girls who are like them, who live out this sort of prostitution-based lifestyle. 

Or am I being stalked by guys who are upset that they’re outside, and there’s a handsomer bum out here, being a narcissist, and they somehow command this capability? I certainly doubt that I had an unbeknownst (and, for that matter), commonplace sort of genitalia-smell exchange sort of sicko molestation sort of quick encounter, of a reputation that I don’t know about, happening to me. That would seem to imply an inordinate demand upon people of a type of cost and primacy basis, of being somewhere at a timely-enough jaunt, such to render me a more humble and hapless man, whereas I don’t really deserve that sort of outcome, in life. Sure, I had once (only once, though), been an ass-grabber, and I’d “somewhat” molested women, and all of these sorts of events were, in fact, consensual activities, and I was just a guy who’d been brought up, in part, of a detrimental nature, to have given me this sort of psychotic abandon and sense of entitlement of inappropriateness. So I did this sort of thing, many years ago, back in my youth. I don’t talk much to guys, so I don’t really know how prevalent this agreement of seeking and discovering a prostitute, for patronage, actually happens. Much of what I hear is conjecture, simply put.

I just feed the sparrows. I won’t deny that resonance warfare tactics exist, and I also wouldn’t quite suppose that people “don’t” commonly hear voices in their head, and I’d somewhat believe that people do establish face to f1ce relationships, perhaps sometimes, only, based on positive affirmations and positive conditioning that occurs, as a consequence of having been coddled, by what amounts to a support mechanism, of the intelligence community, that transpires, whereas I feel that the excuse is that we’re shy around each other, and perhaps not ready to really take the plunge, whereas more bold men, better for it, for a moment, or for a more long-term outset about things, are the ones who gain inroads in to establishing romantic relationships at this point in time, and so far. I feel that it’s well enough if I get people to acknowledge me and smile, perhaps, and it boosts my self esteem a little, when that happens. A truly serendipitous occasion, or opportunity, is a much more rare thing, although it more typically winds up in producing a long-term relationship, more fruitfully, and surely so, whereas I can imagine that it’s difficult to convince someone to not continue forth in life, as a prostitute. It’s awrr rawr rough and tough, not being a prostitute, I imagine. 



Saturday, June 6

iPigeon Games that I Play. [development, self-expression, inner child]. Update: I can play spinner.

As I'm out, in our region's civic centers, and pedestrian districts, [or at home, nestling in, for a content publish push and post, on the Internet], in between newsfeed intake, social media rapport and upkeep, and checkin' my face - today, I had sooo embarrassing boogers in my nose, which I discovered after talking to people; and I have to live this life out somehow, still - I play little iPigeon games, as an aside. 

These iPigeon games are cute, darling, and endearing standing attestments to what's commonly otherwise referred to, ‹ in our upbringing › [or, in the former generation], as attending to the figurative context of the "inner child." Everybody can relate to the inner child, I'd say. As we grow and adapt in to adulting, we're, in intervals, fraught with abuse of what's otherwise "not know|in'| well enough, to twang it into context, whereas, as iPigeons-officinalus, of appropriate husbandry and heritage of heraldry, we're brought up as our best-selves, that we [rather, as underlings], are lacking of, given that our ‹ inner-child › had been inured:

Monday, February 4

As I sit down for a quick abstract on a more efficacious tobacco smoking method, a received broadcast of that my mother is screaming about her body burning in pain.

Peter Ehrlich, David Yang, and « homies » « bro » « dog » « fool ("foo") »

« [these police officers] » were offhandedly implicated; (contextually, not seemingly so much in deed of fault,

It's supposed as that my parents are being held up as hostage victims within their home. My parents had brought me up in the age of the internet as a believer in the inherent overarching goodness of people in society. 

Resonant harmonic frequency tobacco smoking, which was a sympathetic context to my aims in life, in that I aspire to produce the au jour pigeons carnival of some historic and cultural reputed austerity in life;

It's imaginably a purpose that's been fulfilled in other cultures throughout history, such as that had been achieved in the pipe-organ cathedrals of Europe. 
Given that pipe organs have a cousin in the Calliope, who, referentially, is the muse of Greek mythological lore, a traveling and compact version of the great pipe organs, which were produced most notably (according to my learning, at this point in time) - in the early-mid through late-mid centuries of the second millennium of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Resonant harmonies, which, in a simpler sense, are easily portrayed as though steel drums might be thought of, as that they are metal cylindrical devices shaped in to various resonant shape-areas of the hammered top surface.

Likewise, various and curious notable pleasurable tobacco smoking experiences might; conceivably, due to the radioactive nature of the tar, smoke, and chemical components of smoke passing through an aluminum can (here, I used a Red Bull 8.4 fluid ounce can) - produce novel and slightly variant smoking experiences (here, I had been graced with discovering a pouch of Backwoods tobacco, which is a well dried and cured cigarillo tobacco with a bright and rich character about it) -

Through aesthetically and mathematically organic, natural forms, representationally; be fashioned on to the aluminum can in some consideration of harmonic resonances which can be produced through poking holes in the can with a regular large (1-1/2 inch, or so);
Perhaps in tetrachordal or isomorphic imaginative form. Various poking-centers in logistically, complementaritively, or through ingenuity - will create various suction-based slight high-frequency harmonics to suit the purpose of creating conceivably-resource for technical analysis or for aesthetic enjoyment. 

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