Some scraped intelligence, from Apple Search, to feed contexts and discovery in to Google Search.

 Is crypto literally simply founded upon illicit drug use and gang affiliations? - as the commonly, albeit slight, popular belief of the masses, had come to the fore? 

Who hadn’t slighted that belief, for staying up on news feeds during the pandemic, etc.? Who hadn’t experienced some sort of detriment, as a result of gang affiliated individuals collectivizing, gathering, creeping, and targeting victims? It’s been a quite blatant context of unknown extents, in my life; partially apparently due to the inclusion of heroin in to the personas - granted, I’m not completely immune from prosecution here, as a regular methamphetamine user, but I am trying to clamp down this notion of drug abstinence, and solace; of contentment in my standard self. I’ve been seeking ways in which I can instill practices, and disciplined formative traits in myself, in rebuilding a resilient and immune identity, where feigned disbelief intersects with the truth, for how much the remote-sensing quadrants operators and engineers could, or might, imbue me with some higher power that exists, out of a more or less faulty persona that could aught be supposed of a drug-abusing individual, for that these things are deemed to be unlawful. (I had a slight notion of starting beyond, at “albeit,” in this moment). 

A picture gleaned upon Apple’s Search processes suggests a dark intimation of what construes a highly popularized and centrifugal financial behemoth, given cryptocurrency’s moment in the spotlight, for having been novel, whereas now, the details are under federal government scrutiny and international regulations, constraints, and rebuke, of various issues at context, given cryptocurrency.

These sorts of Nijinsky are scarcely so autocorrected, contextually deeply-dug, such as “I doo-doo,” the claim. Who could remember, beyond the novelty? 

Ah, Nijinsky. Had I not even known - is what’s had had had happened - trying to regain traction, here. These autocorrect things, these days, with the introduction of “actual” improvements, bearing upon contextual intelligences, of machine learning, and of artificial intelligence - Apple and Google both, as big tech awrr rawr rawr rough and tough contenders to the popular titles of achievement and progress upon linguistic and visual perceptual GANs (Generative Adversarial Networks), and ooo… I had a dedicated and obsessive adversary, whereas I was more intent, on the keyboard, upon a “ab” (awkward, but that’s how I projected, in vivo, the sentence ought to be composed, d hoc, and improvisatorily, of an organic discovery and discernment upon the topic, thereof, and for that matter. 

Remembering? Well, that’s a bit tough, when I’m me, of the standards that I’d imposed upon others, whereas I’m a skilled typist, on mobile, and these autocorrect things… fwoppin’ bwopp? Priceless…?! et cie novelty-minded crumbs and knickknacks, of the minded-so aught of, thereupon, of outpacing this detriment - we have the written accord, of the textual nature, and composition’s … umm… there’s some legal term for this sort of dispatch. Not quite disposition, or exposition, butt shittle? … “even better,” it had once come to pass, upon the notion of cruising, at issue, of a legal matter… 

With that sort of GAN at formative construct, in nature, we could just opt to rebuild life, from the bitsies, and the pieces, of what had transpired, of on piss? Muah. 

Just maybe. 

But okay. That was an example of a Generative Adversarial Network, I’d suppose, and it just popped up, out of convenience. I’m the gritty-enough (un-)editorial drafts-type and typist to render that rawr awrr rough and tough little bitsies, crumbs, and knickknacks, fweef! 

And now, who could remember anything, once again? What matters? Who cares? All things had been taken care of, here, butt shittle? It’s all taken care of, here, already. 

Alright. The latest topic is that a man encountered me, the other day; a guy of a common; a more common sort, that I am, I’ll just be upfront about it - at least, of what he presented to me, but at least (once again - the GAN context impetuous underlying developing purpose at stake, of becoming less relevant, here) - at least he had artistic aspirations and offerings about himself. That was decent, I could say. What he said, though, of a different establishment, of the acquaintanceship, was that “it’s easy to hurt people.” Disregarding all else, that was an offensive superficial thing to flout, I felt. Bringing it to the current moment, I’m reminded of that I feed the pigeons, and the sparrows, and I try to sustain life, of these birds, out in the urban wild, as it were. These blogs are supposed to sustain the purpose and prescience of the guy who does that (me), and I happen to be the guy who does that, as me. I’m pinioned, as a guy who thinks of himself, to an unexpected extent, I suppose, and I guess that that makes me one who disregards people. I just feel like it’s appropriate. I did it to the guy, at one point, because he was flouting a certain type of inflection and intimation upon me, of which I find useless and condescending, whereas I had this slight pigeons and friends home art exhibition thing that I use as my sociable ladder, to climb in to casual civic “bed,” as it were, as for someone opening up to a notion of really getting to know me - the birds, the feeding, the art, the blogs, etc. 

Possibly, however, “the guy” has some of that sort of trait to him, in and of his own right, it’s just that I was a bit put off by his casual nature. It’s like, doo-doo comes first, then nobody can remember anything anymore. 

Ha.  

I couldn’t even… I just imagine that likewise, nobody else could, except that sometimes, I have this backing of a transcript dictaphoneur specialties-professionalism, in “somebody’s” higher authority stance, over me, whereas I experience problems, commonly, for enjoying myself, for example, on, like, a work day, and work day hours, for that matter, whereas I try to uphold a definition and reputation of a standard-classed man, for the people, and I let off flouted bitsies of the truth, in my admissions about stuff that I’d otherwise be known to do. 

The point, beyond all else, however, is a bit simple, of a premise. It’s about personal freedoms, somewhat, and it’s somewhat about boundaries. Now, given, I was wearing women’s balloon pants, and a poncho, and I looked a bit uncommon, as for myself. I don’t know what it was, I suppose. Maybe it was the smoking. The smoking in the household thing. I didn’t partake, because it was a pookie (a blown glass pipe used for smoking crystalline or resinous [oils] substances) - I’ve got no taste for that. Maybe that’s the non-pareil of establishment, here, supposing that people think, whatsoever. 

Alright, that was French, I’ll admit. Butt shittle? Not all that much for the better, as it turns out. But I did pull out a Nijinsky, and who could refrain from researching that thread of intelligentsia bitsies… 

*~<°^•>=/* just imagine, though, Nijinsky. Some people know Nijinsky like we were brought up on Lé Coqué-tard. Russian imperial, versus French modernism ex imaginative fwopp-lore. 

I suppose that, in the end, I’m just trying to find my suitable place, in the aesthetic of suitable geometries or placement in serendipity, amongst others, and I didn’t even watch the movie. I don’t, no. I doo-doo. I don’t quite understand… butt shittle? Some people just don’t read my shit, is what’s (I guess), the issue, whereas it’s so seemingly awfully compelling to the lower mindsets of individuals, and of responsibility. 

 

Stub: The Impending Crisis for Mental Health Patients - Neck Cancer.

 Neck cancer is a relatively new topic for me. I hadn’t heard of it, prior to a couple or so months ago (it’s now mid-October, 2021, at the time of this writing).

Cancer of the neck? I’ve had esophageal tuberculosis (I think it was; the doctors said that it was something else, or … I dunno. They kind of just disregarded it. Anyways, I lost my voice for perhaps a few months. It turns out that there were hard gobs of mucous stuck inside of my vocal cords, and I could get them out with a Q-tip. I surmise that I had contracted the disease through a tuberculosis test which I had been administered while hospitalized for an acute psychiatric emergency, for a month, or so. They denied that the TB test would cause tuberculosis, though. Some doctor had disavowed it, later on, in history. 

Here’s some of the knowledge base on neck cancer, from cancer.gov:

My red mark-up indicator brings to light a corollary topic which pertains to mental health, and remote sensing, as well as persona marketing, counter-intelligence, mind control, and gang stalking contexts. I’ll only get in to it stub, here, for brevity’s sake, and I’ll keep it simple, such as to let the reader’s mind ponder. 

Now, as well, with the advent of the cytokine storm of COVID-19 infections, which is an inflammatory disease, we see some notion of the otherwise common person, pushed too far, perhaps in their digital life, where life seems more compelling to indulge, for some, as that the constraints of the physical become the pains in the neck, whereas some of our hormones are regulated in the thyroids, which are situated right next to our major neck arteries. 

Some quick tips, as for harm reduction:

• Don’t smoke scuzzbwies and drywall. Just… just [fuck…] already. 
• Smoking is for tobacco, as far as lawful behavior is concerned. Becoming casual about “smoking” of other sorts lends itself to increased risk for total recall (full body scans, and transmutability unto others, aka Scientology “gods,” or idols of some sort, out of the subject.
• Remember the lessons of childhood. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Respect your elders. Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. 
• I’ve got an “advanced neck cracking” instructional video up on YouTube. Check it out. It might be revolutionary for you. Sure, it looks bad, but hey, this is the neck at issue. What kind of donor could offer a suitable adjunct parcel of body form and what kind of treatment protocol could be supposed, in such a situation?
• Just watch the video. I’m shooting for organic hits, here, and I know, it’s significantly niche, but if I do something on camera, and leave it posted, I’d hope that it at least helps some people out of their otherwise misery that they’re living through.

How does neck cancer become removed from the body? 

Neck cancer which is experienced concurrent with chronic inflammatory disease could be a condition which is simply symptomatic of the inflammation condition itself, in conjunction with pre-existing cancerous, or pre-cancerous cells in the body, attempting to release themselves from the body; a condition which could correlate with an ionic mineral cleanse and detoxification regimen, for example. I would estimate that this is the process that I am going through. 

In essence, I felt that my experience of this problem became apparent, after I had some bouts of mild “chomping” down, at the jaws, at which point I incurred a fracture of my premolar tooth, on my upper jaw. I realized that this fracture indicated that it was an opportune and resonantly consistent ulceration that had been opened up, of a seamless opening that bridged my bloodstream in to the outside world, of my mouth. I noticed that I had let out a blood clot; for example, and it was a blackened opening, similar to a cavity, yet a bit uncommon, since it was not at my gum line; rather, it was in the middle of the tooth, as though the tooth had been drilled open. I had various exigent sources of need, in detoxification: for one, I had broken my fist against the wall, a couple of months prior, and my bone marrow had an opportunity to leak out, in to my blood stream. In this case, I felt that I was regulating, and renewing, the bone marrow that had been leaking out, giving my overall bone marrow composition a new signature trait to it, whereas it was locked inside of the bones, prior to my hand break. Aside from this, I am a long-time tobacco smoker, and I have ostensible tar and plaque buildup in my bloodstream; but my broken hand’s scar tissue would probably have been one of the acutely critical things to get out of my bloodstream. At the moment, it’s popping up, in my life, as a deep vein thrombosis, at the back of my knee. I’m working it out, through vigorous exercise, mixed in with intervals of rest, and I suppose that some of it is aerated out of my system through this fractured cavity in my tooth, which will eventually be treated and sealed back up, with a renewed regimen of ionic calcium intake, which I will manage for myself, and perhaps I’ll follow up with a dentist, to have him check on it, and perhaps seal it with a filler, as had been done for me, on my molars, back in my school days. 

The large cavity fracture on my premolar is evident, here, in this image. 

Take a look at how large my teeth had grown out, and expanded, with ionic mineral calcium supplementation! Perhaps I can grow in to a larger frame, some day, with continued supplementation. 

Future Halloween Costume Aspirations - Chimera Sparrow (via Google AI and Vector Q [imaengine])

 What a concept to bring to the out-doo-doo port-a-potty: doing the best costume ever - here, I assert that, as of 2021, that title couldn’t possibly be aught else than the chimera sparrow, rendered through Vector Q (imaengine), brought to life, thanks to: my choice for local fashion and crafting aspirations: Michael Levine. 

The first run print of the chimera sparrow ex imaengine | Vector Q ex Google AI Chimera Maker Tool

Oops, I guess they’ve shuttered their doors. But I’ll remember the guy, and perhaps I’ll catch him at a future 12 Steps meeting, or something. I spilled milk on his floor, over there, once, but I bought something from there, 3 times. For me, I felt that it was the relatable (for me) fabric store and supplier, of the retail shop sort, within the DTLA fashion district locale. It was cool to see the owner of the brand on the showroom floor on any given workday. 

Where can one catch bird-spotting the chimera sparrow, short of future Halloweens-to-come, of my costume making aspirations to-be (I purchased a $200+ sewing machine, off of Amazon, but I don’t know how to use it, just yet. It’s been sitting pretty, and my chimera sparrow [failed print] is guarding the fashion realm closet micro-space modular portion of my room, as et cie cute as can be). 

My micro-space modular closet features an Epson printer, a many-stitching patterns sewing machine, from Amazon, an aquarium pump au jour eau de (… it’s au jour) aerator and percolator, a black light, a lithium ion batteries bass trap ex large fabric roll ex fashion district DTLA discards haul, a (mostly) Nordstrom set of cold-weather clothes (or, for long-sleeves lovers), crumbs, knick-knacks, and some hummingbird juice. A moth had taken a liking to the stuff, and I don’t mind the moths. Oh, and there’s a chimera sparrow standing guard, off in the back, here.

Anyways, 

I need to learn how to use the sewing machine, and my readers get to be the insiders in to future developments and productivity cycles of iPigeon.institute - to come. 

Where can one view the Pigeons and Friends prints collection? 

I am commonly out at Los Angeles State Historic Park, in the late afternoons and early evenings, and from time to time, I can bring out the prints collection so that passers by can view the prints in person, as I sit and do stuff on my iPad Pro, or something. I can also have small samples of my fragrance creations out, once I finish fixing them, to my satisfaction. 

Virtual Narcotics Anonymous Meeting: Confronting Asymmetrical

It’s an inevitable outcome, for the person who had lived a finery lifestyle, of some sort, as far as eating good food, and exercising regularly goes. I would consider those two things to be primary traits of fine living, even at its most bare, all else considered - finding the pleasure pursuit, and seeking pleasures, instead, to characterize the persona mocked up as of that finery would be considered upon this basis, rather than a more sustainable and natural lifestyle set of traits be extolled. 

Isn’t it inevitable? At least, in Los Angeles, it would seem so. We’re told that we have the capability to live out all of geography’s wonders, within driving distance of less than a day, out here. The larger picture we’re given, is that we live in the finest nation in the world. But how many people end up subsumed by the glamour lifestyle, at some point, or get swept up in the out-do-doo scandal rags of publication literature and media? At some point, people will demand that these scoundrels pull their own weight, in athleticism, for the fact that … well, I don’t know what. I happened to be personally, thankfully, graced with a fitness mentor of the unexpectedly degree of distinction, in my life. The man’s workouts would challenge a dormant heartbeat into a near-faint, within seconds, no doubt. To have not been attending to these things would become apparent, within minutes. Yet, the man is made of these things, perhaps not forever, though, in the land where people start to believe that life lives on, forever. The land of fables, as it were, that we do, here, by tradition, in this town. 

The question: How could you possibly be thought of as heroic, when you’re doing something erotic?

 This was written in complement to a different pornography scene which I filmed, of myself, which I didn’t end up appreciating all that much, so I deleted it, prior to publishing it. I happened upon an individual annotating some recorded comments and questions in regards to my pornographic content, which is up on Xvideos, in any sort of relation to what I do on here, in my blog, iPigeon.institute.

This is just a sample of what I’d consider to be objectively erotic, perhaps for both sexes | genders. I, for example, have previously looked back over my footage, and felt erotically charged, because of it. Other people make demands upon sexuality, for reasons that they fail to communicate to me, but through a personality “complex,” as it were, … an abnormal psychology diagnostic standard, inevitably, of some form; some formative, defining nature about them, which is common, and typical. 

Not that all the men do this sort of thing, I don’t care to pass judgment, but I just don’t take care to observe and pore in to content, online, that I’m not initially compelled by. The tricky thing is, nowadays, is that we’re not always getting the feed, or gallery, that we click on, per se, with the deepfakes thing happening, and each unto our own, of some decided, or determined fate, for some methodology of ethical and practical design upon our sexual desires, whereas, at some points in time, we’re significantly fortunate to have these sorts of moments fulfilled for us. 

My main message is: no problems means that many concerns had been addressed, in order to feign composure, “by this point in time,” I would have said, on a day like, … two days ago, that I’m still awake on, “at this point in time.” Now, that being said, who knows what a deepfake algorithm will determine I ought look like, and for what purposes, or reasons? On one hand, I’m sure that I look fwopped bwopp, facially, of the truth of things, but I’m found, here, to be in a circumstance, and a situation, where I wouldn’t commonly try to interact with somebody else. I choose not to be gay, and to not commit depravities, on account of that I just don’t quite believe all the things that I hear, quite so much. I just don’t know, and I don’t try to venture to explore the world of indulging fetishes, and carnal desires, all that much. I have my own seeded way of doing things, part of it is simply withholding fulfillment, which is part of the trickery that a musician has about themselves, of “some of them,” <_< … I would suppose, whereas, in pornography, it’s a bit questionable as to whether or not we ourselves truly understand, and “even could” receive and attain quite what we’re seeking, from moment to moment. 

My overarching claim, that I would have about myself, is that sound and proper communication, of a literary mind, or of a “literate” mind, proselytizing a sound lectern and discourse unto a pupil, to use some alternative dialect, of my resource of the English language; not that I would find it uncommon, or distasteful, to do so; particularly as I grow older, and more resourceful in my linguistic repertory and more so culturally affixed to a greater aesthetic and purpose, in rectifying, or explaining, at least; come to a pause - the reasons for why I might simply just “do” what had been requested of me, and here it is - my rationale behind these sorts of antics. Now you see me typing, on Notes. A simple format. The iPad Pro does screen recording, to the significant fulfillment of the visual learner. To see it in real time is proof of … of something, at least. 

The words, … they still exist, up there; the grammar and usage is right, and at times, I’m being supported by some collective spirit of one or more people, who would perhaps do so, in mentoring me, and for the sake of seeing me proliferate, despite trivial and trite contentions that had been spoken to me, during the course of what had transpired, just prior to me setting about in composing this section of the “get to know somebody” thing; a bit uncommon, for a media outlet such as this, but I would be doing something on my iPad, quite commonly, given many a sort of lifestyle circumstance and outcome that could find it’s way in needing to be documented, annotated, composed, photographed, written about, or perhaps I simply am the subjective dilettante of “everybody else’s” objective reality, which focuses upon me, of a limited scope, in perspective, or, more appropriately - in hindsight. Intellectuals appreciate me, for doing this sort of written (typed) work composition, because of the predictable flow and form about it; it’s known as transliteration. That’s as literally trans as I’m willing to actually bend, whereas I do value masculine characteristics; I’m just not the highest achiever, in various attesting-doings to that aspiration in life, and some of these guys find it suitable purpose and cause to gang up on me, for the fact that they’d had varying and alternate ways, and even of the essential form, and formative self, as it were, of what constitutes a man. 

I say, let a person conquer man, understand women, (come to), and learn to make people laugh, and be at ease, during the course of transliterative nepotism taking place; nepotism, here, being the deed of bestowing, upon a lesser individual, the customs and formulary keep and sorts of the more well-to-do individual. If we couldn’t connect upon the higher sort of interaction that could be had, give, that better and more suitable accompaniments exist, for each one of us, … I’d have to wonder why that suit had not been accommodated for the person, and for the collective people who speak out at me, at least “sometimes,” and I have all sorts of sayings that would characterize my composed and appropriate self; I don’t need to get in to all and everything, like that, just right at this moment. 

I wrote the words down; they seem to characterize me, yet I acknowledge my peers, mentors, overseers, authorities, and “higher powers,” that they are, whereas sometimes, people find themselves the invisible “star” of claiming their own stake in my, and “our” lives; if you’re here, you would be following along to this, or thumbing by, in life, getting by… somehow. What could I possibly do? I’m not gay, for one thing. There’s better people about us, to be had, if the guy could just suit that fulfillment,t, well enough. It’s obviously a guy problem. Me? I’ve got a face problem, currently. 

It’s awrr rawr rough and tough n’ shit. I dunno… I figure that a woman, in this day and age, might end up being a bit sort of like me, come down to tastes in sexuality and degrees of indulgence in fetishism. I just do-doo. That’s one of my claims. I do Nike, … the athleisure fashion thing, … bum that I am, and hey, . . . I’m judgmental, at that. I can’t be everyone’s favorite girlfriend, but how many guys suitably accommodate a viable conversational partner, of fulfillment of expectations that society has upon us, for the sake of sustaining ourselves - this sort of thing being an adult context, and me, at age 39. Hmm. I don’t know how much time I’d taken up, composing this thing, butt shittle? On camera - next context to of on fwopp bwopp butt shittle, the … ummm. . . I was just kidding. I won’t do that on camera. There’s a bunch of stuff that I won’t do - hey, <_< … I’m just a victim of crime; a stalking victim, of the remote sensing apparatus, of “whatever” means, by which that happens - I wasn’t brought up on dramatics - I was brought up on intelligence, and in musical understanding, and I went to church, and stuff. 

Okay. I’m done explaining stuff. I feel that that’s suitably enough, if you happened to catch me doing this, and you would sit or stand there, or lay down, etc., and figure that I could be a fuck-mode loon, for playing with myself, with the seeded knowledge of that the camera’s on, but I’m just seeking to fulfill a slight notch in online pornography, that I feel is lacking, at least, at this point in time, whereas I’d care to inspire and arouse people to discover fulfillment, themselves. I’m only good for what I’m good for. Some people try to make me worse than that, and claim that that’s what I | they did, of on. For that matter, it could better come to be understood visually, of the linear form, that is transliterative pidgin English, that it “might” be, yet within the proper grammatical bounds, etc. 

Alright. That’s all. 

Product Review: Alpha Ionone (Natural), from Perfumer’s Apprentice.

 Dedicated botanists, as for backdrop to a fragrance-making and mixing enthusiast “hobbyist” sort of pseudo-professional profile of perfume-maker - not quite a lab chemist, ever, foreseeably, yet not quite an elementary-level “essential oils only” type of fragrance mixer, by moonlight, as it were… would not quite classify the Iris as a notably fragrant flower. No, by it’s formative traits, it is a perennial tuberous root-replicating crop; a rhizome, that is. The flowers? Classic, via our Art History lessons, as Jean Claude Van Damme, though… man, he could kick some ass. 

I’m still on, like, my last blog post’s lingering persona and effects, and attitude. 

Sorry about that. It’s Claude Monet, who did the famous landscapes of the folk-ish peasant pastorale, he, himself, a master of observation, and an indulgent one, when it came to large strokes, and goop, with his impasto technique, with the tube of acrylic, forming some of the characteristic primary favorites of art lovers, of the Early Modern Period; here, Impressionism, as it’s known, along with Van Gogh, who did similar work, stylistically.

Botany enthusiasts ex art lovers-slash-historians would instantly draw a connection, between Claude Monet and his Irises. 

Lately, my Facebook News Feed is a Glorious Cash Cow, of Menial Effort Required.

 The thought of it is obviously compelling - easy cash, for doing “most-simplistic” sorts of tasks, completing surveys, questionnaires, mystery shopping, etc. 

But how does one discover, or happen upon, this sort of chance deal and offer, in one’s own news feed, etc.? 

As I’d noted, in prior blogs, or on my social media newsfeed outputs, themselves, (for me, that would be mostly on my Facebook or one of my various Twitter (okay, mostly - I have 2 Twitter accounts): the point is, is that sometimes, I try to list out, and reiterate - some sort of moralistic aptitude, of life’s fated time-in-passing’s “lore,” as it were, …

Actually, as I hear people whackin’ and smackin’ shit, out over in the background. 

Brian Laundrie just got fwopped bwopp out somewhere, over on the news… “Hey? Huh…?” 

Then, there’s the “try: to remember;” thing - what was it. What is it? The response? 

For how do-doo I did people, out here, out in this implode-cell of lavish indulgence and ego? I did people do-doo.