The put-off slight home exhibition, of the iPigeon.institute art effects and fragrance-making collection: the stand-off days.

 Days and night, on end. 

No regard, whatsoever, for typical formalities, I’m becoming aware of, of the casual “village idiot” for the crumbs and knickknacks offer of playing around in my closet; this notion-deprecation had instilled itself as permeably “aught could be” more respectable, of a generalized notion, in that the general public might also appreciate patronizing the art collection and collected documents and transcripts of the early days of establishment of my iPigeon.institute pigeon-feeding enterprise, of a story based upon a travails anecdote of a guy who “made it work” in Los Angeles, through dedicating time to taking care of others (the pigeons), while making his (or her) way out of homelessness, and the pitfalls and shortcomings incurred, in establishing sociable currency and relevance, amongst the common people, and their good graces, in the land of fables, of greater Los Angeles, turn of the 3rd millennium. 

Yesterday ended up being a strange standoff kind of day, where I was stuck on pwsshh… fwipp - smashhhhing people with the iPad Pro, busy with it sort of thing that I’d established, while the stranger next door was completely keeping to himself, sort of thing, although I must say, of on pissless shift he must have been pulling, of some sort. There was this notion of a constant threat, of my room’s security being defiled, on consequence of enforcing an of on pissless - the identity and embodiment, thereof - the guy. It’s typically mostly always a guy, except that the bwipsies eccentric girl had murmured some unintelligible notions, of that she finds herself cute, and then - some other stuff, of an intimation of that there’s something that needs to be done out somewhere else, such as at some place that I couldn’t really hear her say, as her defining traits. I figured that she just can’t compose herself as formatively congenial enough, of an impetuous sub-superficial need to be shameless and un-humble towards me; I figure it’s because she’s discovered things about me online, and she doesn’t care to admit it. She’s never give, me her name. She’s kind of borderline like that, and she was framed, towards me, recently, of that she had shown up to play with my fragrance ingredients collections, as the village idiot, for the crumbs and knickknacks notion that I had flouted, although these people constantly flout the rules as dismissible, of that there be some tacit agreement and supervision involved in the village idiot indulging themselves around aerosol-industry sort of slight manufacturing environment, that it is. 

Could they possibly seem just simply better, for skirting the premise of speaking to me about it, whatsoever, for … I dunno. I just see worse of them, and for that matter, it’s not everyone who appears to have been framed in this particular manner, leverages upon this fragrance ingredients thing. It implies  a gross notion of childishness and entitlement, and worser things tend to come snowballing out of that establishment, quite easily.

Sweating it out, after having been a stark schizotypal paranoid one, in a mid-day’s hot water and medicinal oils-infused bath tub.

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. 

Latent Legacies of the Chinese Immigrants in to California, and Los Angeles - Examining Hate Crimes Against the Chinese.

 Being largely of a Chinese distinction, as for myself, I personally burden the weight of discrimination against myself, and my people.

Despite this distinct tensor contextual attractor to my malfeasance and personal rebuke, and the obvious distaste for the hatred towards my people, I recognize the shortcomings and pitfalls inherent in our American nation’s attitudes towards an age-old abuse and ridicule of a people, and a rich history that stretches far back in to the ages and millennia. It’s a shameful facet of American livelihood itself. Who hadn’t been brought up on Chinese industry and manufacture in this nation of America, particularly of the current living generations? It’s a widely known and much-disregarded feature of our lives, which characterizes the virtues of the Chinese, of an intrinsic nature, here, upon examination. Today’s corollary aptitude, bringing the topic forth, in to relevance for my readers, would be the electronics and semiconductor industry (although it is apparently largely a Taiwanese industry; yet they are somewhat of a similar lineage, here). Foxconn, for example, is a major manufacturer of our mobile device wiring and circuitry, of the small, yet intrinsically necessary, small parts that connect our devices, within their logical frameworks. 

The Chinese are commonly given one or more representative localities, where they can collectivize and gather, of their homesteading intentions becoming fulfilled. A Chinatown is a well-known feature of many of our major civic metropolises, here in America, just as other cultures and races have localities bearing their namesake, for distinction. 

A previously unknown, yet apparently sesquicentennial, upon this year, being 2021, at the original date and time of this writing - tragedy that beset the Chinatown of my current hometown of Los Angeles, (also where I had been brought up: Los Angeles County), happened in 1871, on October 24. Recently, our mayor of Los Angeles appeared at a press event, where he apologized for the massacre, and publicly acknowledged the violence that happened, back then, and he (Mayor Eric Garcetti) brought the issue forth, in calling for an end to the current waves of continuing hate and criminal activity against the Chinese, in particular, in Downtown LA’s adjacent Chinatown, which sees a 164 percent increase in violence, in recent years: (ostensibly; I didn’t listen through, or research, and discover, the actual transcripts of his speech).

With modern-day warfare establishments extending in to the nether-regions of heretofore unthought-of territories, of most of the American populace - A.I., space warfare, and energy-directed weaponry, such as remote-sensing apparatus installations and mechanized weaponry, we see plain intimations of brinksmanship, as plainly as the skies above us. Given that, I get my own particular spot in the world, and my own personal perspective on things, for being an outgoing avid pigeon-feeder, as my common habit and pursuit (although I’m not quite supposing that air-writing messages are personally targeted for me; I just happened to be privy to the camera shot, here in this photograph).

A special message in the sky, on an auspicious late afternoon of public recognition of my efforts (somewhat; it at least played out in my remote-sensing periphery and playback, of the day, as for myself).

Just days later, people who were out and about saw rich corroboration, in our Southern California daytime skies, while the news media published upon China’s forthright aggression, in firing off hypersonic missiles, whereas it was reported that U.S. combat technologies, within the same field, fell short of impressiveness, and superiority. It’s a fairly simple premise: in a remote-sensing and spectrography maritime environment (and in this day and age, wartime preparations and engagements are an “all the time” coming to fulfillment apparatus of our global societies) - we burgeon society and progress upon the work and worth of the people, who leverage what they can, or might, given what resources we have. In this day and age, where Chinese people are still collectively disregarded and dismissed, of the insults to our culture, and our people: where others still bicker and subsist at a lesser-level society, founded upon weaker intelligence and culturally-downgraded (albeit, surreptitiously, not quite publicly, as it goes) set of cultural habits and characteristics, where they feed upon better establishments of good health, sound ethics, and more nurtured environments, of the targeted victim’s upbringing, and aptitude (here, in my case, I am commonly derided as a Nazi, of my Eurasian heritage; my other half being Lithuanian descent). 

I’m calling for help, essentially. Good looks, and upbringings could only merit going so far in life, and the superficiality is inexorably unfulfilling and counter-productive. The point I was trying to get at, previously, is that the Chinese simply have more human populace to draw upon, to power a remote-sensing and directed energy-powered war mechanism, imaginably. Although I didn’t photograph the aerial clashes, on the days precluding the hypersonic missile news article publications, they did seem to corroborate what was being written and published on, in the news. 

A man of a different heritage spoke casually, perhaps to me, or another person present, at the time, of that “it’s easy to hurt somebody.” I felt quite differently, on the topic. Although I am commonly driven to angering and upsetting limits and concomitants, in circumstances, and for events that transpire, I am more commonly a self-injurer, rather than a willing combatant, when it comes to aggression, coming forth, above the surface, in person-against-person combatting. I recently broke my hand, a couple of months ago, by punching the wall. Even so, in resonance warfare tactics, which are not even necessarily of intentional nature, the greater fortitude sees victory, of a most patient and piecemeal formative nature. 

Somehow, I’m led to believe, that my closest connections, in my personal life’s history that had played out, are being exploited, to a most egregious extent. I’m at odds with enacting violence upon others, as a well-mannered Baptist Christian, that I was brought up as. Take it for what it is, this is a factual account, and my own personal reading in to, on this topic. People familiar with Chinese cultural history and acquisitions and assimilations would understand the significance of 150 years, yet here, in the melting pot of Southern California, Los Angeles, it is a burden that is all too much for our Christian heritage, and for God’s promise that we will not be made to endure beyond what is our human capacity to bear; and there are many nations to go, and to come, of their Christian heritage and westernization modernization apparatus, and we are still being mocked, and derided, in the streets, and in our homes. 

Update: 5:29 a.m. 10/30/2021

Apparently, the seething intention underlying the current disregard of the Chinese people lies within (purportedly) the Biden presidential administration playing out a sickening ruse in which I am ordered to leave town, while DTLA is blown up by a bomb, and unionized workers come in, from all over the country, to rebuild the Los Angeles Civic Center in record time, as well as burgeoned on the suffering and torture of some noted victims; in this case, I get arrested and remanded in to court for leaving town, as a profiled victim of law enforcement, with a warrant due, on a “couple of years-old” court case, which I had been neglectful of following up on, due to these traumatic and abusive ruses playing out in my mind, constantly, and also as the basis for me being arrested for the charge in the first place. The truth of the situation is that, in recent encounters with law enforcement, I was fairly simply cited for drug possession, and the district locality court which would attend to my remand court procedure had stated that they didn’t want to pick me up to go there, in essence. The case was one of those in which I had been hearing voices in my head, for days on end, and I became unreasonably psychotic, amongst a huge gathering of folks in Santa Monica. I was “stuck,” so to speak (in short), on a stone bench, and I had taken to the notion that I had become a Snapchat geolocation destination for tourists and for the attending youth, so that they could pwn me - as a bum, trying to air dry some sweat-soaked clothing articles, which I needed, since they were wet, and it was becoming evening, during the winter time. 

What a sickening 12 Steps Meditation Meeting. I don’t find negative conditioning to be any sort of proactive and effective rehabilitation measure. It’s blatantly well-known, to students of even the most primary psychology courses, at the university level. On one hand, I’d seen Joe Biden, many a time, on my news feeds and news articles contained within - appearing to be intoxicated and on drugs. Then, there was this notion being flouted around, of that crystal methamphetamine is burgeoned upon resources and activities gleaned out of physically torturing somebody. In the case of this allegorical, constituently entangled episode, and of our disparity of that we had not established formal acquaintanceship with the president (as well as given his lack of sobriety, at times), the premise arose of that he was seeking to bash out a quick series of claims, for those affected by the hypothetical bombing to-be, of DTLA, of cashing out the property owners’ insurance claims, hiring the nation’s foremen, construction workers, and contractors, all with the contingent pwn basis, of that some people, or perhaps simply only me, myself, being left with the lack of inclusion in to the story, of that I had to have been removed from society, unreasonably, and my loved ones tortured, and be set against one another, as well as myself, in the time leading up to this effort, and that my remand, in to incarceration again, would be the catalyst for such a course of action taking place. 

Indeed, this premise had been playing out, significantly, in my mind, and perhaps for others, as well. I hear the most egregious and atrocious episodes playing out, quite constantly, and I was definitely not brought up in the sort of home such that would suppose this sort of outcome, or even more depraved - appreciate the corollary inclusion of a promise of drug use consumption, and rewards, staked for the claimants - founded upon the torture and defilement of people, whatsoever. Take, for example, the anecdote I published on my other blog, IoTpigeons.eco, in which I describe the fascination of synthesizing and reconstituting a fragrance recipe based upon an orange flower absolute gas chromatography interpretation and analysis - the original might be just marginally superior, in practical usage, yet would smell largely the same as the original - either one, or the other, done properly. Our plants and material resources, in minerals and industrial milling, as well as our off-shore sea coal tar industry - produce fine products of all sorts - all of what good nature and medicine has given us. Recall the truth of the matter: crystal methamphetamine is “sometimes” prescribed to individuals, as a controlled substance. How, or why, ought an American-society’s legally ordained medicinal product, ever be burgeoned upon human suffering? It’s an unimaginable disparity, borne of a lack of patriotism, that seeds this type of story and scandal within the dregs societal demographics. For these individuals, sobriety and drug abstinence simply seems less compelling than talent and virtue, things upon which we study and celebrate in our religious and philosophical traditions, in Western society. On one hand, we are a western society, by tradition, and for that matter, even the Chinese had given up its territory and people for the sake of ceding to British rule and procedure in administration of Hong Kong, for a period of 150 years, for that matter. 

Corrected:

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.