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. 

Nourishment, in the time of Radio-Nuclear Evolutionary Establishment.

 According to some reports I’ve heard, of the day, 

Hmm… maybe never mind. But somebody said that we don’t need to eat any more, and that simply… well. I dunno. 

Okay. The premise was that I cooked a meal from stuff I had stored in the freezer, the other day. That was days ago. Now, tonight, (earlier), I heard somebody say that they were fed from the cooking of the food, in and of itself, and that a town nearby here (nearby Los Angeles, that is), got nuked, and everyone is blind, in the area, currently. Now, I’m just about feeding the pigeons, mostly; let’s not forget. I’m a bit fairly traumatized and nerve-wracked about these people seeking some sort of imminent victory of aggression and dominance over others, as if life exists for nothing, but, say: dominance, narcissism, grandiosity, delusions, impetuousness, recalcitrance, and caprice, as some of the primary features. 

Now, I won’t say that somebody else’s home is a different place; by all means. I’m tacitly befuddled by many of the things that get passed off as viable “things” that I hear, and, to be certain, people scarcely speak to me in person, and I doubt that people would take the trouble to encounter me, in person, to tell me such wild fables and vivid lore, in a world where a person is their total and replete self; not some farcical and imaginative play-world that our 2021-version of remote sensing encounters and accountability is, where things of an unsociable nature typically get passed off as pro-adversarial abuses, of oppositional figures, being exhibited to their witting and intentional victims, and whereas these sorts of encounters seem to elicit no long-standing or consequential outcomes, in life, for no matter the magnitudes of depravity and social authority in our civilian culture. 

Is this a game of condescending authority upon us, by our higher power, who manages these remote sensing encounters? I’m so largely wrought up of remote sensing topics and hearsay; I’m quite obviously made strange, so to speak. A person of my age and aptitude, and good-willing Christian nature, ought not be made to be so trivial and trifling a subject. I find that the prominent issue at task, here, which is being disavowed, of primary value and worth - is that higher talents and some of the facets of the various intelligences, of our minds, are being ignored, or overlooked, and certain individuals, myself, as for my personal cares, as for the moment, could do better, much more so, and profitably, if our higher capabilities and talents were being extolled, or at least, not burdened by the belittling of our personage and intrinsic worth, through such defilements and debasement. 

By no means - society has not shifted in to a new defining evolutionary paradigm, and change happens slowly. This is a nation of many, many individuals, and lands, frontiers, and of various geographies and climate subtypes. I feel that some people are forgetting the elementary teachings, of our youth, in public school environments, that we had, of the understanding of, and teachings, thereof, about the diversity, as well as the unity, and defining, formative traits that we uphold, in America, where we celebrate freedom: these entrapping aggressive captors, of the free individual, stand boldly against the grain, in our America, and these people must be held accountable, somehow. I am not the man to conquer all needs, as being fulfilled, or virtuous, for that matter, by any means, and I can only do so much. People would typically understand me as that I commonly feed the pigeons, in the civic center area of town, for example. It is a task that takes much longer, perhaps, than expected, and it does come out of my own personal budget, which is currently quite a menial take, in terms of benefits I receive, from the welfare establishment of the state and local government, as well as funneled down from the federal government, in the larger picture. 

I won’t validate all things that I hear, to hold forth, in the minds, and across the eyes of my literate readership; some things, … well, my take is, is that something of curious notoriety, happenstance, which occurs, that we may come across, if it be a viable social more to have come to comprehend, as an enduring trait, in life, ought be considered, tucked away, and wait for a similar defining occurrence that would happen again, and again, in life, until it could be commonly observed, discerned, and relatable, amongst peers of intelligence and experience. My perspectives upon life are significantly in detriment, for that I am so commonly lied to, going on, so many years, with so much of my experience in remote sensing. 

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. 

Virtual 13th Step 12 Steps Meeting: The Search for Ether Absolute.

 It’s a challenge; discovering life as a circumcised individual, in sobriety contexts. 

On one hand, I didn’t even know that I was circumcised, to begin with. A former friend queried me, one day, during my early teenage years, and he popped the question upon me. I probably said something like, “huh? Oh, well, umm… yeah, it’s like… uh, that, I guess.” He replied, “that’s sick!” For my foreign countries readers, in the last appearance of a society’s generation (this was the time of Generation X; now we are in the Millennial Generation, I would suppose), saying “that’s sick!” could be tantamount to “that’s so awesome | cool!” or it may just be a ruse to implicate analytical sarcasm and disinformation, upon the recipient. The guy has a “sickening” habit of speaking disingenuously, and callously. We’re no longer friends, because he ignores responding to things that I ask him, whereas he seemed to be significantly engaged in torturing my loved ones, as well as myself; as if I could possibly be dumber than he is, in simple remote-sensing perceptions. 

Once, I got talked in to (in my head) sending the guy a photo of me, with my pants down. Nowadays, I have an xvideos quick take on myself, contextually xvideos… <_<, and anyone is free to discover that stuff. From then until now, I had, (or would) hardly conjure up, in my mind, just as I had been, as a youth, as an adolescent - I’d been unaware of this “difference” about me. I’d been flashed pee-pees of other guys, and they were “different,” too, but different from me, (I only really saw one of them, the other was inside of pool water, and the guy tried to make a deal of that we both do it, together, but I wasn’t really in to it, because I was taught not to do that sort of thing). What had become of some of these guys? A Dick Big Now? out of them, or something? Back then, a Dick Bigg would have been the ultimate. Nowadays, given some years in to adulthood, and some private time, left alone, who could claim that they hadn’t indulged all sorts of sexual fetishization amusement and erotic moments, based upon seedy-seeming niches? - whereas the Dick Bigs were a youthful transgression, and imperative demand, upon a future lover, of that their dick big now status would consummate of that they were over, and not possibly made of a little dickie fetishization, of their “still” pornography-indulgent minds - that’s what I figure: a dick bigg now kind of guy couldn’t possibly, over a large average of individuals, comparatively, be all that much better off, in abstaining from temptation, given certain circumstances, such as having no partner, incurring internalized criticism, rebuke, and humiliation, at the hands of peers or authorities, or, even within the structure of a heterosexual romantic relationship, of that the female leaves, while the male is still consummately a drug addict, and abuser, and he, in turn, in moments such as this, would inevitably, at least sometimes, still turn to pornography, for his satiety. 

I never got a requited dick photo from these guys, in return. 

Nowadays, in dick-centric circles, a bwopp-dick faggot sort of profile gets a lot of fluff, and respite, from the participants, who imagine, and live down - vastly illegal and intoxicated sorts of mindsets about “outing” the guy with an uncircumcised penis, sort of thing, going on (goes on). The hazing, drunken groups gathering, the remote-sensing stalking, the interrogations and accusations (witch hunting), the targeting of connections to the individual (isolation and casualties), the threats of public strangers, who show up to target the individual (gang stalking), and the disavowal and threatening of victims of the opposite sex (human trafficking, sexism, and bullying) - all of these things, and even at that, perhaps it’s not all and everything said, on the matter. It’s upsetting stuff, at issue, here, and the depravities are stacked one upon the other, quite richly. The guys establish an entire lifestyle basis of a claim, in superiority, of that, and this; this and that, and they decide, collectively, amongst themselves, that their claims, demands, and all-extents considerable - courses of action, are justified, of an un-Christian decree, and basis, whereas they had done themselves a dick bigg, through hormonal and supplemental augmentation. I had not known about any such stuff, whatsoever, until I became schizophrenic at age 30, and the angry confessions, after years of having been veiled, under abuses that I burdened, and at some point, I became aware of the fact that these individuals really are - at least, in some, or many instances, conceivably, and believably - certainly doing these things to me; to my figurative and imaginary self. They found themselves a sort of no rebuke to be seen, nor consequence. 

Sometimes, these players, in life, circle themselves amongst the psychiatric community, or the local fire station, and they demand the material resources of anesthesia, or some sort of carbon monoxide concentrate; as a perfumer, such concentration and specialty is otherwise known as an absolute: in this case, it would colloquially be known as ether absolute, from an etymology bearing upon Johnny Depp and Guillermo Del Toro, in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, based on the writings of Hunter S. Thompson. Sometimes, in a downwind position, in life, an ether faucet would be unfurled, or some sort of strange, sadistic, ritualistic establishment, of strangeness, under the care of a strange-minded person (reiterative, but I could speak worser names upon people) - I’ve come to understand this sort of passive-aggressive intent unto dominance, over me, as a relegation and rebuke of the fact that I happen to have been circumcised, as a child. I simply have the mind of that I just “didn’t know” any different, and by the time I figured out that people had been abusing me over the matter, in private and collusive groups, and of a callous and calculating mind, that it were, half of a lifetime, or “most” of a lifetime, perhaps, so to speak, had passed - age 14 when I discovered that I was different, and age 30, or later, when I had begun hearing voices, and years gone on, after that, that I had discerned that this sort of penis envy issue - which is supposed to be a female’s plight, in early childhood, according to the literature, was significantly, and commonly an issue of dissent, and of attrition towards me. 

What more could I offer the people? Aside from my pornography, when I became good enough and ready to do it? Hmmpf. The demands of people for whom all of pornography is not, had not been - not been good enough for them, or that they had begun to claim that they cannot satisfy themselves - me, as simply just different, yet I scarcely receive “valid” (forensically analyzed) claims, of merit, of that women are displeased with my manner and attitudes, as well as my behavior, potentially being at issue. I figure that the ones who do complain, had been taken in, by the men, of the abusive clarion call decree, in society, and they act out, in a Stockholm Syndrome manner, within this context at issue. 

I’m not sure what else to say. Sometimes the words simply fail to have any meaning, and people enter in to abusive and inferior types of relationships possible, with such a person as that would do such a thing to me.

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. 

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. 

Frangipani Absolute - Pure Aroma Ingredients from iPigeon Aroma Ingredients

 A richly fragrant deep, indole | narcotic floral aroma absolute; this product is 100% undiluted extract from freshly-picked plumeria blossoms, otherwise known as Frangipani. The fragrance is loved all the world around, for its powerful and diffuse fragrance.

An [imaginary] day of recognition for iPigeon.institute and for me, Jay Ammon.

 I stayed out for the weekend. It was exhausting, but I got the birds fed, most definitely. 

A couple of notable things happened, both of them in succession to one another. As I was hanging out in Grand Park, taking inventory of my day, and catching up on internet aspirations, and such, a lady came up to me. She somehow intuited that I was the perfumer of the area. I had been cleaning out the spray mechanism of my new tropical perfume spray, Southern Critters Skeet Skeet, and I let out a few spritzes of it. It’s an unexpectedly vastly diffuse spray, and, as such,  it’s suitable for environmental, rather than personal fragrancing. I was sitting by the top of the water fountain when she came up to me, and she kindly commented on the beauty of the perfume that had enveloped the area, and she asked for a sample. I gave her several milliliters in a sample spritzer, and I applied a label on to the spritzer, with my information, so she could follow me, and contact me, in the future, if she was interested in my developments in perfumery, etc.

That was the first thing that happened. After that, I heard a richly-developed remote-sensing episode play out;  both somewhat a social work awards and recognition showcase and a 12-step self-help meeting, all in one. They had gathered to recognize the work I had been involved in doing, as far as keeping the birds fed, around town. It was a dearly heartfelt outpouring of support for me, and while they were at it, they had also reprimanded, publicly, the ones who had been persecuting me, as part and facet of the 12 steps nature of the program, as it were. 

I came home and rested for a few days, and now, my time is up, here. I’ve got to go back out and feed the birds, but the recognition I had received, through this “imaginary” program which had played out, turned out to be very therapeutic, and I feel as though perhaps I can be healed of my drug addiction, at least, for now. Thank you so much, people of social work, in the downtown Los Angeles area, for putting this together for me. It really helps out. 

It’s slim pickings, at the end of my food supply, for the Figueroa at 4th underpass pigeons, today.

I'm at the end of my food supply for the birds, out here, in Downtown Los Angeles, and it's been a rough patch for this flock,over the past week, in my care and watch over them, which I'd been making sure to get to. I do 4 flock areas, in Downtown Los Angeles, when I come out here.

(Update): I had recalled that I found a container of some sort of rich beef soup, and I gave it to them. This past week, it seemed as that there might have been some people present, in the nearby vicinity, and the birds weren't perching at their regular location, in a notch, under the underpass bridge. The birds were super excited to get some food in them, as this spot is most typically my last stop, in visiting the birds of DTLA.

Another Downtown LA (Though Slight) Occupation and Riot - October 2021 DTLA Folklore.

 Who could deny it, for either living here or ending up here, any time over the past several weeks or so?

The evidence is present for the daytime locals and locality regulars, (such as myself) to come to understand. As pictured here, at the [… insert apartment complex name], property damage is being threatened and waged, lately, by roving waves of seemingly random, yet quite common casually psychotic individuals. It’s a burgeoning mental health crisis, out here. Much of the dissent and “acting out” is based upon some demographic crisis, of which the truth of the matter could ostensibly be difficult, even for professionals, social workers, and mental health outreach teams to effectively understand, in terms of some means of civil service being put in to effect, which could quell the ongoing drama and settle the unease of the citizens who reside here. 

Being on the ground level, out on the streets, here, myself, in particular - for being one of the dedicated bird flocks’ caretakers in the locality, as well as that I happen to patronize Skid Row drug dealers, I get, at a minimum, at least some conjectural intelligence and informed status, in regards to what seems to be going on, within the campus that precludes downtown Los Angeles. 

The mental health system is failing abuse victims, as the prevailing disposition that I’m presented with, for example. I do my best to accommodate my otherwise poor emotional support mechanism, in life, through aesthetic means, whether it be situational, environmental, artistic, and sometimes, I seek the pleasurable. Long days of persecution, of my schizotypal mind, by personas that fall by the wind, during the majority of my life - who truly is in my life, to any appreciable degree? 

My apologies, for making this a personal note, on my blog. It got neglected, of my earlier ambition to cover the greater mental health victims demographic, and I got swept in to a several-hours long remote sensing debacle, largely of forgettable and transient things, lacking in accountability, and yet seething with sadism about it. Apparently, one person cares to see me incarcerated, rather than that I take, for myself, an amount of crystal methamphetamine that drug dealers care to allocate and provide, of my purchasing from them.

Update: 10/17/2021: As it turns out, today would perhaps stand as one in which infamy reigned over personal freedoms and the autonomous mind. I made a report, last night, to the FBI (or tried to; there was an impassable form input error message). Would that have happened to have hijacked my attention span? All in all, I made some off-color jokes last night, and people are in an uproar about this and that, still; people from my past, who harbor a distaste for me, for my penchant for honesty. Today was a day of descent, so to speak, in to the recesses of the prelimbic mind, (which happens to be under review, or subject to < rescind >, “apparently,” as far as autocorrect goes). Yikes. Watch out, there. In any case, I founded this .institute aspiration and enterprise based upon much of what an intelligence and development enterprise ought hold as sacred knowledge; things that must be kept, throughout disaster and peril. 

The disavowal of pre-limbic mind. Mind control. I’m just, at this point in time, (acutely), being offered dissent, in regards to my freedom. It appears to be a home town row and hazing of me; I can tell: the type of demographic is telling, at times. People speaking so freely, and without care, or consideration towards me, and as I’d mentioned, I’m simply largely alone, in life, at this point in time. I suppose that I’ve upset some people. Not everyone, by any means, but quite apparently - some people. 

The DTLA Civil Defense Audible Apparatus Installations (updating)

The downtown Civil Defense Apparatus first caught my eye as an interrent homeless person in DTLA last October.

The device looks as though it might be a flame-heater « au jour » for the civilians to make use of in public (which would be a fortunate thing, at some points in time; being myself: homeless). [revised: originally composed 05/16/2019]

Hill at 8th

Various lores about the need for these installations to have come in to place - namely to the effect of that they were old announcement satellite speakers that would herald some sort of Cold War anomaly going on.

Mid-Wilshire

Update: I happened upon another Civil Defense Audible Apparatus in South Los Angeles, the other day, after having jogged and walked back towards my home, from the Inglewood area. (October 16th, 2021); I’m now housed, thankfully, as an update.

Manchester at Harvard - Happy Fish Market | Ralph’s

Given various critical analysis; it would be obvious that there would ostensibly be a <_ alarms="" aloof="" an="" autonomous="" be="" being="" box="" crane="" dictattaphoneur="" for="" gain="" hoisted="" if="" in="" ladder="" lift="" man="" nbsp="" need="" of="" or="" p="" perhaps="" platform="" some="" sort="" sounded.="" status="" superior="" the="" there="" to="" up="" used="" visually="" was="" were="" while="" yet="">

Given the wear on the objects, and that [I believe]: that these things had been relatively new additions to DTLA and surrounding areas as of this past year, 2018. 

Maybe back then, the things did serve fire and heat

to continue; of that they are rusted, yet not thoroughly; and perhaps they are refurbished and remanufactured with some grit about the outsides of the poles. 

LA Metro subterranean blasting causes plurisubharmonic seismic vibrations, shaking South LA and West Hollywood.

 Being that I stay up for a long time; days, even (still, at this point in life), I have a keen sense of when things seem to go awry, of slight motions and activities of people around me. 

Today was a particularly strange day, nearly gone by, at this hour - of the “latest” waking period, as I call it, colloquially, in my own estimations. There were significant thunderstorms and rainy activity 😗 umm… yesterday, that is… since I’d not slept last night, as it turns out. <_<…? In any case, there were significant thunderstorms yesterday, and leading up to it, I felt that some sort of barometric pressure was pushing through the locality around me, even affecting me inside of my bedroom. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my ionic mineral supplementation intake, being subsumed by the planes flying overhead, in the jet stream line-of-sight, leading up to LAX Airport’s landing runway. During the day, there’s typically even shadows cast, commonly, over my head, or “in the way” of the sunlight, with the shadows of the planes flickering the light, shining through my window, or sometimes I go out for a cigarette, and I get flashed by the plane’s shadow. It’s enough to cook up some viable paranoia, right? 

So, the barometric pressure is one thing, the storms are another, and the reputation of the area, this being South Los Angeles, makes for a suggestible fable to be run by me, such as that “terrorists” are flexing their might, in opposition to the authorities, and they’re going around, blowing up the water mains, underground. On top of that, the story had gotten so detailed, such as to suggest that much of South Los Angeles was going to be host to a massive sinkhole, like the ones that we hear or read about, sometimes, happening in South America. 

But this evening, as I went out to West Hollywood to do some gig work, I felt a distinct blast; I heard it, as well, and some shockwaves followed the blast, so I reasoned that the blasting must be for the sake of Metro’s subterranean station and terminal outlets, for the private spaces and expanse required to keep the train lines running smoothly, which they do. I must say that hold-ups and delays of the trains are typically trivial in the Los Angeles Metro Train system, and they only last a few minutes, at most. There are two lines being developed, one of them the Crenshaw Line, which would reasonably assume that my area, running parallel to Crenshaw Blvd., would see some shaking, over in my area, of this sort. The other line being developed and worked on, at this point in time, is the expansion of the Purple Line, in to the Westside localities of Beverly Hills and Century City, going up Wilshire. 

So that was it, as far as terrorist plot explosions theories, broken water mains, and sinkholes becoming established. It’s all part of the workweek, in other words. 

The sun sets over rush hour traffic, somewhere in Los Angeles.