A look at the sidewalk vendor scene of Los Angeles, CA.

Here in Los Angeles, the conventional wisdom of our upbringing was that Los Angeles is a sprawling, vast city. Indeed, at about 503 square miles, there is much ado about this town, civic and culture-wise.

How to [or who to]…? pick a post-pandemic (Delta variant timescale) - persona, for success.

 Let’s face it.

How rude a statement would that be, for someone? 

People are scrambling to avoid being caught in the crosshairs of propagandist ideation sublingual suggestive peripheries from taking hold of our young socialite upstart aspirations and takeovers, however distant and fartlorn we are, away from the nation’s capital, all the way at the other end of the country. Thankfully, in Los Angeles, the heatwaves haven’t been all too severe, and if it feels like it,

A fallen Japanese beetle, at the foot of an ominous, shadowy figure.

 

it probably is an infrared beam of “spotted you, eh?”

 

sorts of “dun, dun, dun…” 

how could a person possibly shake that sort of fate, and come out unscathed? I get scared, all the time. It’s always gangland wars, voices in my head, and sometimes, things, of all things, seem to become unseemly familiar, as far as that I feel I can identify people doing these things to me and my loved ones, and I can’t (usually) find a typology alter ego and spiritual boost timely and well enough to propel me in to quite, understanding and empathizing with what they claim is going on, in my life, and amongst people I’ve known, or my family, for example. 

I feel that some people take the concept of familiarity as appropriate grounds for dysfunctional catharsis to break ground and egotism platforming au contraire, for the sake of the fact that I… I just don’t do stuff like that. They’re the ones that are mad at me. 

Who could I possibly be, or have been, in order to not have become placed amongst these bingers on drugs type of judgmental and persecutory figurative individuals whom I’d known, or know, or some sort of vagueness that develops beyond scarcity of identity exchange, this being the remote sensing medium of communications and self | identity transmissions. It’s big, in Los Angeles. We do big things, out here, and some of us are without apologies or excuses for how, who, why, and what, and where? It happens to be, out here, that people are as slight as the breezes out here, in the hot summer nights. 

Just don’t… just - just… nah, you just really ought not to… I’d say. There’s something that sounded like screaming outside. I should go and check on it. Goodbye. 

Never mind. I don’t know… and then, South L.A. has been making lots of news stories happen, recently. 

Hmm. Sorry, I’m still adapting to this concept of that I am (just slightly) having my content served on Google News.

I was thinking that the hobbyist parfumerie enthusiast thing was the thing, for me, but I’ve got to be agile and swift, and I can’t do all things, or all people, and I can’t much solve my own problems, lately, because I don’t really know just who is doing what, and how I could better gain people’s good side. 

The JoyBuy miniature misting fan thing is blowing up, now that it’s summer. I bought four of them, and I think that some of them were broken by someone else, playing with the crumbs and knickknacks of my room.

Then there was idiot deluxe, the most everything guy (or lady), butt shittle, definitely, it would be ladies and gentlemen’s only - prowess, to become: the one who says the most iconically irreverent fwopp.

A Data Science Statistical Anecdote Moment on the Degree of Influence Misinformation Wields on People.

 I get all sorts of conflicting intelligence, as I traverse the “remote sensing” (or, Scientology “Space Drama) ego trips, currently ascending in to the “cult leader” realm, as a mock-up egoiste-epatant:

Updating: the DTLA Pershing Square flocks of pigeons and sparrows - cute! (Photo blog)

 Here’s an updating photo blog documenting the attainments gained, the social developments, and sometimes just the plain cuteness, of the pigeon and sparrow flocks that reside in the Downtown Los Angeles park of Pershing Square. These flocks are perhaps the most prolific and showy flocks in the DTLA civic center area. 

Update: 12/09/2021

Today was a rainy day at Pershing Square. Check out the wet pigeons! 

A Sunday morning’s pwn’ing of a pigeon-feeding bum - a 12-Steps program confessional episode.

As the literature of the 12 Steps addiction recovery program proscribes, we are to admit that we are powerless over our addiction, and that our lives had become unmanageable. 

The practice of confession, in civil society, dates back hundreds of years, perhaps over a millennia and more (I’m not quite sure, off hand), although events such as the Inquisition, which happened in Europe starting around the 12th century, continuing forth for hundreds of years, would perhaps be the most notable historical time period and setting which we would correlate with the preeminence of the Catholic Church. Obviously, confessing is a difficult and humbling thing, to say the least. I’ve not raised a child, personally, but my own imprinting, from my nurturing environment, was a slightly heavy-handed period of discipline upon myself; my father not having been much of an intelligent man, of some sort of faculty of insight and breakthrough, as far as having attained a more perseverant and empathetic affect for us. 

That being said, I spent much of my childhood years, through my young adult life, fraught with dishonest slips of disclosure, characterized by a subconscious fear of being reprimanded cruelly by others, coupled with the inclusion of willingly intended acts of deception, which would correlate with the trait of caring to please others, and appear to be well and upright, in disciplinary terms. Having been an abuse victim, in my younger years, less-efficient and less-productive traits saw their way through in to my developmental maturity paradigm, in other words, and looking back, I would have sought better methodologies of progress and self-representation, whereas the mysteries as to whether or not a person is depraved, as a dishonest person, in this day and age - prior to the brain-computer interfacing adjunct intellectual evolutionary era of development and understanding - in many various social and technological sciences being affected and dependent upon ever-more challenging and demanding standards of understanding and of communication, we face an imminent existential crisis, each unto ourselves, yet, in the age of the mind, to come, a well-minded person would most commonly seek to persist, and to thrive, whereas in keeping with inclusions of “what’s necessary” for survival, being the primary driving impetus in establishing our prescience in … 

Eh. Maybe that’s all. I crashed my definition check basis in implementing prescience, just to be sure of things, and I’m generally sure that it ought to fit appropriately, according to logic, but I was just saying… just remarking on the confessions and admissions that had been going on, for me (in my mind), and it’s obviously a complex set of contexts and issues which could have words put to them, although people are supposed to be afforded their anonymity, in the 12 Steps program. I stopped where I determined that I had been challenged by my own ambitions to have my place stated, appropriately, and accessibly, for including prescience - even though I feel that it was a good enough logical adjunct as for communicating what would have come, from out of that. I figure that if I’d crashed the definition engine, it’s possibly not affording accessibility to the common person. 

Oh, okay. Update: apparently I’m … 

Well, never mind. It was just a connection glitch on my iPad Pro. I’ll stop, in any case, but here’s the definition of prescience, just for fun. It turns out, it’s actually somewhat just been characterized in the above paragraph.

A vehicle gets pwn’ed in South Los Angeles.

Talk about road rage: this vehicle showed up just around the corner from my home. Man, oh, man. The things that must be going on while I’m out feeding the pigeons, I can’t imagine.