How to compose a proper personals and classifieds ad for success.

Last night, I wound up nearly accepting a “hang out” offer, from some guy that sat near me on the train home from Santa Monica. 

The first premise, at issue, here, is that I generally take issue with “guys” and “hanging out,” somewhat as a flat-out decree, being that people who pay attention to me, personally, and as a person - generally, (post-university years, especially) are the types of people who failed at school, they have nothing to do except bet on that I’d be an unrelenting gay hooker, and they sit around, drinking alcohol, taking drugs, laughing amongst themselves with a notion as trivially slight as that, and some forces of networking and psychology get put out, on the loose, and eventually - the victim of such intentions having played out, in life, become the rhetoric upon which demographic typologies are forged, and a litany of followers ensue - as casual stalkers, out on the streets, somehow - “just” how, I’ve never bothered to figure out, but people wound up treating me a little bit differently, today; some guys, for example, and they greeted me, whereas more commonly, it’s typical for people to ignore me, out on the streets. It hadn’t always been like this, I can recall. Here and there, I recall a time, yet not the place, off-hand, where people would greet each other,, much more commonly than we do, in these times. On one hand, Covid-19 caused us to be conditioned for social distancing to have become the standard. The anarchists rebelled against this sort of premise, and they proceeded onward with assaults upon people’s personal and private spaces alike, and even more people than ever started finding ways in which they could keep to themselves, or gather in more exclusive circles than ever - I, for one, being particularly isolated; introverted, by nature, that is, to say, couldn’t possibly suit the sort of personality type discussed in articles that featured accounts of discrete Covid-19 circles being established - I’m a bum; a pigeon-feeding bum, as my most prominent sort of bum, and it’s generally taboo for people of the middle or upper classes to associate with a bum, by and large, although here and there, small tokens of acknowledgment are witnessed, such as considerate food or drink offerings are left out, and, in many cases - recyclables are left out. It’s suggestive of that people would like to see a working person, as well as a hungry person, out of the sort of people who have wound up at the end of their rope, in life - so to speak, and who else, but an otherwise unhoused person would have to seek out novel accommodations of food and general interests? For one, a stalking victim would have to, a knave, a mentally I’ll person, here and there - a few, or several types, that is to say. People who were observing me, earlier today, noticed that I was acting out imprints of having been a bum, whereas I had just secured confirmation of that I had a promising serendipitous moment happen for me, in finding a client for my gardening services offer, which I’d put up on craigslist, the other day. My budget is tight, but it’s only $5 for a services ad, and I figure that craigslist features a rich trawl of both interested, as well as valid - employers, for jobs, big and small, as well as clients of all sorts - I’ve personally landed several thousand craigslist gigs, to be sure.

Historically, craigslist had been acknowledged as one of the Big 5, of the internet - inclusive of Google, Apple, Microsoft, hmm… I don’t remember the other one, but craigslist had been notably mentioned, in my encounters with content, on the internet, of having that distinction. Today, it apparently stands in the top 20 - not bad.

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.

Fitting in, as the paranoid schizophrenic narcissism movement’s poster boy mascot.

People who are adequately properly acquainted with me 

know that I have a hard time getting out of my head, when it comes to sitting down and socializing. I have to admit, I’ve been off, for a good stretch of time, given right now, and the months leading up to this point in time (Summer 2021), and there’d been little hope of seeing a clearing through the Los Angeles, CA “fog.” 

Here, in the militarized zone (TMZ) of Los Angeles, which is tech worker knowledge 101 (or, to be precise, “A+” certification priory of knowledge base, we, for one thing, don’t wake up, per se, in the morning. It just happens, eventually, as the sorry trudge through remaking ourselves, in professionalism, in a world where our Apple devices can’t capably we’ll be self-serviced, for one thing, and nobody much… well, everyone else, let’s say, would care to do the service on their devices for themselves. 

Okay. Actually, it’s not fog. At least, not that I could put my finger on it. Maybe the photo doesn’t capture it all that well, and it seems like a clear photo, above; from here to there, with my plain eyes, in viewing, the half-block, or so, distance from my vantage point, to the buildings nearby, I’ll say, are a bit “not quite” the standard “clear,” as could be said about “seeing things” and what might be expected, based on reasonably good vision. 

It’s easier to see the disparities in clarity, in the short-distance atmosphere of the place (DTLA) at night, through the early morning, lately, and I just happen to receive punishing intimations and suggestions, in my remote sensing assignment, laid upon myself (this started happening in 2012, right around this time of year, in fact) of all sorts of “me, myself (Jay)” types of storylines in my head, and it makes me really neurotic and somewhat casually dismissive of others, if they happen to break form with attending to the present moment, and with a purpose-driven mind about conversation, if anything’s to be said at all, about anything, for that matter, and as for myself, I’m readily one to admit that I’ve problems, and it’s “complicated,” let’s say. 

For example, I met a young lady last night, and she was a fawning courtesan to me, upon passing my way. I was digging through the garbage, trying to find some food, and there was a tasty soft drink in there, which I enjoyed, and she took to me, quite effectively, and I was drawn in to the prospect of making her acquaintanceship. We ended up speaking on friendly terms, well enough, as she acted as though she were enamored by me, but there was something just, perhaps, simply “in the way” of things. For one thing, she wanted to fix my recyclables collecting trait about myself, and she kept telling me that she would hold my bag for me, as we eventually left our initial place of meeting, and we went out for a walk (I wanted to go to the grocery store, for food; perhaps a bit extravagant, given that there was good food in the trash for me, that I hadn’t gotten to investigating and clearing for eats, by the time she met me). I do a standard gentleman, no problem, well enough, when I meet a new acquaintanceship, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have “not really” been an on-site, ITF, misfortunate stalking target, per se, lately; I don’t know what it is. Had they gotten been “talked to” about that sort of thing, or do I just look better? Is it my fragrance that I’m wearing, or is it because I put on some weight and muscle? Maybe it’s a bit of all of those things, although I am commonly troubled by how I look, facially, in the mirror, lately, on account of that I don’t get to sleep as much as I readily aught would sleep, give, how bothered and troubled I am, in my head. 

These developments,

I would say, would trouble anyone. Anyone who’s validly a peer to me, and many-to-most of them had abandoned me, and taken on a purpose about me, of disregarding that I have any decency about me, and all sorts of complaints and claims attesting to some sort of beliefs about me arise, in the dialectical, and I wind up being the center of people’s attention. Granted, it’s nice to be paid attention to, sometimes, and it’s even more delightful to win out, in intelligence, when somebody shows up to insult me, but the public is the greater determiner, I’ll say, of what’s truthfully valid and appropriate up-to-the-minute debriefing and slight course for facing judgment, from others, whereas I simply “hear,” or… 🤔 <_< “perceive,” I’ll put it, to be more appropriate, to the point, these various points of contention from former peers, who show up, in my “privacy” of my attending mind, at issue, and they simply never reach out on Facebook, or whatever, or respond, when I look them up and query them about how they’d been acting, in my head, which I happen to believe that they do, since I took on this schizophrenia sort of burden, back around this time of year, to be precise, tracing back to 2012. 

All sorts of wild stories and painful memories. 

Why not just admit to that you feel that way about me? I can fix it, if it’s a problem.

But the social ladder equivalent of being the gorilla’s silverback male, “given me,” endlessly (since back in 2012), shows back up, and I’m significantly troubled by what’s come of things, of my school days peers, and what they claim about me, or claim is significant topic of issue about me, and sometimes, I make them look truthfully, woefully, foolish (or worse), and I must say, I’ve got quite the penchant for the spoken or written word, and I’ve got a ton of great experiences to talk about, (if only) people would “actually” speak to me, which this girl, (getting back to the thread I had initiated, just a moment ago) was doing, with me. I had to eventually ditch her, though. Once, and then I came across her, again, and I’ve got it awrr rawr rough and tough, sometimes, with how I truly make a practice and discipline about life, to do life as I was brought up to be - a good baptist Christian man, since my boyhood, and stuff; I’ve got to make amends on what I’d been led astray for, in life, and presented of myself; my superficial self, amongst people, although I’d never quite all that much, to be honest, really betrayed my Christian upbringing. 

So I try to tame these wild ones - awrr rawr, rough and tough, with some patience, common sense, British intellect and know-how, of the cultural attainments made, on their part, given my Cantonese mother’s upbringing, and such: 

It’s just… how it is. Look it up. The British managed and ruled over Hong Kong, until 1997, I believe, imparting the early modern period and western traditions upon the Chinese, in Hong Kong - for 150 years (or so), until they returned Hong Kong to the Chinese government, at which time, it became… I dunno, “Chinese,” more so, (again; perhaps), and we happen to live in a Los Angeles, CA, where racial slights and slurs, and awrr rawr - rough and tough insults and “most casual” beliefs and practices of superiority and dominance features significantly, in the common mores and cares of society at large, and I’m one of them - the Cantonese; at least, a half of me. The other half is Lithuanian descent (my father, quite reliably - resembles the recent United States of America’s Vice President, Mike Pence, to be sure). 

Anyways, we all know how slight the Chinese get treated as, out here, and perhaps it’s largely a globalized perceptual basis that’s become familiar to many - the detriment to progress and the establishment of vast achievements and efforts put in to eliminating civil rights abuses, of others, and we’d “supposedly” (at least, in the courts, and in the minds of good Christian types of people, in America) gotten the slights, slurs, and casual insulting beliefs of our people straightened out, about many sorts and types of people that come to exist, in America, and that’s the primary basis of this country, to a large degree, on one hand. 

It just sucks, and I broke my hand, last month, punching the wall, exercising great lengths in patience and non-aggression, whereas I’m bound by the law, and - I’m on probation, on top of things, so if I mess up, again, in allowing physical violence to come of me, as for how others are treated, in life, I’m duly and highly susceptible to becoming remanded, if it gets around to that the police get called to attend to the issue, and I don’t much care to take a chance with that sort of thing. It’s a two year sentence that I was released, on conditional terms, and then, I didn’t follow through with anything, because I’d been bothered, in my mind, (schizophrenia), from back then (2017, or so), till now - fairly constantly, as a chronic and debilitating issue. 

Try it (not really, though <_<…) - breaking your hand against the wall, as an undisciplined fighter; as the angry person. I’ve got  a plate and pin, in my strong hand, and it was a one-two punch, that it was, this time around, but my weaker hand didn’t have all that I thought of myself - turns out. It’s healing up nicely, well enough, now, though. I’m a bit ambivalent about it. On one hand, I like the tough guy, scars, and such, sort of facets and traits about me, although I’m not quite… let’s say, “not disturbed,” of the mind, to attend to my higher purpose, and due diligence, to, like, the gym, or proper exercise, and stuff. I just go out, and I binge on drugs, and that’s obviously not allowed. I just feel that I need it. Not every drug, yet I’m woefully a habitually methamphetamines abuser, although I’m set on the self-maker statement, of my formative self esteem, and aspirations, of that I’m constantly trying to quit, and maybe - this time around, as for today - I’m going to do it properly, since I hear about such horrible things going on, and I don’t really care to elaborate on things, because of the degree of disgust that would be involved, about stuff, if I made it real, by talking about it. 

I feel like, maybe… some people care, and some people… just care “otherwise,” and significantly obsessively and abusively so, and I broke my hand against the wall, because I’ve entrained myself as a significantly astute Christian man, against doing life, of aggression, that. I could, …

but that would just spoil my self-affirming beliefs of that I could really do something in life, and I meet such great people, in my mind, and if only, at that, and violence, as a basis, isn’t all that much an appropriate, or date-worthy sort of topic to even touch upon - I can speak on so many other good and appropriate contexts, such as my feeding the birds thing, and the art associated with it; that’s all good and appropriate, enough - sort of topic that could, perhaps, … hmm. How to say it… I dunno. I’ll let others decide for themselves, and I’ll have things my way, and see how things go. 

I don’t really know what to say… if you don’t talk to me, about anything but abusive sorts of stuff to say about someone, and I know I look bad, lately (facially), sometimes, … and if these people take drugs all the time, … like they “do…” - let’s be real here. This type of behavior must, and could only be explained by drug abuse, and for keeping up with me, and I look so poorly, of the face, and stuff, … but that’s me. I try to do stuff to make up for things. 

I guess that’s all, for now. I’ve got stuff to do today. It’s Monday. Work schedule, and work week, sorts of stuff. 

But the blasting, going on, and the disturbances, and stuff… I dunno. I can’t fix everything - especially if people keep messing with me, and then, if I just couldn’t possibly like you, right now, … like, for reals, then just go away. “I’m gonna leave, now:” sorts of stuff. And that’s okay. 

On Juneteenth (June 19th, 2020), amidst the media rush, some calm, in the park.

Hmmpf. I'd say that this is a poor time to try to compose a blog, yet I ought to reflect upon the fact that it is a newly endowed holiday upon the internet media masses, and I'd been huge on keeping up to date about news, lately. 

On one hand, it's a bit of a difficult space for me to fulfill, as I've had personal problems laying out broad forefront stuff, of my memorable or reclaimable self and identity. Meanwhile, though, the rallies and gatherings in community that have been showing up, in front of City Hall, [DTLA], as much as I had been, for the birds - suggests that this is a time of needful reform, and of re-affiliation with what makes us, or draws us apart, from one another.

I feel people out with their present and portrayal self - I get scant scud junk, much of the time, as far as voices that persecute me, in my mind. I imagine that they've got no oversight, and no cares towards a sense of authority, and maybe they've got a simply subjective framework of identity, from their look at themselves, and they'd perhaps neglected to know what was being lost, in the eyes of others. 

On some level, I saw it, myself, this morning. I'd tried to work out a standard work week, of a day's shift work, and heading home for the night. I made it through it, with well enough for showing up merits about myself, yet last night I stayed awake, in anticipation of getting my MacBook Air back from Apple Service repair. I had [then] unimaginable resource of capability offered to me on a desktop publishing platform that is the default landscape view of the widescreen - different, most certainly, from the handheld columnar profile of the mobile tablet or, in my case, my cheap Android base model phone.

In any case, I feel like I'd made some ground in attaining some unimagined knowledge and know-how, while scrumming around, on the internet, trying to get my stake and claims in, of the unemployment and worker's benefits programs, that had been distributed en masse, as well, along with developing and ongoing topics, largely of crisis and critical mass, in society. Perhaps some of the folks who are showing up in to town, recently, from elsewhere, had likewise, been disassociated from the latest in developments in what was afforded to society, as far as civil rights, which is a bit more consideration than I typically offer people, of what imaginative forms embellish themselves upon me, in life; whereas that sort of evocative muse ideation was simply a fleeting moment, for me, while in the bathtub, and I'd just got engaged, sort of celebration, type of thing. 

But I leave it alone, it's been known, and reputed of me. I've (sure), I've failed at it, previously, as the formerly known of, as it was - from the talk-ups of which I could now recall, in my memory: "the lost puppy," that I was. A hopeless straggler, of some form of desperate lonesome sort, who'd been abused, in the mind, looking at others, hoping that someone would fulfill some empty facet of self, in personality, through something engaging and life-re-affirming. Something like love. 

I chose what had become familiar, and I feel like I'd largely believe of myself, the same that I'd see in others, for what I'd known of people, at that stretch of time-span, that it was, up until my quaternary isolation, for a new web of "all sorts," whereas I was taken by stuff that I was in to, on the web, and that feels like it's so recently familiar for me, although it began happening to me when I turned 30 years old, 8 years ago, from this point in time. From then until now, it's still largely been a mystery, and a jumble of miscommunications, poor timings, and lots of the same ol' stuff substances-seeking behavior, going on, of what I could muster, in life, of what felt like the good life, for a long stretch of time, in my earlier young adult years, when I'd attended university, and paired off with someone. 

During that time, I'd developed upon my earlier youthful culture side-loading ingestions of hip-hop, psychedelia, and black metal music had formed of me, heading in to college with a unique and adventurous optimism over social bonds that had developed quickly, suited to my deeper sense of needfulness, in affection, which was fulfilled through meeting my [then] girlfriend, whom I'd developed a relationship with, over the course of nearly 6 years, from that point. 

That being said, it's a long stretch of time, in terms of young adulthood, even at my age - which is 38, at this point, of conceivable extent of relationship that lasts, and is tolerated, for the mess that we make of it; each to our own, yet, over the years, I'd learned much more significantly to acknowledge my own shortcomings, in recognizing when I was known, most certainly, by others, for what I would hide, of admission - as what would inevitably show itself playing out, in the lives of others, as I traversed around the locales of Los Angeles, as a homeless person, with no particular bond or draw on society; much - not many people much spoke to me, during those years. 

Yet, through much of the fog of what young adult life turns out, in being, for whatever ills that we ingest, and take of and upon ourselves, in knowing that we'd been brought up differently, for one thing; for another thing, we'd largely failed at socialization in life, for choosing to bring others in to our web of internalized problems and fantasies. As I got older, I became much more secure with being left to myself, and then, one day, I faced a reality of that people would deny me my former autonomy, irregardless. 

Even with this, in mind, I [somewhat] have a sense of that I just don't know, off hand, "who" does that to me. I figure, then I think about it, and then I remember, and it's just simply unpleasant, and I dissociate from the occurrence of ‹ some › people's images, in my mind, for what I'd believe that I know about them. 

For me, though, bringing things back in to present-day relevance, I find that the person who causes those problems, for me, has rarely seemed to have been a black compatriot, that I'd known, over the course of the various distinctions and stages in which I was brought up - through my parents themselves, through the teachings of the Bible, from kids who stole me away from that stuff, and from my parents' establishment of a more stable framework, in life, to university, where I had mostly free roam over the choices I had, given responsibilities to fulfill. 

The loving care towards each other, and the burdens that we, as outsiders of what is much more, (for most people of Los Angeles), to bring it into the scope of exploring and living out lifestyle-locales, such as South L.A., which is a vast expanse of territory of segregation by choice, to a large degree, based on fear that's been wrought of our minds, of cultural "others" in society. 

Black people have the kind of devoted and loving kindness towards others, whereas people draw fearful notions of them gathering in large groups - of the sort that sometimes brings tears to my eyes, of a truthful and genuine sort. For me, they carry that kind of needed facet of togetherness, in society, whereas I feel like I can relate, not for my own distinct "otherness," of my various stages of upbringing, but of what black people had, here and there, adopted, of me, for what I could offer, for them, of various things, or for things I was good at, sort of thing. I somewhat largely felt like a tourist, sometimes. 

But one thing I never do is disrespect a man for what's good, or better, about him, for what he could portray of himself, whereas I somewhat walk a thin line, it might seem - yet I'm woefully offered consideration, for publishing stuff, in timely-enough documentation, given that people are - out here, constantly pushing for the ends of structured society, for the types of things that I just don't care to remember, or reiterate. Yet I feel like some people would care to impose upon youth, yet again, the mistakes and transgressions, upon God's word, in the Bible, which some people simply seem to have altogether none of it, whatsoever, when I encounter them, out in the wild. 

These types of things matter. Cock don't matter, color don't matter, it don't matter, much, what some people say - in certain sorts of frames of mind, yet these are still common faulty beliefs of much of society, in to the youthful adults that come shored up, out in California. We get it out of them, in casual inferences, or moreso as unwitting slips of the slight, that comes to transpire, of what people seem to simply feel is themselves, whereas I'd be like, "nah... you just can't... you can't be that, anymore, sort of thing. You'd have to leave town, or something." [sort of thing]. 

The golden era of that sort of dissonant self, in expressing identity - comes to a concrete slab, of patient Christian identity, which, for whatever reason, for what, or whatever, I feel that the Christian identity is also, likewise, strongly represented in the black people, and they'd support a kick to the curb of a person on their way out of town. It goes deep, sometimes, out in Skid Row. It gets of on poo poo moments out in the open, yet people are not quite brought in, for arrest, for having to pare down to their bare and most human self, circus that it might be, aside from all that. 

Then, the pigeons-carnival of that which is the rest of downtown, is a large mix of so many other people. I don't know much of some other cultures I observe, yet I try to keep it upscale, and classy, after leaving Skid Row. But, as I'd offer, in affording someone new, some perspective in, on local culture - take in all of Los Angeles, with an open mind, when you meet me as a local guide, but some people... they're just trying to get out and rob me, for my devices, and stuff. But I feel like it would establish enough controversy, over time, for people to simply know better. Maybe it's my mind, that they rob me of, but some people love me, here and there, and some people seem to just be afraid of affectionate love, from another, whereas the device simply seems to show out, as the more compelling form of moment to gain, whereas the person is largely not there; for what truthfully could establish itself as compelling study in social media account portrayals of one's self. Some people are that blatant, in not otherwise being professional, of an established certification of rational and ethical merit, in life. Once therapy meets them, I'd have hoped that they could have been the fixie that fixed it - I'd done of their self, in identity; or maybe that it was lost, in the words that transpired, yet I'd feel that I'd done it to them - most surely, of spinning their mind some appropriations, in words: words that truthfully have meaning, and the lean, from the meat - or ‹ something › like that. I don't always say everything right. But usually I'm just tryna' take drugs and go feed the pigeons and sparrows, sort of thing. 

That's what some people game out, as a huge stretch of my own, as well as their own, of their life, that they make of my self. I don't know. Black people don't really treat me like that. They seem to understand, as long as I know how to act, and be friendly, and stuff. It's pretty standard not all that scary, yet I feel like some people really develop this alternate self, whereas for me, I've got to show up every day - for the birds, and birds live on rational schedules; they're nature-bound creatures, by all means of God's goodness. On that note, some people simply choose to be evil, for the moment, and it's a rare shame that it happens to a vested local of so many years of Skid Row, in showing up, but if a person simply never starts doing it, then it's not quite simply like I'd believe that they're sober and drug abstinent, to a disturbing degree. Some people could admit it, for others... they're truly disgusted by the rampant drug abuse and humanitarian crisis that comes with the casual neglect of fwaunching identity out in the Skids, shittin' porta-of-potty, of on, and come back when they ass-wipe next time, for that baby doo-doo shitsicle stint, sort of thing, if it ‹ might be ›. Some people would just have none of it, whatsoever, and they end up bloody and filthy as a wrinkled old one, by the time they make it out, in being honest, in life. 

Beyond that, there's so much of the arts, and of culture, that's been forcefully taken from me... sorts of faceted, deep-seated stuff, and some people just would have none of it, whatsoever, which I could somewhat understand, I'd not yet brought a friend out to Skid Row, with me, although I'd like to... I feel like they could pass, perhaps, and it wouldn't be an all-out slaughter of them, (over some reason). Yet on a day like this, I try to remain fairly grounded, and in truth, I'm doing this Scientology thing; here and there, somewhat, and it's vastly simply unfamiliar to many people, and some people just don't care - but to be worse than just "good enough, or better," was never quite, of most-latest, of tech, n' stuf, and then - that's what I've got in my backpack, and my sling bag - that's for my man-purse necessities. Then I'm collecting recyclables, and stuff. 

Pretty tough to wrangle up support against me, for my backpack, and stuff, and then, even walking up to me? Pretty scarce, that they'd last very long, or really like me, for what I could offer to them. 

But the bums, of today? They're somewhat not bums of just anywhere, they're showing up of on casting call basis, of scheduling, for being a stark one ‹ pigeon ›, which I do, which is okay. I'm kind of here, for bums, to walk up and try that on me, sort of thing. Sometimes, though, I just couldn't much have done any better for them, and it just ended like that. At some point - I just leave, somewhat... [in some other configurations of life, going on, sort of thing]. It gets problematic, and then, beyond entertainment - there's collecting recyclables and smoking cigarettes, yet, for the endless transcriptionist - an of on fwopp-mode bwopp, then I'm done.

Pretty pigeon, fluffy feathers.

I would term this “kitsch;” (perhaps, - :/ .. ) yet charming: I’d say, for its playful, candid, yet charming and affectionate [that it were, for the sake of the fact that the bird had distinguished itself before me, ahead of the boundaries stayed at by the rest of the flock, as though it were wittingly posing as the pretty bird, and that he’d been brought up of virtuous establishments and charms of his plumage, that he ought demonstrate and appeal upon me, as the morning’s caretaker of the animal’s daily necessity of, and significant life’s formative pursuit [of a pigeon, and it’s companions in the flock] - of discovering food, that he is also a good bird; for me, a personally touching moment, in that I had regularly frequented the Grand Park grounds, in years past, as a homeless person who was, then, and now, and from the time therein, between when I had taken upon myself the promise to nurture the local flocks of sparrows and pigeons, such that were found at the park, and as well, in other areas in DTLA, and outlying localities where I’d come across flocks and establishments of  [somewhat] “homed,” (I estimate, colloquially an amateur of the richer and obvious context of a more well-domesticated and intentionally localized, through nurturing, over years, of effecting a lofted (perhaps) establishment of pigeons), that might be more imaginably relevant, within a personal context, given urban society, of that we acknowledge that people in other urban metropolises have established trained flocks of pigeons, for racing, for show, for messaging, etc. 

In all of the richer context of what might be understood of the charm of the photographic composition, and of the story of that the bird might be seen to have been intelligently attempting to “woo“ me of a more consistent affections and cares to be offered to them, it’s fairly deeply much more tenderly sentimental, in that I’d, at times, have become ineffectual, forgetful, neglectful, detracted from, or thwarted in - various claims, all amounting to that I had neglected to return to the common establishments of the various flocks, around town, that I could regularly and capably fulfill my commitments to them, and that the purpose of such things were that I would expect that the birds would perform slight miracles of animal behavior for people to admire, of them, for having been cared for, and nurtured, of my participatory influence and small acts of attesting to the virtues of perseverance in seeing the promises carried out, on a gradual, and measured basis - attesting to the religious connotation of establishing a serenity amongst the surroundings of nature among us, and of God’s creatures, that the figure of Saint Francis of Assisi is carried forth, in our common societal mind, as classically relevant and emblematic of an unending foundation of what goes to be carried forth, in life, and society, of that we accept Christ and his teachings, and his notable followers, throughout time, as constantly needful identities in and of ourselves, to discover, and praise, for the natural and spiritual truths that the hold in our lives, that we might, in that Saint Francis is a popularly celebrated saint of our nation’s embrace, and understanding. 

as one significant context. The other, I imagine (having become distracted, for touching upon the more important context of religious significance in our commonly spiritually destitute lives, in urban society - [and doing it long-winded, at that] {hopefully within grasp of comprehension, though} - that this bird was, indeed, one of my ones that I’d cared for, in previous years, and how personally at detriment I’d become, of battling through irreverent and seditious human affairs, to the failure of loving kindness and nurturing, of which the (aside <_ -="" a="" addressing="" all="" and="" as="" asunder="" at="" attesting="" been="" bird="" bitterly="" but="" care="" carrying="" cast="" center="" contexts="" decree="" demand="" diet="" disavowed="" effecting="" end="" environment="" ethical="" fearfully="" field="" finest="" font="" for="" forth="" friends="" go="" gone="" grounds="" had="" have="" i="" in="" is="" issue="" it="" knowledge="" lack="" locales.="" many="" me="" minds="" mouths="" native="" needful="" needs="" not="" nurturing="" obviously="" of="" on="" other="" our="" performance="" perhaps="" pigeons="" positive="" psychology="" reinforcement="" s="" sake="" sciences="" so="" social="" sparrows="" support="" surrounding="" sustainability="" that="" the="" their="" there="" these="" things="" to="" understanding="" unfed="" upon="" urban="" was="" we="" weeks="" well="" would="">

In summary, the bird seemed to intelligently attempt, in a common bird’s psychologically natural manner, in preening himself, in evincing affections upon me, for the promise of returning more regularly for a feeding, of his formerly more consistent expectations that I would have been seen to have fulfilled for them, when I lived amongst them, on a day-to-day basis, as that I lived outdoors, nearby and within the same park, itself, which they’d since have had established some community and charm, of that the sparrows accompany the pigeons, as well - and that they have their own amusing and individual species’ manner of eating the bread, or tucking it away, for collecting, as the little ones do. 

 

A rough and tumble Valentine’s Day Weekend.

This had been, undoubtedly, a Valentine’s Day Weekend of much-peaceful rest-seeking to follow that would have been seen. 

That being said, I won’t gloat over the highlights and enumerations; I guess that we all came out of it bruised and sore, like it were an erstwhile trip to Holland, and we were ill-fated of our southern California dress clothing, such that we found ourselves out in the cold. I’m not sure what anyone else, of my peers, did, for the holiday, but I’ll divulge that I was much up for the celebratory part in participation, be it what it may or could be, such that I could make of it, although I ended up not going out in my unicorn cosplay outfit, and I ended up talking our heads off, ending up trying to salvage what I could of some spirit of grounding sensibilities that we could all relate to; that we’d all have had about ourselves, yet the spirit of romanticism, amidst this modern day dirge of materialism, and social status stakes of one-upmanship were highly touted distraction events, and I suppose that, of any of us involved, we were all slight to lose our proper and appropriate selves, in the flurry, and the cold. 

Hopefully the spirit of what transpired is not lost in what carries forth, from here on out. In essence, we all desire significantly similar things in life, given a common ground aptitude and shared lineage of upbringing that we had. In that, I managed to bring up, for consideration, some moments which I found to be compelling, in their plainness and simplicity. We were not so much of a quarrelsome and disagreeing basis of identity, and genuine authenticity in character, back in our early years, when we were all children, and we found ourselves fraught with a traumatic separation from each other. 

The weekend, for me, ended up being a labor of dedication and wonderment, as I spoke on voluminous various contexts, trying to manage the scope and coherence of maintaining a public face, and composing a linear contextually relevant basis; a common understanding, for all of those observing, while addressing much-neglected and needful aspects of ourselves, within a limited and containerized context, which seemed to be the overarching story that brought us together, over the course of the days and nights of the weekend, forget the commercial and traditional context of Valentine’s Day, or any truthful establishment that had been violated - we were all in a similar boat, without any uncertainty - all single men, this time around. 

I ended up sleeping outside, and waiting an entire day to recoup my belongings, and start off towards home - a disheveled and obvious failure, though I took pains to win some for the common ground participants and observers at hand. All in all, I couldn’t complain, and I didn’t ravage my living stability status, or reputation, all that much. Hopefully we all got through it well enough. 

Here’s to spring! To new beginnings, through the warmth of the seasons, bringing us some simple satisfaction as through natural cycles of the year. Let it bring us the simple promise of renewal, and rebirth. Thanks for being here along with me, all along. 

I've been cleared for another year at my apartment.

The Housing Authority of the City of Los Angeles cleared my apartment at inspection time, this time around. 

It's been a controversial issue, as it had roiled on since late last year, when [something] came of issue, although the housing inspection is supposed to be an annual thing. I had some adversarial moments pop up, which I outed on social media.

You can imagine... <_ td="">

It's been a central focal point of many of my recent meetings with my social workers, and with such difficulties as I've been having with endless bouts of schizophrenia, I've largely been stuck at meek apologies for not performing better, in terms of cleaning up the place,

Thankfully, the HACLA inspector cleared my place; this view is actually significantly improved over how messy the floor had been, previously. I graciously received help from Alexis and Lionel from Telecare as far as cleaning my place, a week or two ago. :)

and, as well, for the broken windows, which I had done while being stalked and prodded by "people I used to know."

A sorry story, but likely the burden of many of us who came of age at this place in time that it had been: the DSM-IV standard textbook diagnostics of the schizophrenic prognosis of onset at age 30, most typically. 

As an aside, I've since then come to realize and understand that [now <_ -="" also="" and="" as="" at="" been="" case="" childhood="" crisis.="" div="" epochs="" had="" in="" individuals="" it="" lifetime="" mid-life="" nbsp="" of="" onsets="" or="" other="" perhaps="" potential="" previously="" schizophrenia="" such="" teen="" that="" the="" touch="" well="" years="">

What is the correlation here, and why does it matter? 

The significant issue at had is the volumarity of distance according to proximity in place in time; a common [or not <_ a="" abuse="" all="" and="" are="" as="" belief="" better="" both="" by="" comes="" common="" communicatory="" due="" each="" employed="" facet="" fallacy="" for="" from="" given="" graces="" greater="" higher="" i="" in="" individuals.="" internet="" is="" language="" learned="" logical="" modes="" more="" my="" natural="" nbsp="" never="" of="" oftentimes="" or="" our="" own="" p="" powers="" prognoses="" received="" science.="" signals="" stalkers="" statistics="" strong="" subject="" term="" than="" that="" the="" their="" to="" understood="" universally="" upon="" us="" virtues="" we="" what="" which="" would="">

Likewise, a group is only as strong as it's weakest link. 

What matters is that, and such that I oftentimes (tiredly) compose over again, as is this time; such that I'm « supposedly » known for, in the first place.

By now.

What matters to me is the simple objective artifact of truth or in representation thereof. Beyond that, it's come down to forensics and Scientology, letting slip (some-and-at-times) mis-and-un-fortunate slips, which I and others happen to acknowledge.

How does a Christian individual resolve such types of issues? 

This type of thing is quite obvious to obviously Christian individuals. I won't prod any further than that.

Aside from all of this, I'd fancy this article done. Blehh. 

The importance of making good on consumer purchases in integrity in development.

I purchased my monthly General Relief ($221 USD) welfare budget mostly at Target at the University of Southern California USC Village shopping center.

They've got some truly rare gems of offerings, some of these at comparatively better than expected prices.

I bought another RCA Viking ÏÏ Tablette, as I saw it as a great product, comparatively, from last month's purchase of the same item, with which I was able to attain a lot of good Google Play Store downloads in my searches, and I made some good progress in establishing iPigeon outings to further my pigeons carnival aspirations in a slow and dedicated manner, still decades to come, I'm sure, until they're truly carnival-ready pigeons of DTLA.

On the next day, I had been wandering around the nearby Figueroa Blvd. area, as well as around South Park and Grand in DTLA, as it was raining intermittently, and heavily, and it was particularly cold, at that.

I had gotten my feet soggy, and I'd been doing some [somewhat] gravitationally-perpective-vanishing point scaling surveying work with my Bushnell (*my - I found it laying outside) passive laser golf device "thing," (not quite sure of the model itself, but I looked it up, and it was valued at $300). I noticed (since I'm nearsighted in one eye, and mostly regular-sighted in the other eye) that, in intervals, the telescopic features of the concave and convex lenses, with the measured scaling I was practicing, in survey and grade work - which I had determined I was capable in achieving in slight measures; definitely beyond my singular and subjective personal belief. 

[Perhaps there were also ... ? Hmm... well, people were working at the new park over on the other side of the street on Grand at 11th]

; 

I had, (also), collected and retained some of my poop from the night before, which was somewhat a fortuitous and strangely burgeoned development purpose, in that I had started to become a bit irked, acutely; 

...

It was stuff happening over the course of the day, actually. I was upset about this trawled out "showing up where I'm at" thing about last caseworker I had, and her supervisor's supervisor...

Stuff like that. I was more attracted to the supposed higher up 2nd supervisor, but I found the structure somewhat strange; it was as though a bunch of people somehow had to "manage my case," in which case, they're making money off of me; 

Meanwhile I had been getting verbally abused by remote personae; this had been going on for years, decades, even. 

One lady ; ... well, she was my case manager, Rochelle Williams, that she named herself, had stated that she does not clean her own home, and I found her to be - on first meeting her, constituently something of an unprofessional « off-hand » 

Then the group of them collaboratively established me in getting hospitalized for supposed psychiatric emergency; potentially with severely depraved intimations of violence towards my mother in having been committed against me as what had transpired while I was hospitalized. 

She later had it out in the local DTLA newspaper, somewhat ad hoc with a journalistic imaginative freedom, (most perhaps-ly) as Richelle Huizar, a momentary wife caught up in and that had played out as an FBI raid upon a city counilman's data. 

It was a time of November, of « even years » ...? or do these things happen every year? Elections; sorts of stuff. 

It (not to become overly Tolstoy, intentionally), was also a time of significant egotism, strife about class-needs and demands: amongst imprisoned solitary few - here, again, the victimization of the Eastern European Caucasians, as "Jews," [as people would decry, and as have of them], and of the Cantonese Chinese, as Christian missionary-taught Protestant faithful. 

There was a whole lot of "just kidding" glance-backs at the cause as a purpose in life, and a lot of traumatic screams; there were the hospitalizations, much traffic on the streets as violently anti-social and as civic activists beyond lawfulness being attested to. 

There was much of confusion of syntactical structure; we've come a significant farce from claiming so many things of former years; some of these many I'd largely expect to simply be years on, in being younger than myself, my age at this time being age 36. 

There were lies about process fulfillment, as intimated could would did done happening, and that was in words, that it happened, yet of all that, still unfulfilled. 

There were statements as towards, "well, why not just violently revolt against all of us?"

In truth, I'd been the one to not detriment the few who have friendly faces about themselves in my common daily life, as it passes; and at that, many unfamiliar unfriendly, and some, familiarly rude... 

What might could I really say, of some measure; and then it came to suggesting of violence [this had already happened, and it happened to me, first, and beyond compulsion, in to other collaborative efforts, of a suggestively depraved-magnitudes in, in having been established, as purpose as cause for the reason for so many things, to explain, at a certain point of comprehension]. 

On one hand, simply understanding that collaborative efforts had been established, beyond lies, first and foremost; 

I'd say that that's a sorry start to a first-hand disposition and objectively subject of focus in life as a remote, off-camerata personae talker (improper; of usage, perhaps), 

and they'd simply decided to be that way in life. On one hand, I couldn't say that I much could have known much better about them in order to have treated them well, given that I'd not met them, or had hardly been acquainted, or introduced properly, at all. 

Getting in the way of development work.

Given that I'd been made (scientific control environment) fearful of things that matter to me, and that the subject is my mother, and that I'm being targeted, as well;

I'd spoken on a few days, morning through night, as best as my mind could establish work logic productivity purpose to suit, 

I made some people the topic of subject at hand.

Given that sort of discourse,

It's been established that some people, perhaps had been establishing themselves, somewhat, as cannibals amongst a professionalism (of ethics, in work practice) expectation upon my life that is obviously strange, to consider.

* Redundant, (establishing), but that's how it came out, as far as I would, and do have "had attempted," as face-to-face interactions that've been established (*again, lol) as [as overseen], unsuccessfully kiosk-as-personae walk-up constituency that's most common of being claimed as such that would be that to deride, as having had never been established in life; of my mother, for example. Me, as well; fairly much, that they treat me as; claiming further defeats upon me to come, and a hopelessly to-be: unfulfilled American dream of all manners of positive nurturing environment in psychological backdrop that I'm allowed of myself, for the virtues that I'd been raised with, and corrected about, as that there'd been deprecations along the way, yet strange, that they'd attack my mother at her home, to be sure.

That being said, there are small and measurable gains to be made in development work for the sake and manner of establishing ethical small steps in dedication to finery in mannerisms and in etiquette. 

I'd been slated a bum, for various reasons I'd call less than more than they do, as far as words that I'd put it as, yet small steps to be taken; a long road in establishing virtue in purpose in life. 

These things signify aesthetics, authenticity, singularity, as well as developmental purpose in sustainability and progress.

An argument as towards Traditional American Lifestyle Values in - as of - Pigeon Carnival 'Scrum-up' to-speak-of semiotics-and-semantically tomography nomenclature: TITLE: Of a Pipe-Organ / Calliope tonality model's tomographical significance at [personal, (1 person; alone, at that)] scale: ~An Anecdote~

Significant Concepts to develop:
Scalar Pigeon March-Style Whistling in the Modern Tech Lifestyle Nuclear Self;
an anecdote via an early a.m. walk,
The Greatest Kicks of Futbol,
Juvenile's Slow Motion radio hit (early 2000s),
and Zero Gravity Dancing.
A revelation, a deconstruction, a retrospective on coming to a common middle America post-Silicon Valley Tech Lifestyle Blogger's American iGenerational C-Suite differential identity divergence, in an emergent young adult victim-profiler's pidgy-chicken - as pet - persona, in the anecdotal experience of a young Jay Ammon on a morning's walk;
post-traumatic incidence:correlates to:Obsessive Compulsive Disorder:Abnormal Psychology Research Reports:Variance in Anti-Social Neurological Physiognomy Diagnostic Statistical Variance in a Subject, refs. and long-detail report.


A stub of an abstract blog e-pub publication, as for today; I'll update it tomorrow (Friday) after court. Thanks, viewers, for 52 views today; my best day since I started this blog in April.

On this one [blog, to be ttp;precise(usage)], I'll have got my mind and wits about me; this one's apt to be a personal yet non-indulgent delicacy of Francoise as of pigeons Christian middle American tomography folklorical canonical psychiatric coffee-talk scrum.

*ttp: to the point

Please, consider not solely-simply idle-clicking on my advertising patron's ad marketing efforts, but following through with some novel interest support (kitsch-slant realism, I'm sorry), yet I would hope that the intelligence baseline establishment of the truly-calibrated-curated threshold of valid relevance "tech and lifestyle" blog would inspire a belief, in others, as I would aspire to believe, for myself: that the content value and distinction therein of the qualitative and development-driven inspiration for producing such output would lend itself valuations-payoffs in genuinely purchasable ad marketing click-through buyer persona par-relevance mock-up, well enough. 😍


*VARIANCE; as a significant basis STRF#cker name-drop to triple-flush [because it's eating-day] ...

dump butt... 

it's that day of the week, for me. I bought a gallon of milk, and I have no fridge. I rarely fail on that end...

... [the thing that ought to be most commonly visually-self-internally-apparent;] (for me), it was that I first notion would presume that others would have the same image in their head as me, as par-commonality relevance-par-audiahhnce, (francoise) [audience, yet visual-mind apparitionally-becoming, grammatically significant as per past two seconds as towards a truthful coming-to-terms]: I find it is aught to be oftentimes considered to be poor form; the written word, as I publish a particularity discourse,

yet,

I do find an audience, well enough, to parfait my Fontucky Chicken Waffles pigeon waffles-feeding pigeons efforts; to some, "tech and lifestyle blog" is why they arrive on my iPigeon.institute brand-marketing valuation startup blogtastic enterprise on validity variance valid alpha-scrum-up semantical vestiges of what could aught-wise be seenably un-scene-pass-ass-gas as-tastic blog contenting provisions, for a tech-dieting snobby-snot-nosed personae-read-iriae-audibly:hear; visually listenable and, in my opinion, emotionally compelling... stuff,... to be presciocious. (urban dictionary input).



--------------------------------


The Blog:

One of my significant goals in tech'ing out this stated-pigeon carnival au jour al fresco pioneering homestead of urban-and-surrounding Los Angeles, California, is the emphasis on a comprehensive look at what pigeons signify in several merits of validity in terms of this blog.

First of all, [most visibly] the pigeon is a social bird, with our modern days' envisioning of the bird itself as though oft-maligned, yet an austerity symbol of prior civilizations' man-and-bird dependence and reliance upon each other as friend of intelligent design; as the times were [probably] concomitant with Darwin's ideas coming in to the foray, (read more about the British armed forces use of the pigeon at the British Library Blog Online) as is in the case of the use of the pigeon as curated pet and compatriot to days of armed forces' past:today, folklore of racing pigeons in larger established cosmopolitan cities seem, to me, to be common enough to conjecture upon. On that note, the iPigeon domain name brand marketing heraldry, following the original and heretofore pre-established overarching thematic semiotics-relationally correspondent relevance-keeping architecture of this context in the .institute top-level-domain namesake keeping (me, not being one to forsake pre-iterated establishment heraldries of the had-been-established brand name: iPigeon [as concept], in thematic semantical semiotics-contextual-as-par-relevance to the .com of iPigeon (brand name) as established before I came up with the concept [organically], through my own impassioned pursuits and for the sake of the love of the bird.

I hope to not ruffle any feathers. My personal development aims recently, in social media and in my personal recreation and leisure time do feature pigeons as a valid daily destination, yet the context in use here, in this blog, seeks to go beyond the dailies and doings of pigeons about town, and to delve deeper into the relevant scrum of what the pigeon-as-symbol means, from several valence conceptual underpinnings in the greater semiotic contextual bases that might come up in the articles and content I produce on this blog:

• The messenger pigeon
• The racing pigeon
• The sociable bird in daily life in DTLA

This third concept being of variable themes, as conjectural common folklore (at least locally, as such), is that the pigeon is a widely disreputable bird, in that in it's clumsy and oftentimes disorderly pursuit to maintain a stable flock homestead-by-locality - the pigeon, [commonly paired with the much larger and more aggressive scavenger: the seagull] (by contrast) is commonly taken and perceived as a nuisance on account of the ad hoc and likewise commonly ill-fated (as received) social encounter [in the instance] of youth, [perhaps] marveling at the uproar of birds in flight overhead, and the risk of them defecating carelessly from above.

Taken in a more [step-back; austerity] mature view on the topic is the spectacle of the iconic bird-man-feeder-bum: particularly of pigeons (I recall, from a trip from my childhood; up north in California, undoubtedly) and it was a fond memory of family travel and bonding, perhaps an iconic homesteading moment for me, in hearkening a bird-lover-to-be, as I grew up in teenage years, to raise lost-and-rescued lovebirds and other birds such as sparrows, a blue jay; later, a pigeon who was crippled and could not fly. I commemorate this pigeon in my home exhibition as the baby pigeon. He was so cute and affectionate!

That being said, a lover of bird-domesticating husbandry-rescue pursuits would validly attest - there's something particularly to attest-to as towards the innate human spirit in a pursuit that's fulfilled by the loving care for a needful creature.  Call it what you will, yet the love of a baby creature that's been raised by one's own hand: hours, dedication of days upon weeks over years establishes a fulfillment of spiritual life that even a popular saint is recognizable by: there, and for - the love of the small creatures of domestic gardens dating back to monastic establishments in the figure of Saint Francis of Assisi, notable in art history most commonly by the characteristic communal oneness amongst nature - the squirrels and the birds. The pigeon has deep roots in the close-knit society of man's inner peace to the point of religious symbology that's been overseen by the highest authorities on Christian religious decrees and remembrances. We remember Saint Francis of Assisi commonly in Western Art history. I recall seeing his statuary at MacArthur Park, nearby, and at the DTLA hospital off of Grand Ave, by the 10 Freeway.  He is a symbol of the spiritual need to commune with nature, as humans, and he fulfills a quiet austere position in claiming stakes upon the medical field. 

Caring affectionately for a loved one stimulates oxytocin, a natural mood enhancer.  The pigeon is an intrinsic sociable call to interpret literally, aficionados would have it - in establishing true aficionado scene claimstaking thereof: hearking the pigeon in finery pursuit and in excellence of husbandry in the racing pigeon brand marketing schema - that being the iPigeon name.