Lenten practices at iPigeon.institute - 2024

Some people, here and there, over the years since iPigeon.institute had initially been founded, out of my renewed interest in feeding the birds, in town, posed the question, or they had surmised, perhaps, whether, or that - I feed the birds out of some kind of particular connection or affiliation with Catholicism, being that they ostensibly draw a connection between the birds being taken care of, with the imagery of Saint Francis of Assisi, who is typically pictured, in art and in sculpture, as being surrounded by small animals and birds. In addition, a seedy side of suspicions, upon ulterior motives, assertedly at issue, is suggested about the practice of feeding the birds, as we, here, in Southern California, of this generation, have, as well, come to associate Catholicism with child exploitation, and other tawdry deeds, such as homosexuality. I'll address these issues, in the following paragraphs.

I had just received the notion, early in the morning, today, as to update my blog (finally - it's been since late June, 2023, that I'd last published, I believe, since I died early in July (it was encephalitis, or something like that, this time, that I had fallen dead). These days, dying could be, kinda... like that, I've come to discover. Nowadays, out here, Fentanyl is on the rise, and, in my first instance of dying, I'd snorted a bag of what I thought was cocaine - a foolish thrill to marginally indulge, since I'm immune to cocaine intoxication and euphoria, like it used to be. This last time that I died, I had no recollection or warning of that I was going to fall unconscious - I simply woke up, naked, with tubes in me, in a dormitory-like room setting, with young nurses, about my age, and somewhat my peer demographic, although I was very uncomfortable about the situation, since I had no idea, for some time, where my belongings were - being a materialistic guy, whereas I'd been keeping up with important bills to support owning my belongings, it was a dire blow to my identity, I could feel. I was feeble, to some degree, when I had woken up, with some numbness on a couple sections in my leg, and my good hand was weak, in the forearm. Nobody gave me any information as to what had happened, or how I had gotten there. 

All of this being the by and large underlying premise of how I could possibly compose myself, given the consideration of that today is Ash Wednesday, as well as Valentine's Day - two days in which Catholicism looms large, on the calendars. People who are Christian, such as myself, don't make much of Catholic traditions - and, in the case of Valentine's Day, largely being a popular point of reference to a holiday, perhaps, yet, on our calendar, most standard holidays fall on days next to the end or beginning of the week; around the weekends - I'd suppose that this practice of dating national and federal holidays, in the United States, is potentially a context developed from out of our American society's roots in labor and manifest destiny, in which, as I'd come to ascertain - of that it's difficult, over time, in particular, to sustain a laboring lifestyle and workplace practice that works, throughout every day. Compared to Valentine's Day, which is traditional, still, in American society, yet moreso an arbitrary distinction, of a specific date, rather than a planned and more generally described "day, out of some numbered weeks," given the various calendar months. 

This being the case, I find that it's somewhat too misfortunate - this aspect of how I'd unexpectedly died, of all things, and self-sacrifice had been a heavy burden upon me, since I used my iPad Pro for accessibility issues, and, since my passing away had been a tragic experience for me. I'm still being burdened and stalked, in the streets, even by activists, in addition to gang members, although I do expect better outcomes for myself, and, I'd suppose, I could fairly much, not speak for others, since nobody presents themselves to me. 

I've been to mass, before, however, so I somewhat know how it is - it's a bit more liturgical and formal, in setting and ritual, at least, on a more generalized basis, as far as how the service goes. As far as content, I'd say that it really depends - various cultures have their own flavor, at times, so to speak, on religious services. I find that I'm in too dark a mood, on account of that I am a stalking victim, to care much about religion, or of things that people say, or claim to care about. There's nobody that's actually speaking to me, there's just voices in my head. People that speak to me, as voices in my head, are being identified, regularly, as being developmentally disabled, and bordering on retarded. 

 Alright, 

so, that's my story, as for this year. My significantly primary goal is to feed the pigeons, and develop them in to fine birds and poultry, over the years and decades to come. I get the feeling, as such, as though some people read an account like that, and - as well, "so easily" attempt to mount and claim a stake upon what they ostensibly "fear," in fearing death, of some inevitable outcome, whereas they're sitting or standing around, or something - gathering, perhaps, for the sake of stalking me, in town; in turn, upon religious standards, general practices, and expectations that people who are rational, the throughout society - get by on; "live by," in other words. 

I'm not a large-scale influential individual - I have vast and rich facets of my personality that I'm not addressing, even, for much of the time, out of my days, most commonly. I could communicate some various things on many topics, quite well, yet, beyond what I face, as obstacles to my civil liberties and rights, as an American citizen. I "suppose" not that people are so limited in sociability traits, and decency, solely; I imagine that, rather, some of the other "people" in my head, speaking to me, have a grip on rational outcomes, for people who refuse to repent from sinful acts. Death was easy enough - once I'd passed out, and, as I'd said, I didn't even notice it coming, this last time. The first time, it was like a desperate nausea, overcoming me, and that portion of things lasted perhaps a half hour. While I was unconscious, I didn't know, or realize anything further. Once I woke up, it was about 6 nights' stay at the hospital, and I'd eventually recovered, and moved forward, from where I was at, in life. 

Remembering and fulfilling my promise to feed the birds in DTLA, I reconnect with my grounded self.

Personal public relations matters have been a huge and consistent mess, in my personal and private life lately, ever since the approach and passing of Valentine’s Day Weekend this year. 

I’d been coming under personal attacks on a regular basis, within the confines of my personal space and home life; a significant intrusion and invasion of the serenity and stability of my wellbeing and of the development of establishing meaningful relationships to come, based on my outreach efforts I’ve made online, in my social media accounts. 

Even so, with this being the case, there are some glimmers of light that have shown through, in promising ways that I’m looking forward to following through on. It’s been truly a long time since I’ve connected with someone on a deeper personal basis, and I feel like the time is becoming ripe for me to find that sort of opportunity once again. 

As my readers and followers over the years would attest to, my commitment to feeding the local pigeons and sparrows has been one of my long-standing and richly-defining traits that have pervaded the content I publish. Being that my personal life had become a significant detraction from my current life’s aspirations and pursuits, I’d recently been letting the various flocks of pigeons and sparrows down, in that I’d become so significantly exhausted and forlorn, both emotionally and physically. They’d been on my mind, and dearly so, yet I struggled, and failed, thereof, in getting myself up and out for the sake of feeding them their daily bread and other treats that I’d typically regularly have for them. I’d become worried that nobody else in the community had been concerned with their feeding, and that their spirits would be let down, in the scope of a someday promise of that they’d become tame, and more friendly, in years to come, for the sake of this sort of personal nurturing, and for expectations fulfilled; for the rewards that are to be reaped of acts of loving kindness that all sentient and intelligent creatures long for and appreciate. 

That being said, I’ve since rested up significantly, over the past weeks, following Valentine’s Day weekend, and the birds were eagerly hungry and enthusiastic to receive some care, in the form of bread and baked goods that I’d had for them. It feels truly fulfilling, in a spiritual sense, remembering that I had happened upon the Santa Monica hand-tame flock of pigeons one afternoon, next to the Santa Monica Pier.

Today I fed the Manchester at Harbor Freeway underpass pigeon flock, and the Grand Park flocks, as well. Here’s some photos from Grand Park today. 

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. 

Top cute romantic (and 🐣 ‘cheep!’ iPigeon Valentine’s Day outings.

For those who are date-able for this Valentine’s Day’s wringing-out of the wheat from the chaff, we look upon notions of romance and ‘what-if?’ from the outside. It’s seething content. It ought be addressed.

A cutesy heartsy-bwippsies Valentine’s Day ‘Becture,’ if I might say so.

Being that I cover lifestyle and tech in this blog, I figure I’d carve my place out, as a stated romantic, in that such notions just [fwiff] get passed along to me, since I travail some of the cool pedestrian locales, see some talk-worthy spots, get some good golden hour (or less-than) photos of such some spots that I feel like we’re great moments, back when I travailed these spots and found them worthy of flopping down, perhaps, and enjoying the scenery and locale, rather than that I continued on, the unending-athleisure-trek for resources and food, as a [real] bum of the Los Angeles [CA, USA] and surrounding areas. 

Here’s one spot that I 

. . . okay. 

The concept...

would be that this is some sort of romantic walk, through some pedestrian districts, and I’ll update this blog, leading up to the big ol’ Valentine’s Day 2020, just in case - people who read this are [some of them] concurrently [/< _ < \] (despite...) yet, also, why not? [for reals] - date-able and matched lovebirds (or something like that). My thing is that I’m hopelessly literate and publishing blogs, and women might [somewhat] find me attractive, but then I’d be such a topic of contention, imaginably, to some notion of people who do contentious topic life. 

Like this ⬆️ staircase, somewhat by the border of where Sunset Boulevard of Echo Park becomes Silverlake. It’s across from the Micheltorena Street School, (I believe), and I haven’t been up the stairs, to venture and see where it goes to, although it’s obviously a beautifully romantic spot, nice and private, and it’s a perfect segway into adventure, on a date. 

Note that I only advocate heterosexual dating, under the strictest of terms. I’m a bit more mature, in some ‘growing up’ aspects, as I’d consider things, but I also have to contend with un-wieldly bold new engagement guys who think that they have to check me out, something like they’re bold and new, some sort of profession, non-official, no-regalia, they like my outfit, [kinda thing]. 

anyways, 💁  

I’ll work that out at some point...

But then, you go somewhere romantic, like Sunset Nursery.

This is a perfect spot to show a date your romantic side, like you’re developing a memento token item of your affection, fondness, and sustainability, as a date-worthy person.

Continuing onwards, and presuming you started the date in the late morning, or early afternoon-ish (otherwise, it won’t work. This plan), continue up Sunset Blvd. You’ll pass by the Scientology Media Productions Center, where you can display your worldliness to your date, and suggest a future outing to the Scientology Center, for a dual personality reading, or something. 

Then, I’d suggest making your way up Sunset, even further, to the Metro Station, on Vermont. There’s fast food, and a Vons, along the way. 

From here, you have variable choices, for picturesque outings. One would be to stop at the Beverly | Vermont Station and trek down Vermont. My suggestion is to frame yourself as a backpacking vagabond persona, and pack yourselves a sit-down park life thing, over (and after making a slight detour, back down Beverly, towards DTLA, to Temple, at the junction of Silverlake at Virgil (I do this one for the Recycling Center there,, right when I take the junction to Temple - you can say that your old buddy who does recycling showed you this route, absent of actually admitting that you read my blog). 

Down several blocks, maybe a couple of miles, or so, of picturesque boulevard surroundings, you’ll come across the edge of Echo Park, again, (down Temple), where there are featured: some tennis courts. There will almost certainly be people playing tennis, there, amidst a nice, nearly dusk-y (almost golden hour - for photography) backdrop, featuring a beautiful skyline of high-rise buildings of DTLA.

My recommendation is to check out the lawn by the freeway - I camped out here, for a few days, once, and it proved to be a peaceful and serene setting. No drama or flex, whatsoever. There’s a nice scenery walkway, behind the tennis ball courts, where it gets a bit narrow, (a bit scary, perhaps), and a guy could secure his place as the bold adventurer / caretaker of the topic issue at hand, by nudging up close to his loved one. Up at the top of the walkway, there are (used-to-be) open restrooms, [theres one bum there, but no harm, I’m sure - he has a palm-frond encampment, and he might not be present]. But the view, at the appropriate timing, is illustrious and beautiful. The tennis players offer a nice, human novelty of distraction and inertia that throws some variety into the day’s end. 

Up at the top of the walkway. Not far - just past the tennis ball courts.

 Spend as long as you care to, here at the park. But for the sake of timing (and it might be cold, make sure you pack multiple layers of sweaters), you’ll want to make it back over to the bustling districts of the civic center, in DTLA. Perhaps you’ll stop by the Music Center and the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, by night, where there are several lighted fountains to check out and gloss over. 

Grand Park will be featuring an event on Valentine’s Day, as well.

Well, that’s the end of this journey’s option. Check back on this post for more future outings, leading up to Valentine’s Day, 2020.