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.

I have borderline people in my head, back at home.

 People who know me, of my recent mockup self, know that I toe a contentious line about my narcissism, being that there are a couple, or so, variants of narcissism, and even at that, given "whatever," about this guy, or that, and we're all sufferers of the same ailment, to some degree; yet each of us would prefer our own brand, of things, when it comes to who's personality traits, and ideations, etc. end up being the more fruitful and attractive persona in society. 

The textbook Narcissism spectrum is a 5-step set of distinctions in depravity, or misfortune, as it were, pinioned about the topic spectre of Narcissism (to reiterate) at issue. It begins with ...

Well, I don't remember. But there's grandiosity, delusions of grandeur, borderline personality disorder, as the middle trait, then psychopathy, and lastly, paranoid schizophrenia, as the final trait that defined the narcissist, and their inevitable outcome, with the psychiatric industry. 

No? This is a poor topic, for some, or, in some regards. Yet, I constantly deal and cope with a reality of having to accommodate people who destroy any semblance of a proper relationship that had been established, whereas those moments seem to have lost importance, for the person. People had been working overtime, and at all hours, trying to offer in a therapeutic approach, to no avail. Heartbreaking attitudes, sadistic fantasies, and many various sorts of care to abuse people, from a networked and arbitrarily tangential outlook and outset, from the core identity of a single victim; finding casualties in innocent bystanders, friends, relatives, etc. 

That's all I'll say; just my input, as to acknowledge that it's still going on, on this day. 

Being a 'Normie' Guy Amongst the Age of Hormonally-Enhanced Male Subsets.

 Of on Dick Big Now, 

I, personally, could maintain that I'm not quite up to, or for it, given that my underlying psychological sexual affinities draw much closer to extended foreplay and orgasm denial.

Not that I'd been having much opportunities in heterosexual dating arise, any time recently, but I'm banking on that people live longer, in general, over time; I'll improve in my life's circumstances, over time, and I'm [unbeknownst, previously] just a particular someone who's time has come to a generational halt: the ones who enforce these types of upstart cells are jackin' juice, trying to keep up with law enforcement surveillance detail, and sometimes, or for correcting physical abnormalities inherited from birth, or from youth, in their nurturing environment's circumstances. 

I'd casually experimented with Testosterone supplementation, on one occasion, in life, as a dumpster digger treasure-hunting bum, digging through a dumpster. I found a 1/3rd (or so) syringe labeled as testosterone in a dumpster, and I happened to be in the Fairfax district of Mid-City Los Angeles; nice neighborhood, so I figured, "why not?" I took it as that the testosterone was for external and topical use. When I got home, I rubbed some of the creamy substance on to my shoulders and chest, since that was the area in which I would have liked a bit of growth and improvement on. Over the next day, or so, I had developed a somewhat buzzing, electric feel, around the area, and the muscles that I'd applied the cream to had a dull ache about them, as if I'd worked out, which I hadn't, much, besides that I was out collecting recyclables. 

These days, I'm a bit bulky hefty, in my upper body, and I'm significantly muscular in my legs. I go on long walks around town, several times a week. 

Cheap trick shit, of a hooker, or « something like that », a Dick Big Now would commonly have of it. As for myself, I feel that I would be troubled significantly more so, if my penis was getting in the way of my life, in common scenarios, come to pass, as they do, all the time. For that matter, I'm circumcised. I don't have to worry about things in regards to my privates that my parents hadn't taken care of, already, and also based on what's known about health. 

"The human race is in peril because of people who use drugs religiously."

 - unknown male observer, 4:55 p.m., May 20, 2021.

At some point in time, I feel like many of my life's circumstances and problems do, in fact, arise from out of other people in life who take issue with me. The latest was just yesterday, where, the day prior to yesterday, I had serviced a client I'd met through craigslist, and he bore some resemblance to some other guy I'd known, previously. I don't really gossip about people; I try to keep it Christian, but the circumstance was that there was a debate over who was the most handsome tweaker Nazi of downtown L.A., or "something like that," whereas I'd garnered some support for myself, in the run for achievement of that end, in life, "supposedly," based on that women's remote personas were being portrayed as such. 

So, I get pwned sometimes. It's most typically portrayed to me, in my mind, as *some guy." At times, the man is shielded of his identity towards me, yet only for an ephemeral extent of time. Inevitably, the man is ousted of his veil of secrecy, and intimations of that a law enforcement officer, or some sort of surveillance agent, had been figuratively embodying the interlocutor, imitating his affect and formant through means of technology, whereas the person whom I am familiarized with had been, in turn, himself pwned by surveillance, and a drama in which he is presented with me, imminently myself, somewhere else in the world, by most means of imaging (typically). For as much as the portrayal of me is worth, of for « thoughts | imagination | beliefs » sake, the man finds the novelty of me timely, and an adjunct to ascending the ladder of sociable capital and narcissistic supply. 

Inevitably, when the ruses of transpired suggestibility become played back at me, I'm so commonly simply prepared for the relentless siege upon my freedom and autonomy, being that I am (and "we" are, for all intents and purposes) the same age as these people (I'm currently 39 years old), and I'd obviously grown up, as a child, expecting that I'd be living a family life, dating, settled down, working, more or less: standard stuff in life; I feign existential circumstance as though I'm now babysitting my school days' peers, as an adjunct mental health professional (although I'm unpaid for that task, and I hadn't gone through formal education for it; only personal pursuits in study of psychology and abnormal and antisocial personality disorders, of which subject had been of considerable aspirations, for me, in learning, given that I suffer from bipolar disorder, myself. The difference is, is that I'd had private medical insurance afforded me, through my parents, during my upbringing, and I'd been more situably appropriate for standing in on abnormal psychological stubs of egotistical and grandiose psychology traumas of my former peers, whereas I'd had a streak of wild financial and romantic successes, quite commonly, in my former early adult years. People became sick of it (guys, for the most part). These were guys that knew me as a different person. Don't people leave high school and establish their furtherance in successes in life, for moving forth in education or employment, via some route of expected progression throughout adulthood? 

It's trite, by all means, yet I sometimes emerge as the « graces-bestowed » charismatic self-aggrandizing and condescending narcissist.

Shit as it is, compared to intimacy and affections, we're only as much as handicapped could suppose of the situation, of that the belief of « sight unseen, winner take all », although, upon offering things a second thought, or a few seconds of stepping back, and establishing composure, it's apparent that remote-sensing-initiated encounters levy us handicaps, at best; we're not afforded our imminent concurrency of our physical environment, for one; forgetfulness, listlessness, and glitches in thought processes and memory are common shortfalls in such a developmental environment, where drugs are undoubtedly most commonly involved, and humility is a character trait and virtue that had perhaps not been imbued upon the unfortunate children inside of them, abused of that many of us had been, of some sort, and that it had gone without acknowledgment, or corrections, throughout and up to this point in our early middle professional semi-adult lives. 

Other people are treated differently, by these guys. The entire premise of American values, at their most fundamental, is fraught with abuses and dissidence, through these young men, as if virtue itself was disposable, and extending in to quantum mechanics and communications intelligence industry and productivity means we're somehow on our minds, whatsoever, as children that we had been, as we knew each other, whereas people still find my childhood self relevant, somehow, and I'm left with only supposing that misfortunes had befallen them, as hapless abuse victims of their early developmental and nurturing environment's had been all that they realize and care for; our fathers being faulty, for as much as they could have been afforded in life, whereas now, excuses of merit and attainment are null concomitants in life, and expectations, in intellectual actualisations and capable selves, that we could, and ought be, are falling short of ourselves, whereas the tape roll may or may not have some active attention and oversight | followup, if you will, by some distanced third party objectivity mind about the matter. 

In a more effective, impactful, and well-developed economy and society, intelligence would be expended liberally, as though we could play with the notion, while gaining in merits, for that developments, upon efforts, were the pleasurable pursuit and receipts of our blockchain ledger of harmonic tariffs expenditure that come to pass. At some point, artificial intelligence and machine learning superiority takes precedence over human-naked capable self, where quickness in perceptions to success ratios are commonly measures of intellectual merit, of just one form of merit, in intelligence quotient (IQ), and where cloud compute ephemeralities of remote sensing persona and presence, peering in, upon us, is the inevitable consequence of which we are afforded the liberal freedom of will, as it were, and given of that we are allowed our freedom of will, by our nation's constitutional foundry and formative statements. Surely, as some sort of anti-nationalist coup were to establish itself, we blurry the lines of distinction of identity, place and time, which had been regarded as self-indulgence partitioning of needs-based fulfillments pursuit, and "privacy leisure," such that I commonly end up finding myself commonly still pleasuring myself, watching pornography, whereas I'd had "good enough" relationships and attainments in life, to accept furtherance in needs fulfillment, such that I don't find, as a remote sensing abuse novelty, for men whom I'd used to know, in teenage and childhood years. 

Surveillance causes entropy.

It takes energy (heat, in essence, of some various sorts and forms). Sure, we take drugs; we "need" drugs, for that energy (our neurotransmitters and parasympathetic nervous system) are being actively monitored and interventions are brought forth, of our concurrent selves, given life. The monitoring, in and of itself, requires that energy is lost, in the process of observing and analyzing these slight and subtle broadcast and radar energetic signs, of ourselves. Many of us have personality shortcomings, of our upbringing, such that we find ourselves lacking in attaining the suitable and acceptable selves that we'd like, and remote sensing monitoring is supposed to be for the sake of improvement, not for abuses of others.

People appreciate their own sickness 

in the same manner that a smoker has affections for their own smoke-flavored phlegm, during a bout with pneumonia.

Sure, a guy might have a bigger dick than me, and I simply don't care for it. Who could blame me? I'm fine with my own submissive fantasies; I work these things out, over time, and I learn what truly pleases a woman: being self-sufficient, self-reliant, and non-problematic, whether it be in bed or not, and how much of bedtime relations ought be a focus within the scope of a long-term relationship, anyways? 

I'd shrugged guys off, recently, of a mounting psychic attack regime of on dick big, going on months, now, that it's been relentless like that. Is the threat of my conservative Christian nature aspirations in life seriously that much of a threat to men, of such a large swath of them? There are other men who are employed, for example, looking in on my topic issue remote sensing contextually, and I must say that the standard|-ly| employed demographic fares much better in resilience and self-esteem. 

Let's face it, stalker guys. We're not quite allowed the full freedom and agency support of the authorities, themselves. I don't know what's going on, of on dick big, but I'd suppose that it's something as simple as Freud's plighted child and infant stage dilemmas, whereas I don't know a whole lot about masturbation and sexuality of a time before I became cognizant and linearly-minded, of the world. That happened around age 5. One of my first memorable characteristic knowledge contexts was that I knew how to pleasure myself. I became a classical pianist, and my hands were imbued with extra focus, for example, given the extents of my knowledge base and repertoire of activities I might have, and did - engage in. Musical knowledge is one of the 8 or 9 intelligences, after all, and people otherwise appreciate musicians, and their lives and livelihoods.

It's like, they can't stand the fact that I'm me, and I receive pleasure from up and out of myself, sometimes. It's a sad thing, to be sure; if I wasn't me, and I had to be myself, as well, of some notion, but people are supposed to have something fair enough and decent about themselves, in any case. I worked hard in learning, growing up. As hard as I was capable of; yet people had been doing this "talking at me" thing since my childhood, I'm sure. All of this sort of knowledge base will inevitably become formalized in the future, and acting out in one's "private" time would surely reap additional consequences, once the statistics in communications intelligence become analyzed for cost and casualties incurred, compared to benefits of « other cells » of people who were allowed to operate differently. Keep in mind - affecting me, as a personalized favorite target has very scrum little effect on society in general, whereas common society moved forth, regardless, and despite that abused like this are playing out. Sure, it's a "easy" target to exploit - imagining that "talking at someone" is as good as "actually" speaking with someone, but you guys are mentally and emotionally unwell and immature. I say that there's some dick big and Freud's Penis Envy, or some other genitalia-sordid context underlying the thing. My penis is just standard normal, by any measure of evaluation. It's just standard, but was sexuality simply this much the issue at all times, every day, though? Women are going to learn standard and appropriately proper "stuff," sooner or later, and weirdos will be sorted out and fall short in effecting well and nurturing relationships, for courting abuses and psychosis, inevitably of that these guys smoke or shoot their drugs, whereas I offset the potential for risk and danger by limiting myself to snorting, and I honestly just don't, and can't - [quite] get that high. I don't get as high as these guys, anymore, and I feel that they are getting that high, smoking and shooting their drugs, or whatever, and sexually abusing me, as a false idol, whereas I become the representative of the sexually-abused person, in judgment over them, for the fact that sexuality had been repressed and reprimanded of me, whereas I grew up comfortably, in pleasuring myself, and these guys are trying to boycott and abuse even that, of myself. 

For parents of antisocial personality types - an outlook and perspective from the front lines.

Being a parent is challenging, and perhaps a long-gone memory. (20 years, 10 years... I couldn't narrow it down, completely). 

Pigeon-Toes!!!

I'd say that I could relate, though, in that I used to raise fine pets - dogs and birds. I've raised a few litters of dogs, and dozens of birds - for me, it was lovebirds, but also several wild specimens - a blue jay, a sparrows, a hummingbird, that didn't quite make it.

The point is, is that I'd developed what I'd assert, is an advantageous position in the foray of nurturing environment - coupled with intensive personal studies, outside of academia - of abnormal psychology, both to repair damages that had been committed upon my youthful years, and, in turn, to understand the underlying psychology of the personality types that form, out of the young adult mind of the millennial, the later generations, with keeping in mind, the challenges and spectrum of diverse ecology of the mind's apparatus, within the scope of the nuclear family, as well as the extended family type. 

My type (currently) is clean-cut, work-ethic minded, heavily invested in laborious deeds, and acts of merit to sustain my station in life, as a homeless person, yet at least, that I'm a free person. 

My shortcoming is that I have a stimulant abuse problem, although I don't smoke or shoot up, only intranasal usage. (Perhaps once per week, currently). 

I hear voices. 

When I was a child, I was directly bullied for acting out, as far as that I imitated gang and popular culture behavior of the hazing and subjugation of females and cultural others. 

I've made my peace, as a sober man, in practicing the 12 Steps. 

etc. 

What I can report about this generation, is that many types of likewise-aged individuals have not yet come clean, and she'd off the young-life prejudices and joking natures of discriminatory and racially-slight attitudes. Many of the "unique" subjects, of my demographic, are being bullied in their own ways. 

Drug use is an obvious mechanism of this. 

Sexually acting-out also plays a large role in things. I can assert that many types of social strata cases, of your children, are fraught with identity crises of various sorts - narcissism, antisocial personality, borderline psychosis - I see individuals regularly who are speaking in to the air "at nobody," expecting a response. 

Now, I'm sure that you all know that they are not alone, in speaking themselves, and expressing their feelings and thoughts. Yet, the trouble is, is that they are largely loose cannons. Petty thieves, relentless drug abusers, sexually-indulgent sorts. I had been all of these things, myself. I do try to be a role model for your children, when I encounter this sort, but I oftentimes have a challenge of establishing that a higher power, in the social establishment, and in religion - exists. 

It's a challenging world out there. 

I'll keep people updated, as the years go on, with the results of my efforts surely to produce recognizable results, alongside other modalities of treatment and intervention that largely go unspoken, between parents and their case workers. 

Who pays the toll of the confounding [f]actor's role in a role-weary incompetent or insane subject?

Somewhat - 

Alright, « okay » like, I really needed that (most times), or, like, people really [don't] bother to conceal their formants, and self-such character-isms of speech and poise, but I don't really get the lack of sociable attainment, the thing about "just getting it done," 

Rather,

There's this vast contingency of avoidant (I'd forgotten about that one [of abnormal psychology]; the avoidant, the passive-aggressive, the decades gone on, in lacking sobriety and 12 Steps fundamentals, as life. People really do live their lives off of the 12 Steps, when they're in the supportive arms of truly good-meaning sober individuals - I've always self-managed my drug abstinence, because I have a hard time speaking with strangers, and some aspects along those lines. 

For that matter, it feels like you guys are abusing the child of my life-in-suspension - I used to pull Tarot cards for this type of thing. But that was years ago.

Then, I became a person who simply never does the thing that is so characteristically immature, and short-sighted. I did the most menial of digital life-styling reputational upkeep, in cases where I had done others wrong (undoubtedly while in the midst of a manic spree on life; by all means, un-sober): I went back and apologized to the person - digitally, at that, since it was my digital Life up for self-criticism, and for matters of integrity of my self.

The point being, is that, all-in-all, I did do those things, and I could move forth in life flinching with the sour memory of those things lingering - nonewhatsoever. 

Okay, there is this guy, and one other guy, I owe them each about $40-$45. Eek. That's literal money I owe, to leverage my business ethics statistical "perfect," otherwise.

But some of you guys (and ladies) - sheez, ... I guess maybe you guys (and ladies) perhaps never made it out past suburbia; whereas [I seem to have recognized destitute and laboring] {some guys} I've seemed to recognize, out in the open wild, while I'd been "trekking," and how natural the interactions were - just in passing; just maybe, it was "them."

Those kinds of guys don't have this passive-avoidant histrionic persona that pops in to my mind, and acquisitions some arbitration or leverage about my wherewithal and my going-for-show-pigeons better pedigreed self.

On one hand, there's the notion of replicable personae-identities, yet who would be comfortable knowing that I simply « believe » these horrible things about people? Some people.

Some people who don't really do Facebook « well, or properly ». And then, there's this whole thing about speaking in to the phone's speaker {thing} and the expectation that the audio clip-bytes reach me?

 On one hand, I can concede that this is about as "crazy" as I'd come off, given my willingness to « once again » relate the long-windedness and intricacies of a schizotypal personality disorder, such that I have; whereas most people claim that they don't hear voices, whatsoever. 

That's it, though. That's the limit of how « actually » crazy I look; it costs me a blog of relevant content, somewhat, to digress, again, in to abnormal psychology, once again, yet here it be, plain and simple - I'm 38 years old now, so's most people involved, or better (or lesser of consequence, for being third-person removed) - most perhaps-so. The opposing face-to-face second person disposition is truly a rare one, but I do sometimes speak at long-winded lengths about formative aspects of all expected contextual realities and foundational underpinnings, which lead to critical analysis of the "other" person, at hand, but that's not to say that many people who encounter me don't actually mean me harm, given a turn-of-my-back to them. They do, and I realize these things, even as they trouble me.

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

Then, I inevitably get some web-crawler "bot" hits, after publishing the post to social media, and oftentimes, a colloquy ensues. But I'm moreso that I'd just rather be done, and done with the issue. I could do coffee, at a coffee shop, and forget about it, over a sweet one.

My blog stats - minutes after posting the blog and sharing it to social media.

It could even be a home-spun drink, in a recyclable bottle - but these types of sociable accommodations just fail to get done.

What im im see, here, though, is an imminent troll-of-all-web internet activity, for lack of a better term, in the all-hours readiness to check out my latest blog, type of thing - which could only be « somewhat » okay. The thing of the internet of all hours "thing" is a tired subject - I'm commonly neurotically fraught with the consequences of having done a night of the internet of all hours "thing," and the cost of repairing that deed, with ionic minerals, with medications, with attending personnel and professionals about my mental health patient status, not to mention my social worker - these are all tolls of being improprietuous of what ends up being "for my sake," in which case I have to answer for my [obvious] shortcomings.

The desire to shield one's identity behind remote sensing technology is a dark, loaded vehicle, carrying the impetus of the person's wherewithal that could have been - for having jaunted a fresh, new, identity through stimulant abuse that many find so compelling; yet many also fail to remit a sustainable [or any some-such] contribution to society, whether it be digital or real-life. For that matter, I find that my schuzotypal self commonly lends it's nature to a more familiar term, in that I perceive it as an augmented reality - one where a person's reputation could « precede » their physical presence. Sometimes the voice {conscience} hanging over the shoulder of the guilty is a partner-in-arms, with the self of such person. 

Fleeing the iPigeon nest of home, once again.

One of my inherited and inlaid tenets of a sound psychology in the context of a home as nurturing environment hinges upon the simple assertion of that individuals deserve to be treated with kindness,  understanding, and respect towards their internal stability and trust capacity for themselves to thrive,  as internalized beings of their own volition and personal fortitude, as well as for the trust to rely well upon others, given the grace of a kind and gentle home nurturing environment. 

I'm of the belief that there is, typically,  no argumentative basis,  upon being formed and expressed,  out of anger,  that could have not been resolved better through simple patience, communication, and kindness.  I recently fled home,  after being significantly berated and yelled at by my sober living home / transitional housing manager. He pulled out significantly faulty and self-righteous claims over me,  and what had been going on with what he saw as faults of myself,  for not cleaning my bed,  and for letting my room and living space come slightly disorganized. 

He made claims of impossibility,  as I had received them - such as that he accused me of not having bought groceries for the place,  whatsoever.  Patently and simply not true.  This stance of a claim over what the truth of the matter was, given that I had been purchasing groceries for the place - left me with the disappointments I'd experienced as a child,  growing up,  and knowing well enough,  what appropriate treatment would look like,  but rather that anger and violence would, instead,  ensue out of the conflict that had developed,  of a child and caretaker (parent) dynamic, which I felt was a sorely wrought wound to uncover,  on the part of the housing manager,  with me as a client.  

That being said,  I went out in to the world, and failed at understanding the dangers that ensued,  as a result of expressing my life,  through my mobile devices,  whereas that my iPad Mini had become an object of targeted desire,  and I discovered it lost,  after finally sleeping,  for having been up for a week.

I woke up,  the next morning - fraught with the trauma of a dramatic complexity of one of Dante's infernal layers of Hell,  yet uniquely my own,  in the context of my own secret and subliminal fears.  

For some reason, beyond conceivable means of understanding,  I could not intuit where I ought to set out,  upon waking - for the sake of finding my way home.  I'd been imbued with the sense that I lived at Apple Computer headquarters,  of which there was a local establishment,  thereof,  in the South Park, DTLA area.  Somehow,  the context and reality of home had been significantly at issue, with the looming architecture,  and reflective glass doors seeming to suggest that there was an identity unknown, and exclusive,  perhaps,  of the institutional use of said architectural design.  

A Trojan Horse cryptic riddle had fully embedded itself,  of my vulnerable station in life,  having been woken up,  of the daylight,  whereas I desperately required significantly more sleep,  and I had been awake in to the early morning hours, posed with matters of ethics and loving-kindness towards others at issue,  for me,  as a challenge to follow up on,  in order of that I maintain my best,  most proper, and respectable self-image within the context of critical analysis of my Scientological worth,  as that fate and my fortunes would recall,  throughout life. More than that,  the micro-climates and gravitational harmonic suspension of stable barometer had been notably upset,  even during the daytime,  leading up to this night, finally ended with sleep. Many automotive vehicles had been notably put to their last legs,  for showing up in my walking vicinities,  that I noticed of them. The integrity of the tires and body suspension, grinding, and squealing, of the weight collapsing upon itself.  It happened to be the Ides of March. The moon, high overhead,  as that it were visible; and hot on this day, that of the weather.  

My personal shopping cart also fell subject to detriment,  as it broke upon itself,  the spokes,  and the axles.  I carried a heavy load of recyclable materials,  as I traveled to and from the recycling center, although I did make it back in to town,  and safe,  well enough,  to purchase another cart. 

I took the loss of my iPad Mini with grace,  having been much of the constitution of speaking on positive reinforcement psychology and well-being,  as well as of Christian virtues and tribulations, and of faith, in deeds,  words, and acts.  The stages of loss were contexts in my mind - very familiar.  

Thankfully, although posed with the context of coming to terms with my loss of material goods,  I had good graces,  aside from the superficiality of being attached,  and emotionally volatile,  as an alternative perspective that could have, I'd have taken on,  otherwise,  given a less stable foundation of support and expectations on me,  being that I'd been linearly conscious and attentive to the higher powers of authority and oversight, over the span of an entire week - my station in life,  one of consequence to live out,  for obviously best circumstances that could conceivably be offered me,  given that my attitudes and personal statements,  and the soundness, thereof,  not impinge upon common expectations and establishments of decency,  of which there was, thankfully, richly well supported,  and hours to come,  and had passed,  of the support of higher intelligence,  and of the rebuke of depravities; we were strong,  together.  

The iPad Mini,  all in all,  would be seen to have been ephemeral,  and a childish thing to publicly bereave. I packed up,  and moved on,  and slept for the days that ensued, until now. 

  

Cleaning up the wreckage of my life.

The landlord for my home had granted me an additional month to try and salvage my tenancy here, at Messiah Apartments. 

I was very thankful to my social worker for getting the extra month for me. Prior to this, I had been going through the Kübler-Ross stages of loss (although I'd state, for posterity, that I believe that angst, instead of anger, as it is, according to this current Wikipedia link, stated as such. I don't react as angry unless it's a huge row against me.

It was a difficult time, as I have legitimate procrastination issues, being that I'm schizophrenic; it's been documented - that I have difficulties in cleaning my apartment. I am constantly distracted by persecutions from my former peers from my K-12 school years. The representative from the housing authority didn't have any sympathy for the fact that I experience these voices in my head as stalkings and harassment. 

So much of myself was put in to lost dreams, here, at my apartment. 

I'm still experiencing daily abuses in life from distanced former peers; just but a few, but the psychosis of the depersonalization and passive aggressiveness grates on my capable mood. I was starting to believe that I could begin living life drug-free again; it had not been since 2016 that I was completely drug abstinent.

There was the early morning fanfare of a plausible home exhibition pigeon-extravaganza; minimalist, museum-esque, open front doorway, the madman's closet of strumming through the scuck fluzz of the mess. All of this, except that I truly had visions of this place being much moreso minimalist: simple wall-exhibitions of the illustrations and earlier blog works. It was supposed of as being somewhat an extension of the downtown Los Angeles, California, USA monthly Art Walk.

Then there's the pigeon carnival aspiration of fixing up a prime local brood of pigeons. I haven't given up hope, yet, though. The other day, I sprayed the dirt nearby my home where the pigeons roost by the freeway for ticks.

The nearby pigons' roost by the freeway at 9200 Grand, 90003.

Fast Company recently published a relevant article regarding the distractibility of creative individuals. 

The gist of it is that creative individuals have a lower threshold of sensory input capacity which dictates that the individual will perceive and pay attention to smaller minutiae of sound or sensory input. The study was done on a small control group of individuals; all apparently of a particular sort demographic. 

A weekend of trifle, blasphemous drama - the various things of the linear mind date time and identity - to Pasadena and then out of town.

Things have been getting to have been seen as an emergent crisis beyond attestment at my home, and 

:

in leaving, there were others in various locales to consparige the debacle. 

Although seeming nothing (much) new, there was an alts-jours carnival in establishment of being set up on the foray of my turn street, at home, at Broadway at 90th - stretching to Manchester. It was an unexpected and somewhat beauteous thing to imagine that there was a carnival simply, as such - right outside my front door, just up the street; me with my pigeons carnival blog and app in development. 

I had achieved several of many things that ought have needed to have been done by now - this day being Sunday the 14th, and many of my endeavors having been disparaged of interrent, latent, or otherwise - various debacles of a less merited cause for me to have attached myself to during those times.