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. 

A voice for the elitely privileged: maintaining control in the face of superabundance.

 At some points in time, in life, the literary and well-cultured life tends us towards a subconscious attraction for the overly-superficial and temporarily gainful (albeit wasteful, and unsustainable) feelings of indulgence in to elitism.

We (I’d suppose that it affects me, as well, since I just recently had a near-death experience) sometimes forget our proper selves, and we eschew moral and ethical standards of behavior, for the sake of neglecting more fundamental and truthful pains in life, whereby we tend to a surface-level of superiority, it might seem, over what’s otherwise deemed as inappropriate and “not allowed,” in society. Given the pandemic, and civil disobedience movements of the heraldry of this particular time and place, in life, such as the nationwide riots, and symbolic support and morale for things, enforcement of laws has seemed to have become lax, in the face of preserving the lives of those who are there to protect us. Given this, many unlawful types of behavioral attitudes and portrayals of a common individual have become, by minute instances, more common, more seemingly “acceptable,” for their entertainment and pleasurable flouts of exhibitionistic enjoyment, and for tending to baser, albeit ephemerally pleasant (yet only, for some), social and establishment defilements that place us in a less progressive and supportable demographic, in life, for being unnecessary, of a fundamental nature. 

Being Americans (although this blog seeks to embody a globalist outlook and perspective in life), we have much of the best of our times, on a socially widespread and well-afforded degree of pervasiveness. Delving back, even further, we, as millennials, had a young adult-life era of materialistic indulgence and self-serving portrayals of great luxury and wealth pervade our still-nascent nurturing environment; insufficient, that it was, for that we are, by and large, not the financially well-to-do and literal elites of society. We simply had been afforded some facets of these traits, in life, for the sake of embodying equality, with a marketable vulnerability that was allowed fulfillments, of a lackluster resource of fundamental support, for such attitudes, in life. Few people are truly rich, well-off, beautiful, as well as socially graced with truthfully virtuous traits and attitudes in life, comparatively. 

That being said, experiences with, and interactions, thereof, of the truly well-off morally and ethically well-to-do, in society, are scarce commodities. In economics, scarcity is one of the most fundamental valuators of worth, and of value, in life. Much of what is ephemeral and easily accessible is contrary to the things that truly support wealth and social gains in life. What do we seek, to fulfill ourselves, in this day and time? We are afforded so much of what came before, with the Internet at our behest, yet things of higher and more distinctive scarcity, in terms of intellectualism, are still provided at a cost; we could not much disavow our Google Scholar and, even further, Google Books resources of academic intelligence, on one hand, that still cost money, in many cases, yet I find that many people seem to have adopted behaviors tending towards “acting out”,” in life, thus shrugging off the acceptable standards of conduct that personified our commonalities and deserved degrees of penetration and intrusiveness, in sociability, that public schools had afforded us. I didn’t go to an elite private school; some people did. Why act like people can behave themselves in such a brazenly indulgent manner, as if there is no authority in life? True intelligence and composure, in maintaining any sort of rational social engagement profile and demonstrations of appropriate social graces still come at a cost, and require a sober and accountable mind, of humility, rather than pride.

Such corollaries, that have characterized society, and which may have seemed unfair, are portrayed in the slight civilian media circuses such as Britney Spears’ conservatory (edit: conservatorship) Many people came to her “support” apparatus, in life, yet intimations of that a party-life, of a vastly seemingly endless spree of grandiosity and frivolity seem to have been underpinnings of such movements. People would do better to say less, inquire more (politely so), and in some cases, simply disavow that their needs are not being appropriately met, in cases of a pervasive lack of sobriety, for example. 

I’ll leave things at that, and allow for people’s own conscience and recognizance of our liberties afforded to us, of our will and volition in life. Sometimes, things are not quite what they seem, if a most superficial portrayal and portending of ourselves is what is at issue, and at stake, in life (that it may seem). Some people need some certain things, life, some people are content with what they have; some others might need to be restrained, yet I seem to attract an inordinate amount of abuses, and I’d just nearly died, for example, of what ostensibly suggests that I am over-exhausting myself, whereas I most commonly just seek to get out and feed the birds, lately. That’s been going on for years, now. People ought not be so shortsighted such as to expect that behaviors ought not be capably overcome, if they had been, or are, faulty and “not allowed,” in other words, whereas death came so easily afforded to me, such at it seemed to so seamlessly occur within the expanse of things that I would commonly do in life, whereas many people stand to live at least a few, several, or more, perhaps, decades in life, whereas people have so commonly demonstrated, foolishly, that they forget what they are talking about, or what the point of fulfilling the volition to speak to others had been, of such comically foolish terms. True fulfillment would more rightfully suggest contentment, rather than discontent.