Some scraped intelligence, from Apple Search, to feed contexts and discovery in to Google Search.

 Is crypto literally simply founded upon illicit drug use and gang affiliations? - as the commonly, albeit slight, popular belief of the masses, had come to the fore? 

Who hadn’t slighted that belief, for staying up on news feeds during the pandemic, etc.? Who hadn’t experienced some sort of detriment, as a result of gang affiliated individuals collectivizing, gathering, creeping, and targeting victims? It’s been a quite blatant context of unknown extents, in my life; partially apparently due to the inclusion of heroin in to the personas - granted, I’m not completely immune from prosecution here, as a regular methamphetamine user, but I am trying to clamp down this notion of drug abstinence, and solace; of contentment in my standard self. I’ve been seeking ways in which I can instill practices, and disciplined formative traits in myself, in rebuilding a resilient and immune identity, where feigned disbelief intersects with the truth, for how much the remote-sensing quadrants operators and engineers could, or might, imbue me with some higher power that exists, out of a more or less faulty persona that could aught be supposed of a drug-abusing individual, for that these things are deemed to be unlawful. (I had a slight notion of starting beyond, at “albeit,” in this moment). 

A picture gleaned upon Apple’s Search processes suggests a dark intimation of what construes a highly popularized and centrifugal financial behemoth, given cryptocurrency’s moment in the spotlight, for having been novel, whereas now, the details are under federal government scrutiny and international regulations, constraints, and rebuke, of various issues at context, given cryptocurrency.

These sorts of Nijinsky are scarcely so autocorrected, contextually deeply-dug, such as “I doo-doo,” the claim. Who could remember, beyond the novelty? 

Ah, Nijinsky. Had I not even known - is what’s had had had happened - trying to regain traction, here. These autocorrect things, these days, with the introduction of “actual” improvements, bearing upon contextual intelligences, of machine learning, and of artificial intelligence - Apple and Google both, as big tech awrr rawr rawr rough and tough contenders to the popular titles of achievement and progress upon linguistic and visual perceptual GANs (Generative Adversarial Networks), and ooo… I had a dedicated and obsessive adversary, whereas I was more intent, on the keyboard, upon a “ab” (awkward, but that’s how I projected, in vivo, the sentence ought to be composed, d hoc, and improvisatorily, of an organic discovery and discernment upon the topic, thereof, and for that matter. 

Remembering? Well, that’s a bit tough, when I’m me, of the standards that I’d imposed upon others, whereas I’m a skilled typist, on mobile, and these autocorrect things… fwoppin’ bwopp? Priceless…?! et cie novelty-minded crumbs and knickknacks, of the minded-so aught of, thereupon, of outpacing this detriment - we have the written accord, of the textual nature, and composition’s … umm… there’s some legal term for this sort of dispatch. Not quite disposition, or exposition, butt shittle? … “even better,” it had once come to pass, upon the notion of cruising, at issue, of a legal matter… 

With that sort of GAN at formative construct, in nature, we could just opt to rebuild life, from the bitsies, and the pieces, of what had transpired, of on piss? Muah. 

Just maybe. 

But okay. That was an example of a Generative Adversarial Network, I’d suppose, and it just popped up, out of convenience. I’m the gritty-enough (un-)editorial drafts-type and typist to render that rawr awrr rough and tough little bitsies, crumbs, and knickknacks, fweef! 

And now, who could remember anything, once again? What matters? Who cares? All things had been taken care of, here, butt shittle? It’s all taken care of, here, already. 

Alright. The latest topic is that a man encountered me, the other day; a guy of a common; a more common sort, that I am, I’ll just be upfront about it - at least, of what he presented to me, but at least (once again - the GAN context impetuous underlying developing purpose at stake, of becoming less relevant, here) - at least he had artistic aspirations and offerings about himself. That was decent, I could say. What he said, though, of a different establishment, of the acquaintanceship, was that “it’s easy to hurt people.” Disregarding all else, that was an offensive superficial thing to flout, I felt. Bringing it to the current moment, I’m reminded of that I feed the pigeons, and the sparrows, and I try to sustain life, of these birds, out in the urban wild, as it were. These blogs are supposed to sustain the purpose and prescience of the guy who does that (me), and I happen to be the guy who does that, as me. I’m pinioned, as a guy who thinks of himself, to an unexpected extent, I suppose, and I guess that that makes me one who disregards people. I just feel like it’s appropriate. I did it to the guy, at one point, because he was flouting a certain type of inflection and intimation upon me, of which I find useless and condescending, whereas I had this slight pigeons and friends home art exhibition thing that I use as my sociable ladder, to climb in to casual civic “bed,” as it were, as for someone opening up to a notion of really getting to know me - the birds, the feeding, the art, the blogs, etc. 

Possibly, however, “the guy” has some of that sort of trait to him, in and of his own right, it’s just that I was a bit put off by his casual nature. It’s like, doo-doo comes first, then nobody can remember anything anymore. 

Ha.  

I couldn’t even… I just imagine that likewise, nobody else could, except that sometimes, I have this backing of a transcript dictaphoneur specialties-professionalism, in “somebody’s” higher authority stance, over me, whereas I experience problems, commonly, for enjoying myself, for example, on, like, a work day, and work day hours, for that matter, whereas I try to uphold a definition and reputation of a standard-classed man, for the people, and I let off flouted bitsies of the truth, in my admissions about stuff that I’d otherwise be known to do. 

The point, beyond all else, however, is a bit simple, of a premise. It’s about personal freedoms, somewhat, and it’s somewhat about boundaries. Now, given, I was wearing women’s balloon pants, and a poncho, and I looked a bit uncommon, as for myself. I don’t know what it was, I suppose. Maybe it was the smoking. The smoking in the household thing. I didn’t partake, because it was a pookie (a blown glass pipe used for smoking crystalline or resinous [oils] substances) - I’ve got no taste for that. Maybe that’s the non-pareil of establishment, here, supposing that people think, whatsoever. 

Alright, that was French, I’ll admit. Butt shittle? Not all that much for the better, as it turns out. But I did pull out a Nijinsky, and who could refrain from researching that thread of intelligentsia bitsies… 

*~<°^•>=/* just imagine, though, Nijinsky. Some people know Nijinsky like we were brought up on Lé Coqué-tard. Russian imperial, versus French modernism ex imaginative fwopp-lore. 

I suppose that, in the end, I’m just trying to find my suitable place, in the aesthetic of suitable geometries or placement in serendipity, amongst others, and I didn’t even watch the movie. I don’t, no. I doo-doo. I don’t quite understand… butt shittle? Some people just don’t read my shit, is what’s (I guess), the issue, whereas it’s so seemingly awfully compelling to the lower mindsets of individuals, and of responsibility. 

 

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.