Enabling Talk-as-you-type accessibility functioning on Android devices.

This is perhaps a useful set of features to discover, if [perhaps, to reiterate], it might seem as if brute Force disturbances are affecting your Android device, and, as well - functions as a suitable intelligence feedback partnering mechanism as text is typed out, delivering interactive feedback. 

At the outset of initiating the feature, there seems to be an intermittent barrage of claims of "Alternatives are dismissed," "Alternatives are available." Perhaps the device will learn intelligently to not do this, over time. On further inspection, it appears to lay out a backlog of enumerated menu options. Hmm. I'll get back to this blog, at some point, after shutting down. I'm going to have a bologna sandwich with cheese. 

Some quaint iPigeon (miniatures) of rustic notions [found at Garfield Park, in South Pasadena].

Here are some scratch raw images of imaginative ad hoc composition, for the mind's eye to decipher, of what I consider to be suggestive of rustic life, of centuries past, or, perhaps, of non-industrialized small locales, of a largely idyllic (or mythic) nature-bound setting. 

What do these images, in their obscurity of definition, suggest, of their subjects and composition? I'll let the readers' minds discover it's own slight fantasy world, for themselves.

The impact of coronavirus has left it's mark upon the casual downtown Los Angeles and surrounding areas.

What's one to do about this impending and ominous, though obscure, threat of contracting a potentially very deadly virus?

On one hand, we can embody some rational common sense about the means and scope of the impact of this vast news-story topic drop, and see it for what it truly is, to a large degree. First of all, for a pandemic to have reached so many nations, to such a degree of repute, such that the disease itself could be identified as having stricken a victim, tagged and classified as such, is somewhat murky, I'd say, within the scope of understanding that it came out of a Chinese fish market, to begin with. 

People who are unfamiliar with Chinese meat markets would ostensibly view such a foreign and unfamiliar cultural facet as strange; the Chinese, being an unattainable cultural divide to bridge, in their more traditional manifestations, of older generations who have never learned English, (and vice versa; many Americans would never learn Chinese) - this phenomenon creates a clear opportunity for the exploitation of an insider's pedigree about a looming generalization of cultural malady and over-production at the steed of what largely seems to center around what ended up being a bum Valentine's Day weekend, imaginably, for many people involved. 

Let's face it. People are destitute, and over spending on their budgets and credit accounts, to a large degree. These things happen in cyclical fashion, yet there hadn't been a clear cut demographic of identifying these individuals, as my generation had, in the iconography of the metro-sexual. On one hand, that archetype still lives on in popular culture - simply (perhaps) different people, all being wrought through the engineering of consumer psychology in to well-targeted patrons of online retail and persona-based advertisements.

The subliminal impact of the ad-bearing mechanism is a tender subject to have breached, for many consumers, in that their visual identity and assimilating personas and outward portrayals of themselves, leveraged upon "fitting in," is at stake. People long to be admired and adored, as a universal nurturing need, of our primitive limbic mind selves, which operates underneath the surface.

To be succinct, I can admit that I'd overworked myself, quite commonly, over the past several months, or so, and it had become a chronic condition. Back pain, inflammation - that sort of thing. But the exploitation of the intrigue and mystique of the unfamiliar is an obvious concession within the scope of this coronavirus news topic drop, if one were to dig just beneath the most superficial of things.

Am I that uncommon, and so far out of reach, that an objective deconstruction of personal experience, given outgoing, pro-sociable inclusion and observation should go unheeded? I feel that the things I find and imagine to be common of myself, given others, to be, historically, a fairly level-gauge playing field and perspective, since I traverse through many cultural populations, and I interact indiscriminately with individuals and intelligence personnel, with relevant imagery, on a very consistent and regular basis, which I'd offer, is a reasonable agreement that my objectivity is a fairly well-grounded one. Hopefully I communicate to the literate population with little to hinder the boundaries between written words and capable understanding.

Moving ahead, pushing forth on productivity, given our human constraints of our physical selves, and also, given that our subliminal egos are perhaps bruised, for the sake of that Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning models, being deployed and delegated, over humanly capable endeavor, is bound to be one of the humbling and intrinsic facets of that we are limited by human frailty, and everyone could use a break, at some point, and coronavirus offers that contingency a common layperson's chance at duly failing to fulfill responsibilities, whereas (to be redundant), we all needed a break from work, for how much productivity we had produced, and for what that wrought of our exertions, and exhaustion.

 

 

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. 

  

Some predating corroboration that others had found their iDevice, given pigeons, comparatively a fond marriage of affections. (a reblog from Digiday)

Source:

https://digiday.com/marketing/sent-ipigeon-best-agency-email-signatures/

Given that I happened upon (was well-paired, of personal traits, in affinities, thereof [of]), the branding establishment of “iPigeon” that was effected, of my personal happenstance, in seeking a blog publishing domain, for the sake of various developments to be worked out, and worked at, over the formative underlying basis of that the ideas would have website domain statistics and analytics to be measured, of viable popular themes of imaginative endeavor, or of intellectual foundations of new research, through public offering of these ideas and aspirations in article form, I was confronted, upon enthusiasm for happening upon custom domains under the oversight entity of Google’s stability in reputable product delivery of their commonly used applications and services - with coming to terms of that there was a first-off, prior establishment of such similarly organic originality in conceptual branding that had been established of the .com of the iPigeon brand company title; yet the variant flexibility in marketable branding persona was still rich, for the sake of many dozens of viable enterprise pursuits of a disparity contrast of respectable space, such that these contexts would not conceivably violate common ground, and enterprise, given expectations of soundness in decency and competitive ethics. 

Given that, I stalked my branding identity, the other night, and I happened upon another predating occurrence of the origin sightings of the digital iPigeon creature having sprung into existence, on some other Apple mobile device aficionado’s contingently particular quirk of that the individual was obviously fond of birds, on a personal level, as well.

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. 

 

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.