Another Downtown LA (Though Slight) Occupation and Riot - October 2021 DTLA Folklore.

 Who could deny it, for either living here or ending up here, any time over the past several weeks or so?

The evidence is present for the daytime locals and locality regulars, (such as myself) to come to understand. As pictured here, at the [… insert apartment complex name], property damage is being threatened and waged, lately, by roving waves of seemingly random, yet quite common casually psychotic individuals. It’s a burgeoning mental health crisis, out here. Much of the dissent and “acting out” is based upon some demographic crisis, of which the truth of the matter could ostensibly be difficult, even for professionals, social workers, and mental health outreach teams to effectively understand, in terms of some means of civil service being put in to effect, which could quell the ongoing drama and settle the unease of the citizens who reside here. 

Being on the ground level, out on the streets, here, myself, in particular - for being one of the dedicated bird flocks’ caretakers in the locality, as well as that I happen to patronize Skid Row drug dealers, I get, at a minimum, at least some conjectural intelligence and informed status, in regards to what seems to be going on, within the campus that precludes downtown Los Angeles. 

The mental health system is failing abuse victims, as the prevailing disposition that I’m presented with, for example. I do my best to accommodate my otherwise poor emotional support mechanism, in life, through aesthetic means, whether it be situational, environmental, artistic, and sometimes, I seek the pleasurable. Long days of persecution, of my schizotypal mind, by personas that fall by the wind, during the majority of my life - who truly is in my life, to any appreciable degree? 

My apologies, for making this a personal note, on my blog. It got neglected, of my earlier ambition to cover the greater mental health victims demographic, and I got swept in to a several-hours long remote sensing debacle, largely of forgettable and transient things, lacking in accountability, and yet seething with sadism about it. Apparently, one person cares to see me incarcerated, rather than that I take, for myself, an amount of crystal methamphetamine that drug dealers care to allocate and provide, of my purchasing from them.

Update: 10/17/2021: As it turns out, today would perhaps stand as one in which infamy reigned over personal freedoms and the autonomous mind. I made a report, last night, to the FBI (or tried to; there was an impassable form input error message). Would that have happened to have hijacked my attention span? All in all, I made some off-color jokes last night, and people are in an uproar about this and that, still; people from my past, who harbor a distaste for me, for my penchant for honesty. Today was a day of descent, so to speak, in to the recesses of the prelimbic mind, (which happens to be under review, or subject to < rescind >, “apparently,” as far as autocorrect goes). Yikes. Watch out, there. In any case, I founded this .institute aspiration and enterprise based upon much of what an intelligence and development enterprise ought hold as sacred knowledge; things that must be kept, throughout disaster and peril. 

The disavowal of pre-limbic mind. Mind control. I’m just, at this point in time, (acutely), being offered dissent, in regards to my freedom. It appears to be a home town row and hazing of me; I can tell: the type of demographic is telling, at times. People speaking so freely, and without care, or consideration towards me, and as I’d mentioned, I’m simply largely alone, in life, at this point in time. I suppose that I’ve upset some people. Not everyone, by any means, but quite apparently - some people. 

The DTLA Civil Defense Audible Apparatus Installations (updating)

The downtown Civil Defense Apparatus first caught my eye as an interrent homeless person in DTLA last October.

The device looks as though it might be a flame-heater « au jour » for the civilians to make use of in public (which would be a fortunate thing, at some points in time; being myself: homeless). [revised: originally composed 05/16/2019]

Hill at 8th

Various lores about the need for these installations to have come in to place - namely to the effect of that they were old announcement satellite speakers that would herald some sort of Cold War anomaly going on.

Mid-Wilshire

Update: I happened upon another Civil Defense Audible Apparatus in South Los Angeles, the other day, after having jogged and walked back towards my home, from the Inglewood area. (October 16th, 2021); I’m now housed, thankfully, as an update.

Manchester at Harvard - Happy Fish Market | Ralph’s

Given various critical analysis; it would be obvious that there would ostensibly be a <_ alarms="" aloof="" an="" autonomous="" be="" being="" box="" crane="" dictattaphoneur="" for="" gain="" hoisted="" if="" in="" ladder="" lift="" man="" nbsp="" need="" of="" or="" p="" perhaps="" platform="" some="" sort="" sounded.="" status="" superior="" the="" there="" to="" up="" used="" visually="" was="" were="" while="" yet="">

Given the wear on the objects, and that [I believe]: that these things had been relatively new additions to DTLA and surrounding areas as of this past year, 2018. 

Maybe back then, the things did serve fire and heat

to continue; of that they are rusted, yet not thoroughly; and perhaps they are refurbished and remanufactured with some grit about the outsides of the poles. 

LA Metro subterranean blasting causes plurisubharmonic seismic vibrations, shaking South LA and West Hollywood.

 Being that I stay up for a long time; days, even (still, at this point in life), I have a keen sense of when things seem to go awry, of slight motions and activities of people around me. 

Today was a particularly strange day, nearly gone by, at this hour - of the “latest” waking period, as I call it, colloquially, in my own estimations. There were significant thunderstorms and rainy activity 😗 umm… yesterday, that is… since I’d not slept last night, as it turns out. <_<…? In any case, there were significant thunderstorms yesterday, and leading up to it, I felt that some sort of barometric pressure was pushing through the locality around me, even affecting me inside of my bedroom. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my ionic mineral supplementation intake, being subsumed by the planes flying overhead, in the jet stream line-of-sight, leading up to LAX Airport’s landing runway. During the day, there’s typically even shadows cast, commonly, over my head, or “in the way” of the sunlight, with the shadows of the planes flickering the light, shining through my window, or sometimes I go out for a cigarette, and I get flashed by the plane’s shadow. It’s enough to cook up some viable paranoia, right? 

So, the barometric pressure is one thing, the storms are another, and the reputation of the area, this being South Los Angeles, makes for a suggestible fable to be run by me, such as that “terrorists” are flexing their might, in opposition to the authorities, and they’re going around, blowing up the water mains, underground. On top of that, the story had gotten so detailed, such as to suggest that much of South Los Angeles was going to be host to a massive sinkhole, like the ones that we hear or read about, sometimes, happening in South America. 

But this evening, as I went out to West Hollywood to do some gig work, I felt a distinct blast; I heard it, as well, and some shockwaves followed the blast, so I reasoned that the blasting must be for the sake of Metro’s subterranean station and terminal outlets, for the private spaces and expanse required to keep the train lines running smoothly, which they do. I must say that hold-ups and delays of the trains are typically trivial in the Los Angeles Metro Train system, and they only last a few minutes, at most. There are two lines being developed, one of them the Crenshaw Line, which would reasonably assume that my area, running parallel to Crenshaw Blvd., would see some shaking, over in my area, of this sort. The other line being developed and worked on, at this point in time, is the expansion of the Purple Line, in to the Westside localities of Beverly Hills and Century City, going up Wilshire. 

So that was it, as far as terrorist plot explosions theories, broken water mains, and sinkholes becoming established. It’s all part of the workweek, in other words. 

The sun sets over rush hour traffic, somewhere in Los Angeles.

A 6th Step Meeting of Narcotics Anonymous - Reflection.

 As a former 

attendee of 12-step self-help meetings, I recalled, upon passing by The Lodge, in West Hollywood

(out on a jaunt, hauling my shelf back home, from Century City),

the eponymous “reflection meeting,” apparently characterized as a facet of a 6th step meeting.

It’s nesting time, for the pigeons.

 It’s the end of a balmy summer, out here in South Los Angeles, and the Harbor Freeway (Highway 110) underpasses are a favorite nesting spot for the flocks of pigeons. 

The Manchester underpass of the Harbor Freeway features a stoop for pigeons. I’ve been visiting this brood since 2018. 

Nearby, as I got out of a medical appointment earlier today, I came across a darling pigeon parent moment: the nest-making ritual. Here, the babies had already been born, and they’re growing up, fully feathered, and soon, they’ll be ready to fly. The parents make the nest, over and over, to teach the young some pertinent bird mannerisms, such as the use of the bill, for feeding, and for general use in procuring things that they need. Around town, the birds have the habit of asking for food by pecking around on the sidewalk, and the street. It’s what they know how to do, as a sociable gesture towards their caretakers - us, as humans. 

This busy pigeon parent was witnessed remaking the nest for baby pigeon. It’s exciting to see the pigeons pairing up and having success in breeding. The pigeons had been seen through a faithful series of seasons of regular feedings, and they’d been well supplemented this year, on top of that, so they’re taking care of themselves, and their young, particularly well. 

Essential Urban Survival Technique - Thwarting an Ether Faucet Attempt.

 Any well-traveled trekker | overnighter of the urban landscape knows the feeling well: 

Having happened upon life, as such, as that sleep becomes unfortunately inevitable, at an inopportune time, in an inappropriate locale; that is, might seem as though it’s somewhat the sufferer’s own fault, for grazing in unfamiliar territory. 

 Even so, don’t be afraid, and don’t be discriminatory in where you set foot, about town; simply go about life as a well-prepared individual, well-resourced, well-packed, and you’ll do just fine. 

I’d not done so well, in previous years, but I’m nearing upon age 40, and I’d say that I’d experienced the vast majority of life experiences that I’d possibly come across, in my time, and there’s not much that could be done to me that I hadn’t experienced, previously, as a well-heeled trekker of the Los Angeles urban landscape. Just this past week, in fact, I thwarted a so-called (nicknamed via my own predilections) ether faucet, which is a classic simple petty theft’s criminal’s doing, or perhaps they’d do worse, to a lady, or something like that. 

It happens as misfortunately as described, just prior: a sudden need to fall asleep at an inopportune time, in an inappropriate place; perhaps a poor part of town, infested with tents, cockroaches, trash, rioting going on - that sort of thing. The police are on top of it, or something like that. People have to rest, sometimes, and letting loose an ether faucet will put the freeze on things, so to speak. 

What is ether?

I don’t really know what, or which - (ether) is the particular ether in question, and I’m not going to look it up, either. For my purposes, ether could potentially be a fragrance chemistry industry solvent, (… eh, I won’t elaborate on it - I don’t own any, myself), and ethers are a particular class of chemical compound, aside from that. It’s the sort of thing that could get somebody some unfortunate attention, perhaps, from the authorities, that is. My purpose here isn’t to educate the reader about ether, the drug: the primitive anesthetic that it is, as a basis. I had first learned about it from the drug-lore film, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” in which one of the guys was playing around with it, and look how Johnny Depp ended up - handsome heartthrob, early on, and well in to his later career, yet he’d been beset with tabloid scandal, in his later years, for living out his acting career roles (ostensibly) to a real-life pitch, in the behind-the-scenes sort of lifestyle that inevitably becomes the duty of the actor, playing the part. The other guy, Guillermo Del Toro, (or something like that; this is all off the top of my head, here), ate more food, throughout life. A bit more innocent, as far as analysis goes. I hadn’t caught wind of any poor press about him. Johnny Depp, on the other hand, had recently hit the scandal headlines, with his breakup from Amber Heard, a model, etc. etc.

Anyways…

An ether faucet. A scum bag tweaker’s crude weapon in assailing a targeted victim who stays out too late, or who ventures off in to an unseemly part of town, without imbibing in drug use (breaking bread) with the locals, who’d like to rob or rape the person being targeted, or perhaps it’s some measure of riot and crowd control, implemented by the authorities, following an outbreak of acute societal unrest, in the civic center area, about town. This was somewhat my experience of things, as I woke myself up, out of the narcoleptic, deadening slumber, which happens to accompany an uncharacteristic chill, to the limbs and body; a noticeably chill wind about the air, and an incapable self, as for getting up, waking up, and getting out of the area, for that criminals could easily thwart the individuals defenses, and gain access to their valuables, or possibly kidnap the person, and commit foul things, for a ransom; for example. 

Fortunately, I was well-equipped with an orange flower absolute spray bottle, 

just large enough to hold several dozen sprays, and yet, orange flower absolute: complex enough, to thwart an aerosol-based attack as crude as an ether faucet. I sprayed one spray, after coming to realize that I ought not sleep it off, and be content, and the tiredness was immediately swept away. 

There were intimations of a mockery of me, coming about, in my misfortune, of “some girl” sitting down, in front of me, where I lay, on the sidewalk, saying stuff like “hey, how’s it going?” 😘

That was my opportunity to get up, and get about, on my way, to my standard haunt, which I won’t disclose. The tiredness came and went, intermittently, throughout various parts of town, but my orange flower absolute reconstitution did the job quite well. I used Poucher’s formulation (Poucher was a noted armed forces scholar, in literature and in photography). Here’s his recipe for orange flower absolute, which can also be further researched through Google Books online. 

  An ether faucet is a horrible thing to burden, but hey, maybe it averted a worser societal outcome, all in all. Being properly prepared, with a complex aromatic aerosol compound is simply part of the technique in appropriately surviving the threat, coming through, with all valuables and reputation intact. It smells great, for that matter, and it’s a unisex sort of fragrance. Take heed, though, certain formulations of an orange flower absolute could be overly simplistic, or detrimental, in the sort of chemistry involved in what ether is, which I don’t quite know, myself, and I don’t really care to investigate it, online, for that matter. Just order some ingredients, and make the stuff yourself. It’ll assist you in embodying a more outgoing and adventurous self, as the cold months to come, ahead, accommodate the sort of robbery tactic that succumbing to an ether faucet would entail. 

Fitting in, as the paranoid schizophrenic narcissism movement’s poster boy mascot.

People who are adequately properly acquainted with me 

know that I have a hard time getting out of my head, when it comes to sitting down and socializing. I have to admit, I’ve been off, for a good stretch of time, given right now, and the months leading up to this point in time (Summer 2021), and there’d been little hope of seeing a clearing through the Los Angeles, CA “fog.” 

Here, in the militarized zone (TMZ) of Los Angeles, which is tech worker knowledge 101 (or, to be precise, “A+” certification priory of knowledge base, we, for one thing, don’t wake up, per se, in the morning. It just happens, eventually, as the sorry trudge through remaking ourselves, in professionalism, in a world where our Apple devices can’t capably we’ll be self-serviced, for one thing, and nobody much… well, everyone else, let’s say, would care to do the service on their devices for themselves. 

Okay. Actually, it’s not fog. At least, not that I could put my finger on it. Maybe the photo doesn’t capture it all that well, and it seems like a clear photo, above; from here to there, with my plain eyes, in viewing, the half-block, or so, distance from my vantage point, to the buildings nearby, I’ll say, are a bit “not quite” the standard “clear,” as could be said about “seeing things” and what might be expected, based on reasonably good vision. 

It’s easier to see the disparities in clarity, in the short-distance atmosphere of the place (DTLA) at night, through the early morning, lately, and I just happen to receive punishing intimations and suggestions, in my remote sensing assignment, laid upon myself (this started happening in 2012, right around this time of year, in fact) of all sorts of “me, myself (Jay)” types of storylines in my head, and it makes me really neurotic and somewhat casually dismissive of others, if they happen to break form with attending to the present moment, and with a purpose-driven mind about conversation, if anything’s to be said at all, about anything, for that matter, and as for myself, I’m readily one to admit that I’ve problems, and it’s “complicated,” let’s say. 

For example, I met a young lady last night, and she was a fawning courtesan to me, upon passing my way. I was digging through the garbage, trying to find some food, and there was a tasty soft drink in there, which I enjoyed, and she took to me, quite effectively, and I was drawn in to the prospect of making her acquaintanceship. We ended up speaking on friendly terms, well enough, as she acted as though she were enamored by me, but there was something just, perhaps, simply “in the way” of things. For one thing, she wanted to fix my recyclables collecting trait about myself, and she kept telling me that she would hold my bag for me, as we eventually left our initial place of meeting, and we went out for a walk (I wanted to go to the grocery store, for food; perhaps a bit extravagant, given that there was good food in the trash for me, that I hadn’t gotten to investigating and clearing for eats, by the time she met me). I do a standard gentleman, no problem, well enough, when I meet a new acquaintanceship, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have “not really” been an on-site, ITF, misfortunate stalking target, per se, lately; I don’t know what it is. Had they gotten been “talked to” about that sort of thing, or do I just look better? Is it my fragrance that I’m wearing, or is it because I put on some weight and muscle? Maybe it’s a bit of all of those things, although I am commonly troubled by how I look, facially, in the mirror, lately, on account of that I don’t get to sleep as much as I readily aught would sleep, give, how bothered and troubled I am, in my head. 

These developments,

I would say, would trouble anyone. Anyone who’s validly a peer to me, and many-to-most of them had abandoned me, and taken on a purpose about me, of disregarding that I have any decency about me, and all sorts of complaints and claims attesting to some sort of beliefs about me arise, in the dialectical, and I wind up being the center of people’s attention. Granted, it’s nice to be paid attention to, sometimes, and it’s even more delightful to win out, in intelligence, when somebody shows up to insult me, but the public is the greater determiner, I’ll say, of what’s truthfully valid and appropriate up-to-the-minute debriefing and slight course for facing judgment, from others, whereas I simply “hear,” or… 🤔 <_< “perceive,” I’ll put it, to be more appropriate, to the point, these various points of contention from former peers, who show up, in my “privacy” of my attending mind, at issue, and they simply never reach out on Facebook, or whatever, or respond, when I look them up and query them about how they’d been acting, in my head, which I happen to believe that they do, since I took on this schizophrenia sort of burden, back around this time of year, to be precise, tracing back to 2012. 

All sorts of wild stories and painful memories. 

Why not just admit to that you feel that way about me? I can fix it, if it’s a problem.

But the social ladder equivalent of being the gorilla’s silverback male, “given me,” endlessly (since back in 2012), shows back up, and I’m significantly troubled by what’s come of things, of my school days peers, and what they claim about me, or claim is significant topic of issue about me, and sometimes, I make them look truthfully, woefully, foolish (or worse), and I must say, I’ve got quite the penchant for the spoken or written word, and I’ve got a ton of great experiences to talk about, (if only) people would “actually” speak to me, which this girl, (getting back to the thread I had initiated, just a moment ago) was doing, with me. I had to eventually ditch her, though. Once, and then I came across her, again, and I’ve got it awrr rawr rough and tough, sometimes, with how I truly make a practice and discipline about life, to do life as I was brought up to be - a good baptist Christian man, since my boyhood, and stuff; I’ve got to make amends on what I’d been led astray for, in life, and presented of myself; my superficial self, amongst people, although I’d never quite all that much, to be honest, really betrayed my Christian upbringing. 

So I try to tame these wild ones - awrr rawr, rough and tough, with some patience, common sense, British intellect and know-how, of the cultural attainments made, on their part, given my Cantonese mother’s upbringing, and such: 

It’s just… how it is. Look it up. The British managed and ruled over Hong Kong, until 1997, I believe, imparting the early modern period and western traditions upon the Chinese, in Hong Kong - for 150 years (or so), until they returned Hong Kong to the Chinese government, at which time, it became… I dunno, “Chinese,” more so, (again; perhaps), and we happen to live in a Los Angeles, CA, where racial slights and slurs, and awrr rawr - rough and tough insults and “most casual” beliefs and practices of superiority and dominance features significantly, in the common mores and cares of society at large, and I’m one of them - the Cantonese; at least, a half of me. The other half is Lithuanian descent (my father, quite reliably - resembles the recent United States of America’s Vice President, Mike Pence, to be sure). 

Anyways, we all know how slight the Chinese get treated as, out here, and perhaps it’s largely a globalized perceptual basis that’s become familiar to many - the detriment to progress and the establishment of vast achievements and efforts put in to eliminating civil rights abuses, of others, and we’d “supposedly” (at least, in the courts, and in the minds of good Christian types of people, in America) gotten the slights, slurs, and casual insulting beliefs of our people straightened out, about many sorts and types of people that come to exist, in America, and that’s the primary basis of this country, to a large degree, on one hand. 

It just sucks, and I broke my hand, last month, punching the wall, exercising great lengths in patience and non-aggression, whereas I’m bound by the law, and - I’m on probation, on top of things, so if I mess up, again, in allowing physical violence to come of me, as for how others are treated, in life, I’m duly and highly susceptible to becoming remanded, if it gets around to that the police get called to attend to the issue, and I don’t much care to take a chance with that sort of thing. It’s a two year sentence that I was released, on conditional terms, and then, I didn’t follow through with anything, because I’d been bothered, in my mind, (schizophrenia), from back then (2017, or so), till now - fairly constantly, as a chronic and debilitating issue. 

Try it (not really, though <_<…) - breaking your hand against the wall, as an undisciplined fighter; as the angry person. I’ve got  a plate and pin, in my strong hand, and it was a one-two punch, that it was, this time around, but my weaker hand didn’t have all that I thought of myself - turns out. It’s healing up nicely, well enough, now, though. I’m a bit ambivalent about it. On one hand, I like the tough guy, scars, and such, sort of facets and traits about me, although I’m not quite… let’s say, “not disturbed,” of the mind, to attend to my higher purpose, and due diligence, to, like, the gym, or proper exercise, and stuff. I just go out, and I binge on drugs, and that’s obviously not allowed. I just feel that I need it. Not every drug, yet I’m woefully a habitually methamphetamines abuser, although I’m set on the self-maker statement, of my formative self esteem, and aspirations, of that I’m constantly trying to quit, and maybe - this time around, as for today - I’m going to do it properly, since I hear about such horrible things going on, and I don’t really care to elaborate on things, because of the degree of disgust that would be involved, about stuff, if I made it real, by talking about it. 

I feel like, maybe… some people care, and some people… just care “otherwise,” and significantly obsessively and abusively so, and I broke my hand against the wall, because I’ve entrained myself as a significantly astute Christian man, against doing life, of aggression, that. I could, …

but that would just spoil my self-affirming beliefs of that I could really do something in life, and I meet such great people, in my mind, and if only, at that, and violence, as a basis, isn’t all that much an appropriate, or date-worthy sort of topic to even touch upon - I can speak on so many other good and appropriate contexts, such as my feeding the birds thing, and the art associated with it; that’s all good and appropriate, enough - sort of topic that could, perhaps, … hmm. How to say it… I dunno. I’ll let others decide for themselves, and I’ll have things my way, and see how things go. 

I don’t really know what to say… if you don’t talk to me, about anything but abusive sorts of stuff to say about someone, and I know I look bad, lately (facially), sometimes, … and if these people take drugs all the time, … like they “do…” - let’s be real here. This type of behavior must, and could only be explained by drug abuse, and for keeping up with me, and I look so poorly, of the face, and stuff, … but that’s me. I try to do stuff to make up for things. 

I guess that’s all, for now. I’ve got stuff to do today. It’s Monday. Work schedule, and work week, sorts of stuff. 

But the blasting, going on, and the disturbances, and stuff… I dunno. I can’t fix everything - especially if people keep messing with me, and then, if I just couldn’t possibly like you, right now, … like, for reals, then just go away. “I’m gonna leave, now:” sorts of stuff. And that’s okay.