A Sunday morning’s pwn’ing of a pigeon-feeding bum - a 12-Steps program confessional episode.

As the literature of the 12 Steps addiction recovery program proscribes, we are to admit that we are powerless over our addiction, and that our lives had become unmanageable. 

The practice of confession, in civil society, dates back hundreds of years, perhaps over a millennia and more (I’m not quite sure, off hand), although events such as the Inquisition, which happened in Europe starting around the 12th century, continuing forth for hundreds of years, would perhaps be the most notable historical time period and setting which we would correlate with the preeminence of the Catholic Church. Obviously, confessing is a difficult and humbling thing, to say the least. I’ve not raised a child, personally, but my own imprinting, from my nurturing environment, was a slightly heavy-handed period of discipline upon myself; my father not having been much of an intelligent man, of some sort of faculty of insight and breakthrough, as far as having attained a more perseverant and empathetic affect for us. 

That being said, I spent much of my childhood years, through my young adult life, fraught with dishonest slips of disclosure, characterized by a subconscious fear of being reprimanded cruelly by others, coupled with the inclusion of willingly intended acts of deception, which would correlate with the trait of caring to please others, and appear to be well and upright, in disciplinary terms. Having been an abuse victim, in my younger years, less-efficient and less-productive traits saw their way through in to my developmental maturity paradigm, in other words, and looking back, I would have sought better methodologies of progress and self-representation, whereas the mysteries as to whether or not a person is depraved, as a dishonest person, in this day and age - prior to the brain-computer interfacing adjunct intellectual evolutionary era of development and understanding - in many various social and technological sciences being affected and dependent upon ever-more challenging and demanding standards of understanding and of communication, we face an imminent existential crisis, each unto ourselves, yet, in the age of the mind, to come, a well-minded person would most commonly seek to persist, and to thrive, whereas in keeping with inclusions of “what’s necessary” for survival, being the primary driving impetus in establishing our prescience in … 

Eh. Maybe that’s all. I crashed my definition check basis in implementing prescience, just to be sure of things, and I’m generally sure that it ought to fit appropriately, according to logic, but I was just saying… just remarking on the confessions and admissions that had been going on, for me (in my mind), and it’s obviously a complex set of contexts and issues which could have words put to them, although people are supposed to be afforded their anonymity, in the 12 Steps program. I stopped where I determined that I had been challenged by my own ambitions to have my place stated, appropriately, and accessibly, for including prescience - even though I feel that it was a good enough logical adjunct as for communicating what would have come, from out of that. I figure that if I’d crashed the definition engine, it’s possibly not affording accessibility to the common person. 

Oh, okay. Update: apparently I’m … 

Well, never mind. It was just a connection glitch on my iPad Pro. I’ll stop, in any case, but here’s the definition of prescience, just for fun. It turns out, it’s actually somewhat just been characterized in the above paragraph.

A vehicle gets pwn’ed in South Los Angeles.

Talk about road rage: this vehicle showed up just around the corner from my home. Man, oh, man. The things that must be going on while I’m out feeding the pigeons, I can’t imagine.

Ask iPigeon.institute: why do my genitals smell like I’m dirty from out of nowhere, lately?

 I’ve been experiencing this phenomenon going on years, at this point, albeit in intervals. The experience of having this sort of debacle befall one’s self is a traumatic and humiliating one, to be certain, because most of us take care to keep ourselves clean. So why does this sort of thing happen? It would nearly seem as though we had somehow had a lapse in consciousness, where somebody had molested us, intentionally wiping their body odor on us, whereas we may have become aware of this; for me, for living out on the streets - it becomes a questionable occurrence, as well: then I clean myself, and it ends up happening all over again, whereas only a short time had passed, and there had been no established belief of that I had had a lapse in consciousness, or a strange encounter. Is it epilepsy? How could the continuity of time have been so seamlessly thwarted? It would, on the surface level, imply that there is a state of warfare, here in The Militarized Zone of DTLA and surrounding localities, of an unimaginable cost. There may be this sort of unspoken, ongoing strife and expenses wrought upon society, from where we stand, and stay, here, while intimations of “perhaps” truths are lobbed at us, some of them, an attempt to evince belief, others, to challenge us, of our beliefs, and some things that seem beyond belief. 

So, what is the truth? 

On some level, it’s important to simply just not freak out. Just recognize, or look it up: we do live in The Militarized Zone here. I didn’t know it until I started studying for my A+ certification, and I got the big book, for my studies. It seemed a somewhat aside note, yet somehow conceded, here, in this premise, for the techies. For the tech guys to understand. To gloat over it, or to disavow it would suppose that they’d been lying in this book of standard literature that many of us (perhaps mostly guys, this being the tech field and industry) had studied. I never went through with taking the test and certifying, but this inclusion of information was a preeminent and formative small facet of truth that was imbued in to my life. 

To continue, upon “not freaking out,” it simply “makes sense” that we’re here, by our own choice and volition, and many of us had been indulging in the vice industries, here. On some level, it’s somewhat “allowed;” even included, in the list of startup business licenses that are available out here, in the city of Los Angeles (at some point, perhaps I’ll come across this moment, once again, in my own startups pursuits, and I’ll include the link; I feel that it would be a bit of an arcane lore thing to rediscover, and cite, at this point in time. At least the article will have been written, already, though). 

The perhaps more sensible truth, that I’ll offer, being that casual remote sensing acquaintanceships and “portrayals,” I’ll say, are common - particularly for a guy like me, who tries to appear fetching and attractive. For example, an attractive young lady, about my age, or so, passed by me, as I was bummed out on the ground, earlier today. She was walking her dog. The supposition that I’d been attracted to her was gleaned, via intelligence, observing all of my interactions, feelings, thoughts, and emotions, all the time. Just maybe, she was attracted to me, as well. I personally choose to tread carefully, on this sort of context, since I know that I’m a bum. So how does this sort of thing happen? Is she a prostitute, smelling her day’s partner, and it becomes transmutable upon my own personage, for that a compellingly charming flirtation episode unraveled itself, as though she knew that I’m the pigeon-feeding bum? What did she really feel? was one of the suggestions lobbed at me. She was sociably a superior to me, as many women of this sort are: they get at the truth of sociability, in regards to many types of guys, and of girls who are like them, who live out this sort of prostitution-based lifestyle. 

Or am I being stalked by guys who are upset that they’re outside, and there’s a handsomer bum out here, being a narcissist, and they somehow command this capability? I certainly doubt that I had an unbeknownst (and, for that matter), commonplace sort of genitalia-smell exchange sort of sicko molestation sort of quick encounter, of a reputation that I don’t know about, happening to me. That would seem to imply an inordinate demand upon people of a type of cost and primacy basis, of being somewhere at a timely-enough jaunt, such to render me a more humble and hapless man, whereas I don’t really deserve that sort of outcome, in life. Sure, I had once (only once, though), been an ass-grabber, and I’d “somewhat” molested women, and all of these sorts of events were, in fact, consensual activities, and I was just a guy who’d been brought up, in part, of a detrimental nature, to have given me this sort of psychotic abandon and sense of entitlement of inappropriateness. So I did this sort of thing, many years ago, back in my youth. I don’t talk much to guys, so I don’t really know how prevalent this agreement of seeking and discovering a prostitute, for patronage, actually happens. Much of what I hear is conjecture, simply put.

I just feed the sparrows. I won’t deny that resonance warfare tactics exist, and I also wouldn’t quite suppose that people “don’t” commonly hear voices in their head, and I’d somewhat believe that people do establish face to f1ce relationships, perhaps sometimes, only, based on positive affirmations and positive conditioning that occurs, as a consequence of having been coddled, by what amounts to a support mechanism, of the intelligence community, that transpires, whereas I feel that the excuse is that we’re shy around each other, and perhaps not ready to really take the plunge, whereas more bold men, better for it, for a moment, or for a more long-term outset about things, are the ones who gain inroads in to establishing romantic relationships at this point in time, and so far. I feel that it’s well enough if I get people to acknowledge me and smile, perhaps, and it boosts my self esteem a little, when that happens. A truly serendipitous occasion, or opportunity, is a much more rare thing, although it more typically winds up in producing a long-term relationship, more fruitfully, and surely so, whereas I can imagine that it’s difficult to convince someone to not continue forth in life, as a prostitute. It’s awrr rawr rough and tough, not being a prostitute, I imagine. 

Nourishment, in the time of Radio-Nuclear Evolutionary Establishment.

 According to some reports I’ve heard, of the day, 

Hmm… maybe never mind. But somebody said that we don’t need to eat any more, and that simply… well. I dunno. 

Okay. The premise was that I cooked a meal from stuff I had stored in the freezer, the other day. That was days ago. Now, tonight, (earlier), I heard somebody say that they were fed from the cooking of the food, in and of itself, and that a town nearby here (nearby Los Angeles, that is), got nuked, and everyone is blind, in the area, currently. Now, I’m just about feeding the pigeons, mostly; let’s not forget. I’m a bit fairly traumatized and nerve-wracked about these people seeking some sort of imminent victory of aggression and dominance over others, as if life exists for nothing, but, say: dominance, narcissism, grandiosity, delusions, impetuousness, recalcitrance, and caprice, as some of the primary features. 

Now, I won’t say that somebody else’s home is a different place; by all means. I’m tacitly befuddled by many of the things that get passed off as viable “things” that I hear, and, to be certain, people scarcely speak to me in person, and I doubt that people would take the trouble to encounter me, in person, to tell me such wild fables and vivid lore, in a world where a person is their total and replete self; not some farcical and imaginative play-world that our 2021-version of remote sensing encounters and accountability is, where things of an unsociable nature typically get passed off as pro-adversarial abuses, of oppositional figures, being exhibited to their witting and intentional victims, and whereas these sorts of encounters seem to elicit no long-standing or consequential outcomes, in life, for no matter the magnitudes of depravity and social authority in our civilian culture. 

Is this a game of condescending authority upon us, by our higher power, who manages these remote sensing encounters? I’m so largely wrought up of remote sensing topics and hearsay; I’m quite obviously made strange, so to speak. A person of my age and aptitude, and good-willing Christian nature, ought not be made to be so trivial and trifling a subject. I find that the prominent issue at task, here, which is being disavowed, of primary value and worth - is that higher talents and some of the facets of the various intelligences, of our minds, are being ignored, or overlooked, and certain individuals, myself, as for my personal cares, as for the moment, could do better, much more so, and profitably, if our higher capabilities and talents were being extolled, or at least, not burdened by the belittling of our personage and intrinsic worth, through such defilements and debasement. 

By no means - society has not shifted in to a new defining evolutionary paradigm, and change happens slowly. This is a nation of many, many individuals, and lands, frontiers, and of various geographies and climate subtypes. I feel that some people are forgetting the elementary teachings, of our youth, in public school environments, that we had, of the understanding of, and teachings, thereof, about the diversity, as well as the unity, and defining, formative traits that we uphold, in America, where we celebrate freedom: these entrapping aggressive captors, of the free individual, stand boldly against the grain, in our America, and these people must be held accountable, somehow. I am not the man to conquer all needs, as being fulfilled, or virtuous, for that matter, by any means, and I can only do so much. People would typically understand me as that I commonly feed the pigeons, in the civic center area of town, for example. It is a task that takes much longer, perhaps, than expected, and it does come out of my own personal budget, which is currently quite a menial take, in terms of benefits I receive, from the welfare establishment of the state and local government, as well as funneled down from the federal government, in the larger picture. 

I won’t validate all things that I hear, to hold forth, in the minds, and across the eyes of my literate readership; some things, … well, my take is, is that something of curious notoriety, happenstance, which occurs, that we may come across, if it be a viable social more to have come to comprehend, as an enduring trait, in life, ought be considered, tucked away, and wait for a similar defining occurrence that would happen again, and again, in life, until it could be commonly observed, discerned, and relatable, amongst peers of intelligence and experience. My perspectives upon life are significantly in detriment, for that I am so commonly lied to, going on, so many years, with so much of my experience in remote sensing. 

The put-off slight home exhibition, of the iPigeon.institute art effects and fragrance-making collection: the stand-off days.

 Days and night, on end. 

No regard, whatsoever, for typical formalities, I’m becoming aware of, of the casual “village idiot” for the crumbs and knickknacks offer of playing around in my closet; this notion-deprecation had instilled itself as permeably “aught could be” more respectable, of a generalized notion, in that the general public might also appreciate patronizing the art collection and collected documents and transcripts of the early days of establishment of my iPigeon.institute pigeon-feeding enterprise, of a story based upon a travails anecdote of a guy who “made it work” in Los Angeles, through dedicating time to taking care of others (the pigeons), while making his (or her) way out of homelessness, and the pitfalls and shortcomings incurred, in establishing sociable currency and relevance, amongst the common people, and their good graces, in the land of fables, of greater Los Angeles, turn of the 3rd millennium. 

Yesterday ended up being a strange standoff kind of day, where I was stuck on pwsshh… fwipp - smashhhhing people with the iPad Pro, busy with it sort of thing that I’d established, while the stranger next door was completely keeping to himself, sort of thing, although I must say, of on pissless shift he must have been pulling, of some sort. There was this notion of a constant threat, of my room’s security being defiled, on consequence of enforcing an of on pissless - the identity and embodiment, thereof - the guy. It’s typically mostly always a guy, except that the bwipsies eccentric girl had murmured some unintelligible notions, of that she finds herself cute, and then - some other stuff, of an intimation of that there’s something that needs to be done out somewhere else, such as at some place that I couldn’t really hear her say, as her defining traits. I figured that she just can’t compose herself as formatively congenial enough, of an impetuous sub-superficial need to be shameless and un-humble towards me; I figure it’s because she’s discovered things about me online, and she doesn’t care to admit it. She’s never give, me her name. She’s kind of borderline like that, and she was framed, towards me, recently, of that she had shown up to play with my fragrance ingredients collections, as the village idiot, for the crumbs and knickknacks notion that I had flouted, although these people constantly flout the rules as dismissible, of that there be some tacit agreement and supervision involved in the village idiot indulging themselves around aerosol-industry sort of slight manufacturing environment, that it is. 

Could they possibly seem just simply better, for skirting the premise of speaking to me about it, whatsoever, for … I dunno. I just see worse of them, and for that matter, it’s not everyone who appears to have been framed in this particular manner, leverages upon this fragrance ingredients thing. It implies  a gross notion of childishness and entitlement, and worser things tend to come snowballing out of that establishment, quite easily.

Sweating it out, after having been a stark schizotypal paranoid one, in a mid-day’s hot water and medicinal oils-infused bath tub.

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. 

 

Stub: The Impending Crisis for Mental Health Patients - Neck Cancer.

 Neck cancer is a relatively new topic for me. I hadn’t heard of it, prior to a couple or so months ago (it’s now mid-October, 2021, at the time of this writing).

Cancer of the neck? I’ve had esophageal tuberculosis (I think it was; the doctors said that it was something else, or … I dunno. They kind of just disregarded it. Anyways, I lost my voice for perhaps a few months. It turns out that there were hard gobs of mucous stuck inside of my vocal cords, and I could get them out with a Q-tip. I surmise that I had contracted the disease through a tuberculosis test which I had been administered while hospitalized for an acute psychiatric emergency, for a month, or so. They denied that the TB test would cause tuberculosis, though. Some doctor had disavowed it, later on, in history. 

Here’s some of the knowledge base on neck cancer, from cancer.gov:

My red mark-up indicator brings to light a corollary topic which pertains to mental health, and remote sensing, as well as persona marketing, counter-intelligence, mind control, and gang stalking contexts. I’ll only get in to it stub, here, for brevity’s sake, and I’ll keep it simple, such as to let the reader’s mind ponder. 

Now, as well, with the advent of the cytokine storm of COVID-19 infections, which is an inflammatory disease, we see some notion of the otherwise common person, pushed too far, perhaps in their digital life, where life seems more compelling to indulge, for some, as that the constraints of the physical become the pains in the neck, whereas some of our hormones are regulated in the thyroids, which are situated right next to our major neck arteries. 

Some quick tips, as for harm reduction:

• Don’t smoke scuzzbwies and drywall. Just… just [fuck…] already. 
• Smoking is for tobacco, as far as lawful behavior is concerned. Becoming casual about “smoking” of other sorts lends itself to increased risk for total recall (full body scans, and transmutability unto others, aka Scientology “gods,” or idols of some sort, out of the subject.
• Remember the lessons of childhood. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Respect your elders. Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. 
• I’ve got an “advanced neck cracking” instructional video up on YouTube. Check it out. It might be revolutionary for you. Sure, it looks bad, but hey, this is the neck at issue. What kind of donor could offer a suitable adjunct parcel of body form and what kind of treatment protocol could be supposed, in such a situation?
• Just watch the video. I’m shooting for organic hits, here, and I know, it’s significantly niche, but if I do something on camera, and leave it posted, I’d hope that it at least helps some people out of their otherwise misery that they’re living through.

How does neck cancer become removed from the body? 

Neck cancer which is experienced concurrent with chronic inflammatory disease could be a condition which is simply symptomatic of the inflammation condition itself, in conjunction with pre-existing cancerous, or pre-cancerous cells in the body, attempting to release themselves from the body; a condition which could correlate with an ionic mineral cleanse and detoxification regimen, for example. I would estimate that this is the process that I am going through. 

In essence, I felt that my experience of this problem became apparent, after I had some bouts of mild “chomping” down, at the jaws, at which point I incurred a fracture of my premolar tooth, on my upper jaw. I realized that this fracture indicated that it was an opportune and resonantly consistent ulceration that had been opened up, of a seamless opening that bridged my bloodstream in to the outside world, of my mouth. I noticed that I had let out a blood clot; for example, and it was a blackened opening, similar to a cavity, yet a bit uncommon, since it was not at my gum line; rather, it was in the middle of the tooth, as though the tooth had been drilled open. I had various exigent sources of need, in detoxification: for one, I had broken my fist against the wall, a couple of months prior, and my bone marrow had an opportunity to leak out, in to my blood stream. In this case, I felt that I was regulating, and renewing, the bone marrow that had been leaking out, giving my overall bone marrow composition a new signature trait to it, whereas it was locked inside of the bones, prior to my hand break. Aside from this, I am a long-time tobacco smoker, and I have ostensible tar and plaque buildup in my bloodstream; but my broken hand’s scar tissue would probably have been one of the acutely critical things to get out of my bloodstream. At the moment, it’s popping up, in my life, as a deep vein thrombosis, at the back of my knee. I’m working it out, through vigorous exercise, mixed in with intervals of rest, and I suppose that some of it is aerated out of my system through this fractured cavity in my tooth, which will eventually be treated and sealed back up, with a renewed regimen of ionic calcium intake, which I will manage for myself, and perhaps I’ll follow up with a dentist, to have him check on it, and perhaps seal it with a filler, as had been done for me, on my molars, back in my school days. 

The large cavity fracture on my premolar is evident, here, in this image. 

Take a look at how large my teeth had grown out, and expanded, with ionic mineral calcium supplementation! Perhaps I can grow in to a larger frame, some day, with continued supplementation.