fuckboylific dalliances dujour

Au jus, avec un poquito frittata portuguesa sur le flambé petít mignon, de la Maison de Saint Rico Jongleur, qui trouve des nouveautés piquantes amusantes, tous le jours, il est sûr de lui faire plaisir.

[dalliancedujour]

Persona cultural appropriations confetti gestures:

Bwopp a wallopin’

Bwopp dick (rears down, back) - clap clap (hands clasped, up, up)

Splotch watch: bwoppedstralia

[dalliancedujour]

Of on bwammo 

A fart shit

plik plok

wow bwopped

bwopp dick

butt shittle

pissed on

full juggin’

bwammo

bold new frontiersman

came plik-plokkin’ his way in to my life

sideways-stepping, kinda fancy

breaking bwopp dick records

came bwopp dick with an east wind fury

and jack bwopp

called him juice box

called him slipper; old slipper

of on olde, out-doo-doo bwammo

[dalliancedujour]

@TrigIDorg / @TrigID is posting a $50 Quarrry AirDrop Challenge for their targeted ID and https://trigid.org/?a=bountyprogram

Quarry AirDrops

[dalliancedujour]

Henri Rivière ( 1864 - 1951 ) Période entre 1888 et 1902   Technique : Estampes   Format à l'italienne :  29,5 x 23,5 cm   Numéroté

A beautiful slake on Françoise ink brush coterie illustrations and composition in artistry I totally hearted on at Los Angeles Public Library Central Branch yesterday afternoon :) to kick off a preparation into coming into inktober on Tumblr in fully prepped mode, with all sorts of dalliance notions suitably satisfied by an in-depth search at the library for the idealized standard ink brush calligraphy artist's hand in doing write-ups in ink brush, and more.

[archidemia]

23.03.2017 // 23/100 days of productivity // studying history and drinking tea - pretty much all I do at the moment

[danskjavlarna]

From Der Orchideengarten, 1919.

My Strange & Unusual Site | Books | Videos | Music | Etsy

[dalliancedujour]

The Norman Invasion / Staunchest Gay Hooker re-jaunteded.

You should seen how staunch-ass hooker advertisement this photo coulda been, almost happened, then the program crashed. Next time... or even now... you could just pick a real one, reasonably DTLA orchard-pride vintage, right now, after a full moon's jaunt about the local alleys, see how trite he might, that's the slogan. Baby dance-ass shit du luxe, du jour, Dubai? Don't matter how valid fresh you are, out the desert, the fuckboyardee substantiates a draught of holy water, that's how du jour the played-out hand-eye coordination is, validly still Sunday AF today, just waiting for a Tuesday Monday actually Monday do over, ... kinda contentious, but kinda validly "dunno what day it's been, 3rd-one straight, off-hand, kinda treasured lady meat, usually fuck my uncle so OK, this one's valid..." ... kinda delicate, when need be, ...

That's how staunch some people contend a dude like me is, substantially, a social work jaunt, about alleys, about town, just do gay, even if you're not, that's how vintage, that's how staunch one dude was that I'm gay like that, and done with the alley dumpster shit by the time he shows up, ... jaunt-movement-vetted, this one got me, as the best-of, of all the alleys about town, conceivably, by that time of morning.

So, I took some liberties, obscene, while jaunted AF, admittedly, with some pretty contentious aspects of middle English grammatical usage in the context of 11th century stylistic conventions, considering the impact of the Norman invasion of England and the wrath it bore on the aesthetics and acceptable boundaries of franco-linguistic implications of superiority over a tidy neat etymology, heretofore, (it had been supposed…) of a standard-bearer Middle English, or “Old E,” like the malt liquor, as it might commonly be dranken by a corner-ass bum, or perhaps a proud El Salvadorean, even to this very day. Linguistics heritage stylistic considerations hearkening back to the deep-seated French and Latin roots of grammatical repertoire become du jour, way stauncher, in the greater picture of the developing language environment of Europe, wielding magical sprinkles AF, unbeknownst, to the Old-E linguistics-torch-bearers of post-10 66 a.d. Norman conquest English-speaking usage; proper, du jour, until the post-late-Renaissance, clearly; as a topic of staunch contention among scholars and old dirty bastards who drank malt liquor, du jour, for shizzle.

...

Quote:

During the late Renaissance and early modern periods the vernacular languages of Western Europe gradually replaced Latin as a literary language in many contexts. As part of this process scholars in Europe borrowed a great deal of Latin vocabulary into their languages. England’s history was even more complex in that, because of the Norman conquest, English borrowed heavily from both Norman French and Latin. The tendency among language scholars in England was to use Latin and French concepts of grammar and language as the basis for defining and prescribing English. Because French had for so long been seen as the language of the nobility, there was a tendency to 👀 cases where English-language usage differed from French (and/or Latin) as ignorance on the part of English speakers. For example, in Germanic languages, such as English…


(From Wikipedia, https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_English_usage_misconceptions#Grammar)


Perhaps I was a bit jaunted, unappreciably much, admittedly for the stark Old English 800 style of the standard usage likings of the day, and I let some depravities of intelligence piss-drip on to my daily garb, as it were. But, too jaunted AF to be fuckable, for a man who shoulders a manbag messenger venture capitalist ranting persona, round the downtown Los Angeles backroads of non-hipster demographic “outlying fringes” of where it goes down, as far as “guys for skid row fare,” as I was, most commonly, (as I would, weeks later, have come to discover). But what about other people? In an early a.m. alley, at the hew of Olive at 9th: a veritable luxuriant mobile-“as bums go” lifestyle accompaniment to the “shit goes down” sorta standard bearer recyclables jaunt, turned down: “a dark alley,” quote unquote; some say, an episodic, perhaps, local broadcast “awaken!” scandal of the lower-dwelling life forms closer to ground, to defy the fashion maker’s typical drama of “whatever;” quote: “new girl!” - stuff “about offices” in short-scale high rise lofts of a livv-(sic)-work district bordering South Park, so it’s totally like Brentwood to Santa Monica, eastside, for locals, yet so much more walkable, for bums who do cans-and-bottles-recycling-while “Fashionably bum athleisure technical institute” jaunt that likely be “fare on the backhoes” of the ostensible mind about me (or someone like me); come to find that it’s a daytime by light destination, by homeless of all sorts, (or several at least). Ostensibly posh. It’s definitely not the standard bum’s way-back side alley iconic quotable “landmark,” (yet maybe, for some)...

...

But for a certain type of bum, this circa summer 2017 recyclables jaunt,

“It was pretty vintage,” they say (the contenders). “Pretty cave-aged gruyere.” A fabric dumpster side alley late morning (if it was night, which it was (it had been), for me). Was I giving off signals of a trite early a.m. bum, in the alley, scuffling around with a stick in the trash? For fabrics, of all things. The scraps of the big fish.


Apparently.


But was I flagrant? On broadcast? Flirting with showing off, ostensible Catholic jaunt physicalities, like “I’m so du jour, so narcissistic, so trite al dente tagliatelle petit mignon fuckboy-al-flambé?” Quoted? Spotted, so histrionic, like a madman, on an imperial jaunt, about town…? Now, quotably “jaunting on trash dumpsters, post-jaunt-trifles curiousity piqued. So they contend. So they dramatic at “how does it happen to me, yet it always, and why? - about how “must be” I had was (“is, as it were,” from a different perspective. Fonda cock asstitution competitive jaunts about “he does that, so always,” like “I see it, so commonly” contentious standards depravity deprecations, fallen from “whatever they do;” I do me, “alley fabric trash dumpster dive “this one,” young maverick.” All quoted as such.

...

Perhaps.

...


Perhaps, when I got a bit 🙌, I let some foul off-handedness kitsch-ass 💩 slip, in my technique. “What a trite row about morning,” “it must be,” so I thought. Yet I didn’t believe it. Staunch, to contend. The sleepers are sleeping, the other ones understand how fabric jaunts go for a “jaunt-trifles, recyclables also,” (included) trite curiosity of fables’ lore: established, du jour, like “he does package deal” for ladies who go “beyond scandal” to get to a quote “real one.” They understand. A bum.

Loll.olololololololol


But, still fuckable, in a skid row housing trust kinda jaunt, with a dumpster search and rescue dive, just to be a fitting ending. It was a pretty bold row of split-infinitive egotistical assertions of Francophile superlative-nature-isms of off-handedness purported usage, at my leisure, like I pwned it, so jaunt. I did pwn it pretty staunch, like a 🦄, at the time, I have to admit. It could have been offensive to people around me, and to those who observed it.


But, at the risk of appearing “not validly” jaunted-AF, yet fed well this year, of all years (on garbage, that’s how I take care of myself). I made sure it was a blogable-bodied jaunt, of a staunch European flavor, just to do Italy and France… about town, a dump, “over London” and 💩. Peasants cook small game to that 💩, about how jaunted that 💩 was, that “when he showed up: episodic:” the dalliant du jour boy. Bum enough to fight off contentions he was decadent, and self-indulgent… nah… “he was staunch on fabric-trifles jaunt, in a post a.m. beyond-tabloids move on my life!” - some said; “they do civil rights stuff, whatever.”

“Staunch so much, I didn’t need him here any more” they act “like they live there,” they obviously don’t sleep. That’s how jaunted the comrades were when they showed up, after that jaunt. Was it unhygenic? So jaunted AF split infinitives, so many? The North-men were staunch, I can tell you. Staunch to that effect. They put the truffles on that boar, when they roast it. Louis. Ex. Veeee, insignia: wigged-ass 🏇-riding trompe l’œil visually narrative biopic, no less, that’s how contentious some Englishmen stated that “Norman invasion,” “grammar;” “du jour” was, circa 10 66. That’s how “came-at-me staunch” they contended they needed to do about a trash dumpster jig, and a dig, with a stick (in my head), in the trash, if I had to recount it. I don’t actually “see them.” Some ivy-league asspad contentious 💩, gym-League sauna, effleurage de leur, shitsicles of Normandie, post-jaunt, without 🛀. They come at me, contending that “this be on broadcast:” real bums of Los Angeles. The sleeping ones missed it. This is the breakdown.


Some might find it reckless, call it deprecations, 🌈 sprinkles and frosting, but “recyclables bum” just wasn’t cutting it. Standard white guys from Eastern lands had to show off their cuisine, and how finery was it? To an Englishman? Pretty jaunted, pretty artisanal, seasonal, and craftsman, the Norman French style, so fancy, the Latin etymological roots. That’s how decadent the Ass-shit-kitsch faring “jaunt, you?” contenders that I do “so fabrics, everything - picked through the trash dumpster, without being harassed” were about it. My autonomy. My right fare of passage, throughout.


But to an east-coast southerner? Neo-nazi ass news feed du jour content protestors? Pretty contentious, I guess. The west coast continental du jour of a people raised on Germanicism, unacceptable, some people tear down monuments for 💩 like that. That’s how jaunted we GAF about the news, by the time it reaches us, over here. Standard white guys… contending.


We piss that jaunted, on a Monday late-morning / afternoon, after a trite fuckboylific tabloid-b-roll weekend, every other weekend, though. This week, I rested. But the gay dudes… don’t stop coming at me. Like they heard about me, or something. Like they practice, then they show up, stauncher than before, stauncher than contended. Staunch gay, from out of town… sour doh boy. Pretty contentious, around here. Around here, guys like me jaunt. AF. That’s about it. Sweat it out, in the heat. Al fresco? So fresh-though, so jaunted, so 🌈 AF 🦄 💩, in the alleys.


But nuclear war, meanwhile? That’s pretty contentious, that Old-E Norman invasion 1066 💩, so du jour, so bold, so provencial European, maybe inconsiderate… to a Korean translator, off-✋.


Don’t blame the messenger, they say, “I was jaunted, AF, about town. Unappreciably so. Unbathed, in the summer, but to miss out on athleisure status would be unacceptable, for the average bum, around Los Angeles. They even stole my shoes. Stole all my 💩, that’s how 🦄 it got, 🌈 sprinkles, when they hunted down a real one. A wild boar. Animalistic. Fuckboytastic, for the ages.


But contentious? Nah… not to an island nation, hopefully, I do young Maverick, you do you. No contentions with how jaunt you roll that bowl, over there, I don’t smoke that 💩, though. I snort it, eat it, strictly. But knocking back a bottle of piss? That’s not beyond me. So du jour, sometimes, after I jaunt, I thought.


Then I sobered up, once I did that. They validly got me drinking piss, like I’m an old one, like that malt liquor du jour, for a real bum of Los Angeles, Olde English 800. You do you, I’ll do my thing, I’m allergic, sorry.

Seriously. Allergic to alcohol.

[dalliancedujour]

[rosewong]

Sketchbook

[dalliancedujour]

My first jab at this jaunt morsel, from rainbow sprinkles -ostensible trannyverse signal broadcast (in my head), "happens to be a being with a strongly asserted intellect; independent, and apparently, jaunted beyond aficionado-acquaintanceship status, when it comes to Norman persuasion, given the slightest base jaunt doh boy tabloid-rated fuckboyardee pop-up boutique eatery, for people who do Italian, yet fuckboyardee: 89¢ at Ralph's; 400 calories, instant, no heat required? For a non-alcoholic, it's as good as some post-meditation psychic jaunt aficionado coaching material, executed in style; various ones, at that, via text-to-speech, (and I think it's me, well enough. Enough to forget about the boycotts and strikes against shit like I jaunt, shitsicles splotch, end-of-summer, yet, no. Salmonella, defeated. Doggy bags, I needed them, for ostensibly un-civic good will gesture meritocracy lifetime achievement assertions, for the socialist pride conscientious demographic; ostensibly (I have it; books are written on socialism, on socialist figures, and hence, et cetera, deprecations abound, by seditious Arby's roast beef (rather, instead) distraction-prone minds, now they feast, on multi-wich deals; meanwhile, Norm's (ostensibly, they did America Norman-aficionado capitalistic societal offering) works, it does date-night stuff, and it's located, particularly, off-hand, memories assure, in more upper-crust cities, such as LA dream boy shit fare, circa college years, when I dated: the so LA dream boy girl, (of my dreams). Norm's totally went down, on any given night. We took down the whole menu, invited our friends, (believably), and did the adult thing. Turns out, the Normans influenced musical notation, in terms of melismatic styles of capricious note-movement, on long, held-out "neumes," and added staff tonality signifying notation, for more uniform performance, from scratch (to the sight-reader of medieval notation, as it had developed, by this era); chant, as it were. They held out, like that, shitsicles on mute; ostensibly. Prior to this? But scant records of what to do, debates over tones, duration, lack of something so ostensibly French, from the Latin: neumes. Ostensibly, jaunted-aficionado explorers of grammatology, semiotics, and linguistics (cuz people be trite, with their meanings, sometimes) of the 1960's developed some concurrent technology epistemological trace-backs to other guys, who did "men," full-stop, like men who didn't fuck ass of each other. Valid ass man shit, philosophy. No kink, no stink on the pink, just contentious irrefutable shit, in an era of black plague (perhaps), shitsicles, du jour, ostensibly... leprosy, rot, out and about, on the street. Standard white guys had no one to claim should clean up the messes; women? Who the fuck knows? About some tautological systems; valid proofs: I can sniff my undies, and they are, by all means, totally acceptable in public. Imagine the man who hadn't been washed by a Catholic hand, on some doh-boy transitioning days, of a month, where salmonella was featured. Some men, lived that one down, in dying, unknown. Some men: paved the way for trannylific feast of "whatever" aversion tactics; topics that last, beyond the mist trite bum occupation shite-load, inordinate timing, so rude, yet he validly jaunts on some lighter-flicking shit every 15 minutes, just to jaunt, sans shitsicles, stylistically: du jour, for a bum. Yet, I'm un-empathetic, no doh-boy ass shit; it's contentious: taking a shit-timing's shit, standard, and washing off, like a Catholic hand touched me, down there, (once). Reasonably, men either join meritocracy ranks, or gather to kill me, about the dream boy contentious AF row, about some "not tranny? -shit, about lately, and "cuz." Not on this go-around. Deconstruction, et cetera. I failed, pretty shamefully, in grad school, 2nd year (tried). Yet the LA dream boy shit outperformed even Iraqi prisoner abuse standards of hardball, when it came to smoking meth (then I did jaunted AF trite attempts at scholarly presentation); desperately, like I was poultry about it. I dropped out, via email, after self-diagnosis jaunt-interests played out, to an ends of my life, as it had been; although the drug use was constant. Folklore, heroic - ass jaunt meritocracy wins were under my belt; and now, I see dudes, validly jaunting that staunch, like half ounce a week smoking, and somehow, I ended up not winning, in school. So, I did poultry, I did narcolepsy, I did all the other lifetime achievement award lifestyles of the people i cane across, except for some of the singular charismatic personas; so classic transcriptions necessary, for then, for moments like those. For some reason, people don't see it as unjust. Some people really prophecy the deprecated religious values, at least, in my bounded periphery of what I'd believe about people; Just to talk some contentious row shit, on a gang-stalking organization, coming at me, for ostensibly Jewish Christian, East-European, Chinese (Holocaust victims, as heritage), yet there's some Peruvian laws about fucking 14 year olds, that makes people aficionado of some reasoning other than classical Western lineage; which is fine, by all means (not the opposing view, though). Deconstruction, as a movement, is an endless pursuit, and making more, making bigger, is a folly of men; so easy to do, said Einstein. "Go smaller" was his advice for the wiser man. Neumes, in their most deconstructed state, are perhaps how memes came about, pretty validly. Pretty valid, the shitty discourse of talking about stuff; meanwhile, Scientology is pretty ostensible, also. But seriously, reverting to the "Hitler's Germany," scenario; the propaganda imagery of the era, is lame. The Soviets totally do mock up, ostensibly. Relatable, by modern day apps, of mobile devices, advertisement campaigns, nationalism. Post-meditation shit, yet people are boycotting me, based on a casually tangential slight comment, of a cousin-beyond relation type of designation, I was given, and "I guess" I do meritocracy stuff, about LA dream boy post-"winning" era; I went beyond killing myself, believed, "could-be-so," should be, and then people wanted it? Yet no valid proper communication. Statistically speaking, I pretty validly can rule my domain, when I'm around like-minded individuals; sometimes, I only get the punchlines and the tabloid AF jaunt ego jaunt movements (warmups, or standard fare / such as late middle English); in a world where people validly jaunt narcissistic, on piss? Even Oprah jaunted some piss-ostensible folklore wisdom, of the people, on air, of all things. Back in my university days, I couldn't consume, or transact, in the deconstruction semiotician playing field, as it was: pretty weighty competition; some heavy hitters, some coffee drinkers; some Nietzsche-vetted talk heads. Meanwhile, I was like, radioactively-level attainment jaunted, on some sparkly skies meth smoking smoke rising, visually, jaunt. While doing eBay. The folklore of my life, as it were slash was been, could conceived-of, I had, as it portrayed it's been, did to me? That's pretty valid organ grinder tidbits, savory spices, French-Moroccan, though I never tried it. I'll make a cheat sheet breakdown, top vintage jaunted AF post-sex life shit, while some contentious trannylific era -man March, to contend about panty leisure civil liberties etiquette, Meanwhile, if dudes validly worked out, while trannylific propaganda besieged them, by the hour, they'd develop jaunteded athleisure bum characteristics, of a masculine sort, even though: they had me, the other night, on some ass-baby birthing, for men (of an inner-ass lifetime developing fetus, of beer-bellied men who took pregnancy onset, found out in the wild, as I did). Men, in perspective, grow dimmer, from the light; in the shadows, "is it for every man, just the same?" This book that I'm reading, First Sightings, was purported to be standard fare of the "Social Work" occupation-dedicated "targeted one." It's an ostensible era in life, in a teeter-toter state, such as California, where people jaunt nuclear detox: resonant piss containment strategies and self-help propaganda; just to make sure that the fabric doesn't rip; ostensibly, the melting pot of "everything," whatever. So, anyways, that was a total unaccountably-driven train-wreck. How nuclear-radioactive citizens are we? How weird is it, to be a friendly man, among men? Weird ass shit, among people who got isolationist treatment, who don't celebrate freedom, as it's given to us, as citizens of the USA. Given that, aside from the post-meditation talk up, of "still, today? morning presentation; all shit, yet I sleep by cockroaches, and I cleaned up piss, off the concrete, last morning. Angry-ass diatribe people are relevant, nearby, lately. Not in my script framing, though. That's some irrelevant jaunt. But the Normans? They did neumes, for music. A validly disconnected third party; disinterested in emotional shit, or nationalistic aficionado stated expatriate claims of asserted beneficial citizen perks of child molestation accommodated, this guy, purporting the valid standard bearer situational chance, perhaps, that homosexual molestation of a young one, as a quoted "expat," just cause, (and then it be so), just so happens to be one of the strange ones, I don't understand, at that time. He got punched, by a standard white guy, self-injurer, in the psych ward; subsequently let out, on 72 hour status, meanwhile, me? Contentious. 30 days, standard. Domestic or international terrorist incident, on the news. Rampant egotistical shit, shitsicles, some say, ("unspoken ostensible sentiments; none really proper, to represent me;) Yet the deconstruction scholars of the semantic and semiotic persuasion? Totally discuss this phenomenon, in delineated, definitive form, passed down, from the German tradition; turning Socrates on his head, creating "what is," out of what this had not been slash could be, explainable, even? More of a becoming, in constant flux of being, and relatedness; either valid, or it's not. It's sometimes truly difficult to find aesthetically-pleasing form, in materialization, on textual formats. The main significant thing being, though, is that validly truthful, previous unknown technical literature /grammatical forms, and accurate guesstimating definitions, are capably disseminated, across borders and boundaries, transcending the ego (and trite shitsicles). With buttcheeks stuffed with a paper? Trite whiff of fabled lore, validity. Doh boy shit days, over. But music? Musical intelligence is one of the 9 major intelligences. The other ones are just as requisite, in life. Etcetera, etcetera. The book on suprasegmental linguistics discussion speaks on the smallest aspects of sound length and quality, pitch, intonation, cycles of frequencies common, in speech. Doing a poor Russian accent is truly some outlier efforts, put out. It's like doh boy radioactive jack-off, out, on the wild sort of trite bread maker's sourdough. Not from around here. Seriously, people. Eastern Europeans aren't simply living just to make naked children for meth smokers and crack / cokeheads; I seriously... feel like there's a stated, unacknowledged cult of personality lynch mob, at it's "finest," yet so many people totally disregard the fashionable bum athleisure technical aspects; they're truly fine motor skills, learned from childhood, in the classical standard. These things are supposed to be pleasing, within reason. Some people let the depraved propaganda "never do" kinda shit happen, and then, dudes act like homosexuality gay status shit just sprang out of nowhere, and bam, faggin' out. But the social work book? Ostensibly un-Christian, whereas my mom taught me to do things that praise God, and uplift him. People will seriously jilt the naysayers and non-presenting demographics of depraved individuals who don't do the valid "recovery" thing, and there's a book for that, also; actually, several. Some people are depraved about valid recovery meetings, as well. I'm going back to the book, for now. First Sightings.  Dictionary  Dictionary (US) Grammar Thesaurus  We use cookies to enhance your experience on our website. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our use of cookies. You can change your cookie settings at any time.ContinueFind out more Home British & World English  neume Definition of neume in English: neume (also neum) NOUN Music  1(in plainsong) a note or group of notes to be sung to a single syllable. Example sentences 1.1 A sign indicating a neume. Example sentences ‘This notation, common in some form or another to all early manuscripts, consisted of staffless ‘neumes ', signs that to a certain extent indicate the contour of the melodies but not the exact intervals.’‘The only strange-looking neumes are the slightly curved diagonal strokes, but these are not difficult.’‘If two versions of the same song can be found, then the later manuscript can be used as a ‘Rosetta Stone’ to help determine what the earlier neumes mean and how they can be interpreted.’‘In the 11 th Century, the neums are placed on lines for better pitch accuracy.’‘Rhythmic letters and episemas can be attached to these elements, and will stay with the neume where it is dragged on the staff.’ Origin Late Middle English: from Old French neume, from medieval Latin neu(p)ma, from Greek pneuma ‘breath’. Pronunciation neume /njuːm/      WORD OF THE DAY plotz FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS  The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2016 is...  Drunk Texts, Squad Goals, and Brewer’s Droop: an Oxford Dictionaries update  10 mistakes made by learners of English  Which Roald Dahl character are you?  11 words you perhaps didn't know were portmanteaus 'Bring' or 'Take'? Which of the following is correct? I'll take her out for lunch tomorrowI'll bring her out for lunch tomorrow NEXT 0/10 TRENDING WORDS Most popular in the world BFtranslatedotardazureracism Sign up for our newsletter Stay up to date with our latest news and receive new words updates, blog posts, and more. Choose your country  United Kingdom United States --------------- Afghanistan Åland Islands Albania Algeria American Samoa Andorra Angola Anguilla Antarctica Antigua and Barbuda Argentina Armenia Aruba Australia Austria Azerbaijan Bahamas Bahrain Bangladesh Barbados Belarus Belgium Belize Benin Bermuda Bhutan Bolivia, Plurinational State of Bonaire, Sint Eustatius and Saba Bosnia and Herzegovina Botswana Bouvet Island Brazil British Indian Ocean Territory Brunei Darussalam Bulgaria Burkina Faso Burundi Cambodia Cameroon Canada Cape Verde Cayman Islands Central African Republic Chad Chile China Christmas Island Cocos (Keeling) Islands Colombia Comoros Congo Congo, The Democratic Republic of the Cook Islands Costa Rica Côte d'Ivoire Croatia Cuba Curaçao Cyprus Czech Republic Denmark Djibouti Dominica Dominican Republic Ecuador Egypt El Salvador Equatorial Guinea Eritrea Estonia Ethiopia Falkland Islands (Malvinas) Faroe Islands Fiji Finland France French Guiana French Polynesia French Southern Territories Gabon Gambia Georgia Germany Ghana Gibraltar Greece Greenland Grenada Guadeloupe Guam Guatemala Guernsey Guinea Guinea-Bissau Guyana Haiti Heard Island and McDonald Islands Holy See (Vatican City State) Honduras Hong Kong Hungary Iceland India Indonesia Iran, Islamic Republic of Iraq Ireland Isle of Man Israel Italy Jamaica Japan Jersey Jordan Kazakhstan Kenya Kiribati Korea, Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Republic of Kuwait Kyrgyzstan Lao People's Democratic Republic Latvia Lebanon Lesotho Liberia Libya Liechtenstein Lithuania Luxembourg Macao Macedonia, Republic of Madagascar Malawi Malaysia Maldives Mali Malta Marshall Islands Martinique Mauritania Mauritius Mayotte Mexico Micronesia, Federated States of Moldova, Republic of Monaco Mongolia Montenegro Montserrat Morocco Mozambique Myanmar Namibia Nauru Nepal Netherlands Antilles Netherlands New Caledonia New Zealand Nicaragua Niger Nigeria Niue Norfolk Island Northern Mariana Islands Norway Oman Pakistan Palau Palestine, State of Panama Papua New Guinea Paraguay Peru Philippines Pitcairn Poland Portugal Puerto Rico Qatar Réunion Romania Russian Federation Rwanda Saint Barthélemy Saint Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha Saint Kitts and Nevis Saint Lucia Saint Martin (French part) Saint Pierre and Miquelon Saint Vincent and the Grenadines Samoa San Marino Sao Tome and Principe Saudi Arabia Senegal Serbia Seychelles Sierra Leone Singapore Sint Maarten (Dutch part) Slovakia Slovenia Solomon Islands Somalia South Africa South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands South Sudan Spain Sri Lanka Sudan Suriname Svalbard and Jan Mayen Swaziland Sweden Switzerland Syrian Arab Republic Taiwan Tajikistan Tanzania, United Republic of Thailand Timor-Leste Togo Tokelau Tonga Trinidad and Tobago Tunisia Turkey Turkmenistan Turks and Caicos Islands Tuvalu Uganda Ukraine United Arab Emirates United Kingdom United States Minor Outlying Islands United States Uruguay Uzbekistan Vanuatu Venezuela, Bolivarian Republic of Viet Nam Virgin Islands, British Virgin Islands, U.S. Wallis and Futuna Western Sahara Yemen Zambia ZimbabweSelect your country SIGN UP Further reading  What is the origin of 'sleep tight'? One of the mysteries of the English language finally explained. READ MORE  Top tips for better writing Some advice to nail your writing assignments. READ MORE  English prepositions How to get prepositions right in a heartbeat. READ MORE  Top tips for CV writing In this article we explore how to impress employers with a spot-on CV. READ MORE  Archaic words Archaic words have a charm that never fades away, from French sounding to wondrously mysterious ones. READ MORE Find Out More AboutContact usPrivacy policy and legal noticeHelp Follow FacebookTwitterGoogle+Instagram More from Oxford Dictionaries OxfordDictionaries.comOxfordWords blogOxford Dictionaries SpanishOxford Global LanguagesOxford Dictionaries Premium © 2017 Oxford University Press

[rosewong]

Tanya Taylor / SS18

Drawing my way through Fashion Week - Rose Wong

[dalliancedujour]

I totally wish I could pull off neat lines like this. <3

[dalliancedujour]

Fashion slash art / material / design slanted dalliances of the morning: cooler-weather looking-ahead-assed bold color aficionado total win… in the Placito Domingo (sic) Olvera Street adjacent brick road planting spaces: I totally stirred up and spilled out some way-beyond, adventerous mierda about a week ago, when things got contentious during the buildup to the KKK thing, the #standardwhiteguy meme thing became my jaunt of the month, beyond shitsicles du jour contentious coffee table literature culture introspective pieces, retro-fitted to be trite… all dente, if I may be so self-indulgent as to gloat, beyond.

I did, also, achieve loving affection and trite AFFF park dirt-run walking zone (adjacent) romance with a tried and true woman, of veritable female-born pedigree, I’m nearly sooooo AFF fuckin certain, and it was so everything, so trite, so totally okay, though, in light of all the LGBT contentious ass shite-smell trite AFF shown-up stature, lately, of that whole jaunt. We totally, totally, afterwards, went to the nearby church and cleaned up and enjoyed a free du jour breakfast, no doubt funded by people who jaunt for USC type shit… as far as the cafe, nightlife, religious, social work, and community outreach thing goes…

Ostensibly, a feature-ass standard of lifestyle introduction entertainment by the heritage-grown, orchard-pride vetted current-generation, “young mavericks” of south Los Angeles, burgeoning upon an emerging cosmopolitan metropolis, so world class, muah, (slithering tongue thing) as is in the case of my jaunt - ostensible stomping grounds, lately (okay, she looked like the pretty older lady from “touched by an angel;” in perspective, retro specs-ed, “quote,” (there could be some profane trite shit like F'ed YM type of stuff here, commonly, lately, but, no. A lady is a lady, and it was a beautiful departure from the du jour dailies lately, of “dudes tryna rail me AFF fuck,…” (Who did that to you when you were younger…? rhetorical.)

Anyways, it was valid as romance can be, I’ll let it stand at that.

But hand-crocheted cardigan: bold, at that? In rouge?

You’d totally think I’m sooooo fuckin homo, unless you actually knew me, or unless you see it jaunted, out in the wild, in DTLA, by day - or night; perhaps for a week or several straight, that’s how jaunt okay it looks - (on a guy like me, at least).

Pfffffsssssssshhhhbhbbwwwwwww

Okay.

And then, the novelty affinity, most-trite interest thing, for a real aficionado of design / material / form-type shit… since I’m classy… cox. 2, preferably… that’s the trite AFF lifestyle jaunt that everybody so relates to, yet to see the broken payphone shit jaunted out and twisted, in discarded street litter form, - while - aficionado of design type shit?

Pretty jaunt ass shit to see, for a guy like me, about towwwwnnn… I picked it up for an illustration study-to-be/do.

Ohhhmfggg okay.

The point? It was totally, totally, totally… a validated ass splotch, for the sake of restraining my baser impulses to call it what it could have been… So trite, along the park, in the pine needles, by the walkway. Pretty trite, yet so nature, ostensibly, Christian moderate Norman Rockwell -asspad shitless…

That valid. After a weekend like DTLA Proud weekend shit going on…?

So valid.

Trite?

Try… This … Ego… AFFF mother fucker….

That’s how they want me to look.

The truth? So pigeons and romance type stuff. There’s no good way to end it, its just contentious.

[dalliancedujour]

So much adventure since I found the baby last week. We are soooooo tired, but I'm on my way to get groceries for us, and then maybe we'll go hang out in San Julian park.

[dalliancedujour]

Now that I see the intelligence that drove it, I can't validly claim ownership of the litanies, smarts-wise, but I wrote it.

So, I took some liberties, obscene, while jaunted AF, admittedly, with some pretty contentious aspects of middle English grammatical usage in the context of 11th century stylistic conventions, considering the impact of the Norman invasion of England and the wrath it bore on the aesthetics and acceptable boundaries of franco-linguistic implications of superiority over a tidy neat etymology, heretofore, (it had been supposed…) of a standard-bearer middle English, or “Old-E,” like the malt liquor, as it might commonly be dranken by a corner-ass bum, or perhaps a proud El Salvadorean, even to this very day.  Linguistics heritage stylistic considerations hearkening back to the deep-seated French and Latin roots of grammatical repertoire become du jour, way stauncher, in the greater picture of the developing language environment of Europe, wielding magical sprinkles AF, unbeknownst, to the Old-E linguistics-torch-bearers of post-1066 a.d. Norman conquest English-speaking usage; proper, du jour, until the post-late-Renaissance, clearly; as a topic of staunch contention among scholars and old dirty bastards who drank malt liquor, du jour, for shizzle. During the late Renaissance and early modern periods the vernacular languages of Western Europe gradually replaced Latin as a literary language in many contexts. As part of this process scholars in Europe borrowed a great deal of Latin vocabulary into their languages. England's history was even more complex in that, because of the Norman conquest, English borrowed heavily from both Norman French and Latin. The tendency among language scholars in England was to use Latin and French concepts of grammar and language as the basis for defining and prescribing English. Because French had for so long been seen as the language of the nobility, there was a tendency to see cases where English-language usage differed from French (and/or Latin) as ignorance on the part of English speakers. For example, in Germanic languages, such as English… (From Wikipedia, https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_English_usage_misconceptions#Grammar) Perhaps I was a bit jaunted, unappreciably much, admittedly for the stark Old English 800 style of the standard usage likings of the day, and I let some depravities of intelligence piss-drip on to my daily garb, as it were. But too jaunted AF to be fuckable, for a dude? In an early am alley, about town, circa summer 2017? pretty vintage, say the contenders. Pretty cave-aged gruyere. Apparently. But was I flagrant? Flirting with showing off, ostensible Catholic jaunt-physicalities, like I'm so du jour, so narcissistic, so trite, so al dente flambé, so histrionic, like a madman, jaunting an imperial jaunt, about town…? Perhaps, when I got a bit excited, I let some foul off-handedness kitsch-ass shit slip, in my technique. But, still fuckable, in a skid row housing trust kinda jaunt, with a dumpster search and rescue dive, just to be a fitting ending. It was a pretty bold row of split-infinitive egotistical assertions of Francophile superlative-nature-isms of off-handedness purported usage, at my leisure, like I pwned it, so jaunt. I did pwn it pretty staunch, like a unicorn, at the time, I have to admit. It could have been offensive to people around me, and to those who observed it. But, at the risk of appearing not validly jaunted AF, yet well fed, this year, of all years, while I take care of myself? I made sure it was blog able-bodied jaunt, of a staunch European flavor, just to do Italy, and France… about town, all over London and shit. Peasants cook small game to that shit, about how jaunted that shit was, when he showed up, the dalliant du jour boy. Bum enough to fight off contentions he was decadent, and self-indulgent… nah… he was staunch. Staunch so much, I didn't need him here any more. That's how jaunted the comrades were when they showed up, after that jaunt. Was it unhygenic? So jaunted AF split infinitives, so many? The Norman were staunch, I can tell you. Staunch to that effect. They put the truffles on that boar, when they roast it. Louis X V wigged-ass horse-riding unicorn, no less, that's how contentious some Englishmen stated that Norman invasion grammar du jour was, circa 1066. Some ivy-league asspad contentious shit, gym-league sauna, effleurage de leur, shitsicles of Normandie, post-jaunt, without bathing. Some might find it reckless, call it deprecations, rainbow sprinkles and frosting, but fuckboyardee du jour just wasn't cutting it. Standard white guys from Eastern lands had to show off their cuisine, and how finery was it? To an Englishman? Pretty jaunted, pretty artisanal, seasonal, and craftsman, the Norman style, the Latin roots. But to an east-coast southerner? Neo-nazi ass news feed du jour content protestors? Pretty contentious, I guess. The west coast continental du jour of a people raised on Germanicism, unacceptable, some people tear down monuments for shit like that. That's how jaunted we GAF about the news, by the time it reaches us, over here. Standard white guys… contending. We piss that jaunted, on a Monday late-morning / afternoon, after a trite fuckboylific tabloid-b-roll weekend, every other weekend, though. This week, I rested. But the gay dudes… don't stop coming at me. Like they heard about me, or something. Like they practice, then they show up, stauncher than before, stauncher than contended. Staunch gay, from out of town… pretty contentious, around here. Around here, guys like me jaunt. AF. That's about it. Sweat it out, in the heat. Al fresco? So fresh-though, so jaunted, so rainbow AF unicorn shit, in the alleys. But nuclear war, meanwhile? That's pretty contentious, that Old-E Norman invasion 1066 shit, so du jour, so bold, so provencial European, maybe inconsiderate… to a Korean translator, off-hand. Don't blame the messenger, they say, “I was jaunted, AF, about town. Unappreciably so. Unbathed, in the summer, but to miss out on athleisure status would be unacceptable, for the average bum, around Los Angeles. They even stole my shoes. Stole all my shit, that's how unicorn it got, rainbow sprinkles, when they hunted down a real one. A wild boar. Animalistic. Fuckboytastic, for the ages. But contentious? Nah… not to an island nation, hopefully, I do young Maverick, you do you. No contentions with how jaunt you roll that bowl, over there, I don't smoke that shit, though. I snort it, eat it, strictly. But knocking back a bottle of piss? That's not beyond me. So du jour, sometimes, after I jaunt, I thought. Then I sobered up, once I did that. They validly got me drinking piss, like I'm an old one, like that malt liquor du jour, for a real bum of Los Angeles, Olde English 800. You do you, I'll do my thing, I'm allergic, sorry. Seriously. Allergic.

[dalliancedujour]

Standard white guys contend

Scenery: 1

(Jay shows up trite AF in the middle of a park lawn, staunch. Standard white guys contend jay’s recent contentious assertions of a “standard white guys” thing going on right now)

Blair

It’s kinda contentious, Jay. The “standard white guys” thing.

Owen

Yeah, Jay. That was a pretty bold assertion.

David

Yeah. Bold like that post-athletic jaunt piss you claimed was “vintage!” 3x and shit.

Blair

What do you have to say about this, Jay?

Jay (V.O.)

Well, I would assert that this is all preordained, for my sake, or on account of my existence, in some form, or consideration. I don’t have nearly the imagination to keep up this impetus so staunch.

David

Damn right, that’s pretty staunch. Staunch like a trite one. Showing up shitsicles, just off-hand, and now you’re trite on a Sunday morning? In the middle of the lawn? That’s a pretty bold move, there.

Owen

At least we know what he’s doing. He’s sitting there stark, like a fucknut.

Evelyn

Don’t fuck with him, guys, he doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

Owen

But he’s popstar iconic poster boy ostensible in the middle of the field, while life goes on, all around him. That’s kinda contentious.

Blair

And shitsicles?

David

That’s beyond cruise control, under control, quote unquore. Several weeks ago.

Blair

Well, maybe he’s not the unicorn of fabled lore. Not the million dollar baby. Not the reason, not the movement. Not the propensible du jour boy he’s been alluding to.

David

He didn’t take down his blog. That’s staunch contentious like trite shitsicles morning-after regret. He makes me question having a child in this world.

Evelyn

Those are just the doubts in the minds of men. Its really not that contentious.

Jay

They’re being facetious.

Nurse

Oh, facetious? I don’t know that one, off-hand. I’m gonna need to look that one up.

Jay

I’m pretty sure I’m right, on context. Whatever their motives, they’re definitely being facetious. I’m rarely ever wrong on an off-hand impulse.

David

See? See how trite he is? He thinks that he does everything right!

Evelyn

Well, you guys did start picking on him, in the first place, to begin with. What’s the harm in a little staunch contentiousness? He has the right to assert himself.

Blair

I find that to be pushing it. He’s asserting himself, ostensibly over standard white guys. He’s saying, off-hand, that standard white guys are trite AF in the wake of a stark one like Jay Ammon, ITF.

Owen

The staunch bum features are substantiated, daily. He’s not a fake, not a phony. And he’s asserting, on top of that, that he should be taking unfortunate homeless people under his tutelage and rearing them proper in the name of Fashionable Bum Athleisure Tech?

Evelyn

It’s pretty innovative, if you ask me. The mobile clinician, technician ambition, of the fashionable bum athleisure disposition? In my opinion, he’s ahead of his time. At the same time, he displays classic masculine features, all while maintaining perfect abstinence from intoxication and excuses that other men typically use. What do you have to say about that?

David

Staunch. Asspad aficionado status, trite since Friday, and he’s shown up recently shitsicles ITF? While maintaining he’s perfectly sober?

Evelyn

So he’s subject to faults.

Blair

Like showing up trite on the lawn. Pretty stark. Pretty staunch. Contentious, at that.

Owen

Standard white guys? To hell with the civil rights movement? This guy comes first?

David

It’s contentious. Who sets these standards?

Blair

And he doesn’t contend that he’s young hitler AF?

Evelyn

All this stuff is old.

Blair

And he meets celebrities?

David

Rail him, I say. Let him deal with the ire of the mobs. Standardized white guys AF.

Evelyn

You’re attacking the ostensible child in this man; the party that was never nurtured.

Owen

But he contends that he’s staunch? How trite with shitsicles was he, just the other night?

Evelyn

He can’t answer for all of those things. He can’t contend with the force of so many endless white guys contending he’s ostensibly not valid.

Blair

So he comes up with standard?

Owen

It’s just contentious. It’s the most sleight move a man could possibly pull off, under the circumstances. Asserting his validity in narcissism? Trite!

Evelyn

There are valid scientific study controls on his capability to perceive. You’re essentially challenging classic psychology schoolboy fodder in hopes that mob rule will establish itself du jour over this one, for the fact that he doesn’t “fit the standard” to begin with?

Davis

Serve him up standard white guy staunch contentious attitudes du jour, let’s see how he rolls with the punches.

Evelyn

But there’s more of hoy than him!

David

It’s the face that he would have done something like this, to begin with.

Owen

It’s un-Christian. It’s just staunch contentious AF, and he asserts thar he’s “Standard,” on top of that

David

I wanna be staunch pop magically delicious trite in his mind. I need oversight over this one. He’s pretty contentious. The sleights, the pride, I can top this one. I’ll make him substantiate how valid he is, on penalty of torture and staunch contention.

Evelyn

That’s pretty sadistic. You must have something against him, to be so staunch about his circumstances.

David

No. You don’t understand. This is bls young Hitler came up in the world. By sleighting everything that seemed like he couldn’t possibly un-surpass.

Evelyn

He did surpass.

David

That’s why it’s trite! Why the pride? Why the staunch assertiveness of his ego?

Evelyn

It’s self-esteem. His mother contends that this bullying is the end of all society itself. Might as well live in huts and hunt animals and maraud neighboring societies like knaves.

Owen

Just to see his standard white guy become a movement? All this, for his sake?

Blair

I see it, pretty stark, like shitsicles, trite since last night, stauncher than before.

Owen

A triple flusher.

David

The second coming.

Blair

Stauncher than before.

Owen

But standard? That’s just contentious.

hi

[dalliancedujour]

Tons of peers validly saw me counter-intelligence punked, du jour, out in the wild.

So, I didn’t turn gay, after all. The story is really strange. So this guy who’s particularly short befriended me the other evening. He’s kinda down on his luck, by default, on account of how short he is. His name is Bob. He’s my friend on Facebook. He’s the type of guy that never stops talking, and it’s all nonsense mind-control “military” delusion type of thing. 

Why do I even befriend this guy? I suppose, a couple of weeks ago, I was pushing pretty hard for my athleisure lifestyle to pick up some merit in athleticism; this is back when I did like 85 miles walking and jogging in a week. Since then, it’s been mostly rest, in between vouts of mental trauma, mostly based on the premise that many prominent people, peers, friends, classmates, etc, from the past simply dislike Fashionable bum athleisure technical institute, which is somewhat the alter ego that I’ve been given. It stands for several fundamental life attainments that I’ve discovered to be primary aspects of my current sustainable lifestyle. I try to sell people on the virtues of fbati, try to adopt them as adult children, here and there, with the intention to build them up to fashionable athleisure technical institute bums; bums who are sustainable and generally agreeable in society. I see it as a standard pathway out of the homeless life. 

There have been 3 subjects for this cause as my pupils, it’s lasted about 1-3 days, in general, for each of them. They inevitably start acting like spoiled, untamed children, and I figure I have a pretty good temperament about insubordination, I don’t hit people or yell; in turn, I’ve been given some notion that perhaps I might pick up a rational decent lady somehow, in the upcoming weeks or months. 

Oh, side note, but kind of fetching: I met the acquaintance of an Eastern european-descended South American lady a few weeks ago, here, at the same place I’m at now. She was so similar in appearance to Claire Danes, who was a popular actress; she had a series when I was growing up called “My So-Called Life.” I only got to see one episode, for some reason. I always missed it. Or maybe it was on cable or something. Anyways, I got to see it once and I kind of treasured it, as a childhood moment. 

Then I meet eva-leen (Evelyn) as I’m charging my phone in the downstairs food court of the main DTLA young people’s kind of du jour place to be; in that there is the Target here. It’s the Figueroa at 7th shopping place. It’s kinda standard. Anyways, I hang out on the upstairs plaza level a lot; they have power outlets here and wifi. Right now I only have my free subsidized government provided phones. Obamaphones. I have 2. They only give like 512 mb of data per month. But my other devices that I had through sprint got stolen. My iPad pro, my LG V20, and my iPhone 7 Plus. 

I’d been feeling like staunch bums had targeted me as a source of life energy and goods, at some point, in and around downtown LA, or in the sober living home in which I stayed, and they plotted ruses and circumstances for me to find myself in, in such a way that would lend my mind to being flimsy. Somehow I would do something thoughtless or uncharacteristic, which would leave me to lose my devices. So it was. Now I only have these free phones. 

The point, though, is that I talked to this young lady Evelyn, who looks like Claire Danes, and we totally seemed to click, although she has a husband, and she was waiting for him to contact her as she charged her iPhone, next to me, where I was charging. Despite all of the strange things going on, here and there, in my life, a beautiful young lady could still be engaged in conversation with me, deeply. I’ve been making it a point to behave in a Christian manner, and I do things as though I’m being watched over, and judged; I protect my reputation carefully. So I didn’t covet her relationship with her husband, I didn’t ask for her contact information or if we could be Facebook friends. I accepted that this would likely be our one and only conversation we would ever have. She spoke of God, and of her Homeland, and of her uncle. I dont know, maybe she’s one of those girls who has issues about her “uncle” or something; I think that some women who prostitute themselves use uncle as a figure of speech. Anyways, I take people at face value, and I wouldn’t impinge upon a married woman’s life; I don’t feel like it’s possibly appropriate for me, seeing as how I’m a homeless person. 

With rest that I’ve gotten, many of my delusions have subsided. I can accept that my wife is gone, and remarried; I sometimes hear voices that speak of unseemly circumstances, such as “Kristina’s living with my parents, and they’re all waiting for me to sober up,” or something like that. Solomon and all of his buddies from high school now reside at my parents’ home. These types of dramatic occurrences in my mind have left me pretty shaken; these circumstances had been portrayed to me in shocking realism, in my mind, over the course of days and weeks. Pretty traumatic. Parents being held hostage by a drug cartel, or by said former friends, and solomon Leyva. What is the truth?

Obviously, I don’t get complete or “at all” answers from you guys. I assume that I’m not the most magically unique unicorn ever, and some of the drama that plays through in my mind pertains to “the FBI” …

Lol that is the Gboard keyboard’s default suggestion of how the sentence proceeds, naturally. I do include the FBI in my mind, and in my general doings and beliefs; my disposition, perhaps theirs, as well, is that I wasn’t brought up and reared to be quite this destitute and depraved. 

Can I help others out while I’m here? A la Fashionable bum athleisure technical institute and my progenies, who befriended me. Is it part of my social work lifetime attainment load-balancing? Could I possibly nurture a socially sustainable person in these strangers; is it my purpose? Am I simply given ridiculous suggestions to believe, on account of the fact that I’m the “honest guy” trying to navigate drug rehabilitation, while maintaining honesty and accountability in terms of admitting to drug use, and regularly, at that? Having been through therapy, I’ve found it to be a life essential; being honest, trying to manage life on life’s actual terms: the things that I’m going through, the challenges I face, the seeming delusions, the things that aren’t pretty. 

Part of me wonders if some of these delusions I face are on account of my parents not being honest with me about their own substance use. Consequences handed down to me. Things I obviously will not willfully pass down to ones I’m responsible for. Solomon Leyva has the same defect of character in omitting truths and in coming up with elaborately staged lies and ruses to cover for his shortcomings, in the aspect of drug use. Methamphetamine, in particular. 

Is meth the de facto workhorse of the middle class? Are people enslaved by their drug use and drug dealers? Or are these all truly dramas that are all in our heads? Do I have a particular affinity for a certain delusion seeming much more plausible, based on the circumstances wrought for me, by the actions and choices of others?

I really don’t know. On one hand, it’s your retirement, and I’ve obviously been abjectly blessed with material wealth, during my lifetime. Obviously, the story that sticks it out, the most, is the most prominent life path I’ll follow in my future. Perhaps my parents really are using drugs, here and there, and they feel like they simply can’t tell me about it. Perhaps this was a fundamental fault of my upbringing. 

Which reminds me of the lady I met, who was obviously on stimulants, who chided her son, in a similar way that I had been, which I found alarming. I was supposed to help her come out as an honest person, and live on life’s terms. Perhaps I will follow up. 

Anyways, for the follow up to the shocker I sent you a few days ago, I was of the belief that just about all of my class of 2000 peers and fellow churchgoers of West Covina had decided to crowd downtown LA, and “crowd me,” in particular, just to be staunch, or because “Jay’s been too staunch,” or to make me take my blog down, or something. The parents that I know wouldn’t be interested in such inanities as the blog content I produce. 

Anyhow, I thought maybe I should see my former friend / gay guy who is a staunch supporter of such, there was the public mob situation, and somehow, somewhere in the mix, they made me determine that I simply haven’t gotten off enough, lately. It was like they flipped a switch in my mind; it was truly unfair to Jay Ammon, yet he was given a staunch blog, and content to boot, let him feel the it of the masses. Make him a sober, willing homosexual bro for show, for the end of the weekend. 

Being that I’m not “official,” “professional,” “licensed, bonded and insured,” (okay maybe I’m insured, okay), I can only assume that these are the de facto standard trials of a guy who is of the mind that he might write a blog, at age 35, called “dalliance du jour,” which was fed and fueled with much bravado, from an “as yet” unquantifiably mysterious source or persona (perhaps artificial intelligence and machine-learning driven, to begin with), and hardly anyone actually reads it, just about nobody or actually no one actually likes it, except for Jay. “Let’s turn him gay, for a night, just for shits and giggles.”

The counter-promise of the non-conpliant choice pathway was that there would be undesirable consequences, regardless. Regardless of anything, I de facto ended up at the LAC-USC psych emergency room, again, which was supposed to be my other plausible outcome option mode of action execution for the night, anyways. It was a jaunt, on a night where I’d have rather been simply “in compliance” with my risperidol regimen, which “wasn’t working properly,” because of the meth. 

Were these “social work” tasks du jour of FBATI'ing these young individuals simply counter-intelligence daily bread? Is Jay really the “du jour boy” of our collective fascination? 

Obviously, it was a counter-intelligence operation. I noticed, (obviously, soberly), that many familiar faces from DTLA had shown up “du jour, fuckface!” right up the road from “Dan’s” place, where the voice at the door also resembled the short man’s voice who had recently befriended me, which was the obvious and apparent ruin of all good graces of anyone in my hometown, for foreseeable decades to come. Jay had taken the bait. 

I contend that my mind was arbitration changed, and how shameless can they make me? Yet there I was, defeated; “Dan,” or was it “Bob” at the door, and they know each other like that? Was it perhaps an even more inteicate web of he know him, and him? He’s gay, I’m down, and Jay should also join in… 

No, if it was Bob at the door, and he said he’d call the cops on me, then that would be an intelligence touch to their dallainaces, I imagine. I was not a welcome persona, not to Dan, not after the last time I showed up there, which I’ve accounted for and confessed to as being potentially violent in outcome, according to the “story du jour” that I found myself emotionally drawn to, in which I was to attack him with a pipe, while also walking my dog. My dog died, soon afterwards. It’s horribly tragic, Biscuit’s death. The ways in which it played it are peculiar. 

I consider myself pretty staunch, yet I’m not alone. Do I believe that everyone I meet and know is nearly as staunch as I am, when it comes to being “messed with in the head,” or is this what my Chinese mother had ordained for me, as a relic of Chinese upbringing? Perhaps Jay is truly not so “standard white guy, and the Chinese in me is propensible,” above and below the surface.

Given that notion, I’m of the belief that people are subject to sleights such as those that I suffer, simply off-hand. Most people simply just aren’t better than me, more skilled or resourceful. In other words, if I’ve given you shit, before, I generally believe my own hype. I’m pretty classifiably sober, just about all of the time. 

The willingly seeking-out old and familiar homosexual sexual relations? Simply uncharacteristic of me, yet I can’t deny that I genuinely played the fool, and in material form, at that. People who know me, or know of me, were witness to it. I’ve been faulty in some way, so as to make this happen. Perhaps it is the gall of me, to seek out athletic achievement as a homeless person who sells software installation services, in order to procure more goods, supply my drug habit, maintain my weight, “throw off my mood balance,” and cause general discontent and contention with my actions. I can see that. 

Still, I have this notion that I should try to reach those who are in an even worse place than myself, teach them some of my virtues that have been nurtured within me. Maybe that’s too proud a notion, until I truthfully abate my drug use, for any and all purposes. Until then, I’m simply the “honest guy,” which is a virtue, in and of itself. 

[dalliancedujour]

There's a real pigeon of Los Angeles minor crisis under the freeway overpass on Flower between 17th and 18th. I found a young pigeon sitting out, languishing in injury, yet seeking the audience of passersby for any sort of help that could be offered. The bird is flightless, not amenable to being adopted, and distant from reasonable consistent sources of food, unless the car dealer or metro workers feed the bird. I think that the pigeon will survive and be able to fly within several weeks. I left out some fruit and mineral infused water next to the pillar and I tossed some soaked bread pieces towards the bird. Its the center north pillar of the overpass; where the bird is hanging out. If you happen to pass by there with a small bite to eat, I'm sure that the pigeons would appreciate it.