Walks Like A Duck

Before the sea and lands began to be,
before the sky had mantled every thing,
then all of nature's face was featureless--
what men call chaos: undigested mass.

Ovid's prologue, The Metamorphoses


A day of florid insouciance, nasal drip with the cloying and likely unhealthy radiator heat that is so beneficial to the discarded of public housing, Tammy Duckworth's election to the House might have been interesting if she was not a minority potted plant, but if I had once a seat at the table with President Clinton's Social Security advisory committee, there is no reason why I cannot do it again to dismantle independent living centers. If I could just interest a few investigative journalists with experience in tracking bureaucratic waste, the thousands of state dollars that go into CILs and go out into the pockets of litigators and former IL staff who file with the EEOC, even Nicholas Kristof might concede my myopia for revenge is not without foundation, but my day was long, cooking in between feline what is in my food bowl investigation committee, Vinnie throwing precisely two tantrums, I have to quit and come back again. When I really want to make dinner and it takes three hours of urinal dashing and arguments with proto-linguistic mews, of which the surviving brother does not have dead Joey's talent--Joey talked, evidence indicating my ex was right, and my deceased child thought he was human, like the way he propped his back against the table support, his fore paw leaning on the foot, as if to imitate me and Frank in our chairs-- I tire, especially in this heat, too cold out for fresh air via open window, I opened what virtual windows I needed at least for preliminary penetration, but find the flesh bowled and discomfited, beyond toleration.

(I did not tweet this yet and already have one view count, mmm. The anti-defamation league? Google monitoring? No David versus Goliath here, trust me, she says, smirking, as if one bitterly angry quadriplegic is really worth that much cause for concern; I haven't quite tested that with the fury bottled in Ellison's paint factory now, have I?) Not that I care about what those in charge of running Blogger think, or even what you do, the trail of abandon in my digital life reflecting my lack of affirmative structure in real work terms, but getting flagged after putting my heart into this, well, that is the paranoia of my online experience. Everytime I let me be me I get burned. I am, however, in the process of writing, and will slowly critique with more detail, my opening chapters of my book calling for the elimination of the IL federal mandate. This is currently a tap dance.

Before my id took over from the temperamental digestive system, diverting me, my sensibility was aiming at Tammy's profile being a good thing, depending on how she manages to deploy. Not everyone can come back from having 1/3 of their flesh transformed into beef stew, to then turn around and become a federal legislator, giving Petraeus even more reason to blush for shame. He led these troops for which Ms. Duckworth paid with her extensive amputations, and his lamented downfall gobbles the coverage much more so than the major's sacrifice. The EPVA achieved some stunning victories against the federal government, when you look at DC's accessible subway system. One reason I wanted to move to the capital when I had the more stable strength of my thirties.

Still, let me make one distinction for the ablest majority: the Jon Voight, representative of disabled veteran culture in Coming Home, is a distinct subset within the disabled community, from those birthed into chronic conditions. The groups intersect, but by and large, the wounded soldier has far more support toward successful matriculation than does someone like me, who has to be labeled *nursing home eligible,* to tap into even a modicum of the safety net that disabled veterans have, and hell will freeze over before the mainstream press even looks at this as an intramural competition, a pecking order that has valid reasons, but none the less creates a glass ceiling: I cannot supersede veterans preference in the byzantine labyrinth of the civil service aspirant, and it is growing long in the tooth to keep playing that wager.