The book ends with an epilogue consisting of a series of warnings and exhortations and forming an inclusion with the prologue by resuming its themes and expressions--note of the US council of bishops steering the flock.
Most Roman Catholics are atheists at heart. Ratzinger is. Shocking, presumptuous of me to make such a claim of the Pope Emeritus, a man who was conveniently deconstructed as unaware of his homosexuality by Andrew Sullivan, a transplanted Briton not conservative enough, as he was careless, inflecting himself with HIV, just like my brother, who is dead from meningitis received from AIDS. My brother was merely a middle brow sociopath. Andrew is a homosexual policy analyst, and therefore infinitely more valuable. To whom, exactly? But this is why I write this blog as I do, hating all pretension but my own. My remaining and very ailing grandmother is not an atheist. She is a simple Austrian peasant, unaware of her own anger, and a true believer. She terrifies me, raised me through a good portion of her daughter's journey through lithium to ultimate psychotropic death, and I miss her memory. More than likely I'll never see her again. I am not sure about Mary, my Catholic principal aunt. Better educated. Faithful, yes, but mainly lip service. I left the Church because I could see a pathway toward zealotry without belief, battling myself about returning to parish, raising troops in the service of a medieval doctrine which nominally commands 750 million, despite my recent inquisition by Sister Veronica. The nun may be right, and I should stop resisting, and comply.
Fuck you.
It is difficult to explain why Catholics are what they are. Dawkins accuses Roman Catholicism of polytheism. Not really. Roman Catholicism is hierarchical, ordered in accordance with the chain of being, the road to heaven a stricture dictated by ecclesiastical authority, and it is as much a chimera as a ranking of Hindu deities, but it is also Roman, despite modern diffusion and sexual molestation by homosexuals and pedophiles once burned at the stake; perhaps I have the biological memory of grand inquisitors, with this streak of Austrian retention in my barren uterus. AO Scott complained Crash (2004) is too schematic, and he is right. Haggis has a burr stuck in a rectal crevice. Ironies are conveniently placed to ensure what I've long contended. We all reduce each other by denomination, and we all have redeeming salient points.
I had not forgotten about my group DIA so much as left it alone after my former lesbian editor did her damage, and did not realize my Australian page views were coming from Rayna, who has cerebral palsy. Rather than disagreeing with my anger, or contending with my hatred of IL centers, she unsubscribed from the group, from where she was accessing my blogger url, at least presumably. I know little of the woman; we've had some discourse, but I'll say this. Passivity doesn't solve anything. I can understand ambulatory individuals not taking me on. Maybe you presume I am in denial on any number of fronts and don't need a dose of my medicine, and as so many writers have written me, "you don't know what to say," but the disabled community does, and our intake centers need to stop causing so many of us so much harm. I am in part culpable for allowing Liberty Resources to railroad me, but by 2007 that railroading took a serious and negligent turn. It happens far too often and it has to be dismantled and corrected. It also has nothing to do with how Australia handles its model. Philadelphia's center is now playing musical chairs with itself, and this too is so much guano to be washed out of your scalp; they do it all the time. The real reform is with Medicaid's fun and games, and I am not ending my crusade. I have been punished enough, and intend to ensure my former supervisor gets a taste of her own medicine.
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