Sean Penn infuriated since childhood. He bristles, but this is Penn, Castro's general on the mainland, carrying public nonchalance in his back pack like the fabled Gibraltar, started his brand in Bad Boys, making an actor's decision not to engage in vengeance, and it may be a false memory that I was on the floor splayed like Kafka's vermin, staring bugged-eyed at young Penn's punk nose and stringy hair, like so many former punks I once knew. John now resembles Patrick Stewart. Takes the cake. When punk academic and I were young, he had a full bodied mane, uncharacteristic for an Italian.
Never got a chance to run my hands through that mane, now a polished pate, but it was my poem I wrote about doing so that set my supervisor off. I mailed it to her to imply she had my confidence, and there we had it, an unrequited longing fractured against her blind husband's industrious performance.
Irony. We've all seen Sarandon work her way into Prejean's progressive tenacity many times. Her mercy nearly destroys her, and perhaps this will be my fate, consumed by a more dominant woman's mangled empathy brutalized into making so many subordinates expendable. Yet the death penalty is a binary American ignition. For or against, we polarize around what remains of ritualized executions, an act which can never undue the horror of aggression just to get off on the rush.
To the extent that the Internet reflects reality, mama told my my temper is frightening. Who wants to deal with a peevish spinster so unforgiving of pedestrian frailty, bearing the brunt of my censure? Let me place you in my sister's shoes. If her younger daughter experienced life long surgery, institutional constraint, developed the need for a wheelchair, wound up a rape victim despite parental efforts, was inspired by a leader, then denigrated, abandoned to a landlord's threats, would you want it brushed off, swallowed, if you passed away unexpectedly? I cannot move. I am dependent on battery powered technology capable of malfunction. Why is it so strange that this builds into frustration that I do not vent on society, since it is ineffective?
It isn't simply about narcissism. Decentralization is as cruel as a centralized environment, sometimes more inefficient, and just as prone to abuse as that which makes ambulance chasers drool. Lack of accountability means that equal protection doesn't apply. Do you believe in a caste system where individuals like myself should be untouchable? Cassie James is fiery too, like a cyclops. She has been escorted by security agents more than once in her actions against Paratransit. The system beat her by imposing restrictions. Used to be we applied for the service with a physicians signature. Now we have to be evaluated by physical therapists who know nothing about our conditions. I refuse. When you watch Sarandon invest so deeply in a spree killer, you can think of me. Never committed fraud; never cheated HUD out of a dime, broke my damn back as an advocate even for a homeless man whose fungal stench made my BO seem like a welcome scent. I never lied to my caseload, never classified them as a case management issue, nor misinformed them.
I want justice. I intend to have it.
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