A small Tuscan town

"That's a trochee in the second beat."-- Anna Deavere Smith

The furthermost I went on Tuesday to producing for Examiner was a shell shocked surfing of beat bylines on reliable Liberty City. I need a break from aggregating, despite Examiner's automated protests, and despite what I've posted in the past about how I desire to finish out my final productive years as an investigative journalist. Perhaps I have caused too much offense in some of my posts, but I have become a racist, however mortified, in enacting my university transfer as a mere form of protest, but deciding to be a good progressive while I was at it. Ten years of forced co-habitation with minority paraprofessionals, over 26 years of inner city housing, and I'm now a somewhat appreciative admirer of Abu Bakr al Bagdadi.

The community integration model has traumatized me into a superlative reactionary, and I do not know if this is what my undergraduate instructor saw in me when he advised me "not to do it." Americans of a certain socio-economic status put a premium on gnostic self love that is in continuous conflict with the worth of any individual human life, like that of Miss Eddie, the expendable bi-racial sloth who triggered within me a brief exercise toward self-immolation until I halted the attempt and wept. I could not reach the supervisor of the agency who sent her and nearly terrorized the woman out of my unit the following day. She had a real expression of fear in her face, and the following day after that I would not let her in. Trudy Richardson was hired some months after this, sent her equality charming minority assessment team up to my door. "I have a job to do now; people I have to answer to." I wonder how she would have felt had my father molested her and I surrounded her with klan members because she was reacting to trauma triggered by slovenly indiscretion.

The larger issue for me isn't Eddie's lack of restraint. The larger issue is the social exploitation of vulnerable people which virtually turns attendant care into a prostitution ring, buried in my 2004 back issue. There are things which need to be said which we never do. The community integration model breaks down when the recipient needs virtual constant care. That is better served in a centralized location.

I came as close as I could on Tuesday to giving Daniel Raudenbush an apology for my resignation and disillusionment with the work incentive project for which he hired me, but the fact remains, that, had John Spots spiraled into his suicidal crisis a month earlier, leaving the good psychologist to interview me with Harriet Fowler, I would have declined the position, and stayed at Liberty Resources until the center would have turned on me in a more timely fashion.