Limits

The Able Act is an expansion of the SSA work incentive known as PASS; this is what today's crop of otherwise brainless assholes are excited about; just as the ADA was grandfathered into federal statue on the basis of the 504 Rehabilitation Act, the Able Act would simply expand the tent to the mentally retarded who can be bridled, like a mule, to engage in simple slave labor tasks. Not necessarily a bad idea. Idiots become senior citizens if they live long enough-- my scorn, as usual, goes to the progressives who think all this layering achieves anything at all. You are shielded from the veneer of bad case managing and its bigotry. The Levy brothers of Beacon do not see it. Offering me inclusion on Writersblock was kind, and even discriminating, since my foul language and blatant prejudices have their ups and downs, but that kindness is not analogous to repairing a foul and evil system. You do not see how Trudy Richardson and Debra Horne treat me for my non-compliance; the fact that I dehumanize them makes my readers uncomfortable, and a part of my imagination enjoys their denigration. The only one who understood that was Erik, the dying transsexual. He told me to tell Debra to "go fuck herself" quote unquote, on a bad post stroke evening when I still leaned on a dialogue with the devil for lack of any other outlet. Some years back, but after my molestation in 2006.

For whatever stupendous reason, I was going to tweet about my bad transfer to bath chair on New Years Day. Why, I have no idea. Nicotine cramps impair my interior transfer balance. Swiveling back to power chair is more difficult than pivoting out, but finally, after two hours of trying to plant my soles, I did nit fall only because my left arm held my weight long enough for my right elbow to wedge my right buttock in. No tweet soliciting advice, no guard seeing me as a naked brick bat, no cop. It was close, but why tweet it? Even as most of us carry digital reality even moments before dying, why am I now so much engaged with 160 character affectation when it is too late for me? When urban ineptitude destroyed everything for me, even as I function on superhuman antipodes.

I had forgotten about gimpgirl. She bores me, and my caustic sensibility offends her no doubt, despite the fact she retweeted my snip about the ACLU on speed dial-- but again, no one from the online disabled community interacts with me-- why? Because I have crucified CILS as segregated bullshit? Relentlessly embarrassed Linda Dezenski? Disengaged from a midget like Louise with a bad attitude even though I held my frustration in? Disability activists are strident, unipolar, and evidently cowards. If they were truly in control of their IL centers, I would not have emerged from being lied to for four years, humiliated by suburban classmates, and none of you have anything to say. If I am so wrong, so warped, as cripples, you should. I'm going to shut Liberty Resources down, even if I have to go to prison, and I mean it. The last of my assets mull Ritter's bimbo.