Predatory Sand Wasps

Temple University, whose access model the private university Widener copied, prior to accepting disabled students, first made me aware of Liberty, the disability center which has solved the problem of immortality. Its existence is federally mandated. I had no intrinsic awareness of the center in 1984, when it *incorporated* at a Pine Street location, but both Linda Dezenski and I joined the lowest common denominator of supports in an unwitting bondage. I in 89. She in 91, and as I continue on this downward slope, which ends when either power chair ceases operation, or a bad transfer forces me into Inglis House, or its equivalent, I simply cannot break away. Three locations, and because I ignored the platitudes of the ambulatory Linda Staroscik, who felt badly for me after my slash and burn divorce from Matrix, and said "you can always come back," without suggesting a position, and turned instead to the spastic supervisor whose bond I should have never horse traded, since I am now untrammeled shit, at war with myself, my dalliance with them, through their presidential suites, through their ugly sojourn on Delaware Avenue, where they warehoused in a dark brown dilapidated manufacturing center, to their current location, where I am dashing off tomorrow, and camping out, the objective being to mediate a cease fire with Riverside to insure I can vacate as safely as possible, and good luck with that. Off the top of my head, three employees from the CIL still know who I am, though I never worked with the front desk receptionist, Ann, or Anne Kline Schmit, Fran Fulton, a blind woman, Nancy, erstwhile den mother, whom I've mentioned, and Libby, an Asian Indian in tech with what I do not know, mild stroke handicap. That is four, discounting Gretchen Bell, who projects herself like Peggy Kessler, pancreatic cancer survivor, but Gretchen did not know me in the family, and treats me with case management self-consciousness, not that I fault her. On one level, the disability movement exists because of maternal sentiments, pity, unwillingness to abort.

Human suffering coalesces around three vectors: territorial location, the intrinsic value of their work activity, and the ability to move, or settle into an ideal home, whose equity accrues, while we exchange the idea of habitation for ownership. I am thinking a great deal about this, as defining ownership as the source of class conflict takes us into Marxist theory.