Fluck of the Irish

"I, personally, do not believe there is a ghost in the machine." Stephen Hawking on voice amplifier.

My exasperation with my incidental attempts to engage with the Toomey reelection campaign has little to do with the Senator himself. I do not keep track of his voting record, though cognizant of the fact that he was a tea party conservative who made gestures of reconciliation after Sandy Hook. I support him on ending Pennsylvania's status as a sanctuary zone, despite my unwillingness to recommit to the Republican Party. What irks me is on a good day in spring I wanted to go to his office on JFK to report for duty, and was under a misapprehension.
"Madam, mam," the staffer exclaimed on the phone, as if warding off a pit bull. Legislative offices for government business is distinctly separate from campaign headquarters in New Wales, which, if I had attempted to reach prior to Memorial Day of 2016, would have been problematic, with my large humidity altered two day defecations of mostly phlegm, drying out slowly in my century plus skeleton. Trolling for voters on my overly rich 5s isn't my strongest suit, in my desire to rally to keep myself alive.

In the zenith of his middle-aged bigotry, mio padre had little regard for either the Irish or the Poles, and was always keen on a reducible joke of the sort to which Joyce wasn't immune. My father's racism was only fiery when it came to niggers sleeping with whites. That was the sacrilege, but now in his eighties, it only has a wraith like echo to his slow enfeebling. My tap dancing flirtation with the senator's clan has left me disheartened, dubious about representation altogether, as if it would have been such a contested breach of ethics to allow me a reasonable accommodation to appear, if for nothing else but the discovery of incumbency's larder. This isn't to convey I give McGinty a second thought, only the realization that constituency is an over-valued classification, and the right's ideology is little more than fried rat on hickory next to violating federal regulations. I want to literally punish American liberalism, and Republicans seem merely to genuflect, or looking like a Seraphim during the papal visit.

I have absolutely no idea if raising my voice to Toomey and Sims and the convivial Dennis O'Brien did anything at all, other than shrink my body mass for a six foot depth dug grave. I softened the title because I'm not angry, only dissipating beyond the two political parties.