First of Winter

For the time being, I shut off the daily digest from the genesis of Ev Williams efficiency models, and I am considering suspending myself from social media, even to the extent I utilize it, for a time. Contrary to twitter's aggregating argument, that more followers offer solutions, even online, I do not thrive in a mass, and blocked CrimeMonitor for doing what hundreds of you have done since 09, linking to my account as a hook, then walking a way. This time it provoked me, at least as it pertains to the aftermath. CrimeMonitor gets its leverage off of the creation of victims, of which I am a cyclical one, and yet isn't interested in its reverberation, or wants to see smiles decorating the scarred tissues. I may have grown old online, but I'm of a generation which understood what loyalty to a periodical meant. On Medium, the very notion of a contributing identity means nothing, whether it is drugs, mental illness, abuse, software developing optimism, its impact on journalism, its impact on policy. This doesn't mean I won't continue to approach those who create a publication masthead, or that I won't rewrite what I submitted to ModernJourno and others about Serge Kovaleski and hypocrisy, revising past myself until I get it right, but I am still of a boomer age, when a byline in The Atlantic Monthly was a boon. A bunch of engineers in San Francisco cannot write me an application to undue the damages at the hands of a corporation which I've allowed to dictate the terms of my existence for 30 years, only to wake up to it enraged when it was rather late in the day, or write software to undo the damage from years of consumer model apologies for not being proficient at the duties outlined in the position for which you were hired. 

When I approached the humanity preservation through Linked In, I was essentially trying to restore myself to the Matrix Research model that, at one time, kept me gainfully employed, but this time as a volunteer, and maybe Courtney Cox did me a favor reminding me I have a significant level of class resentment against a coordinator with less than half my qualifications, who could be my grandchild, shooting me down without even giving me an interview, when the white abuse survivor, Rhett, considered me a promising candidate.

This is why I let myself be a caustic troll, why I say nigger with a reactionary lash. It is bad enough having the brain damage and body I do, hitting the walls of ageism and black entitlement on top of that. Courtney Cox hurt me, and even allowing for her youth, it burns. I wasn't rude to her, or Rhett, but it is perfectly fine for blacks to bitch slap it up, and odious when Caucasian bile builds up as a backlash, to be conveniently targeted by hypocrisy with everyone saying "don't talk like that," even if its an obvious, observable state, with the "like that" right in front of you: Courtney hurt me by questioning my judgment, and at my age, it sticks..

Even if my extended family sent me birthday gifts ahead of Saturday, I'm in serious trouble, and may need emergency food, and yes, I'm entirely to blame.