"I don't hate anyone." Mike Baduchio, political operative-- (sic)
This evening I actually made it to my first Libertarian Party meeting in winter, this due to prior knowledge that I could ramp it up onto the Irish Pub's portico, and I met my first local libertarian politician, Ken Krawchuk, a bit of a ne'er do well with a grizzled out of Montgomery County, running for Guvenor against the seemingly insipid Tom Wolf.. He has run for the governorship several times, Mr. Krawchuk, and told me to write about meeting him, his tutorial on canvassing, being a wedge issue bitch in general-- not that he told me to write that, but I can be as disillusioned with libertarian political chapters as anything else, always a distant fourth rail in the American primary system. I met new people, old people, all my white boys, promising energetic turks, the geeks, the pot bellied stoners, the disruptive quadriplegic barking orders, spending money she wasn't prepared to, birthday gift not cleared yet due to bowel and holiday, meeting Molly and Mitch, the servers, and Mike, Krawchuk's handler. I broached Milo, and was respected enough to be asked about the state legislature. Was astonished to be asked. I did not say Brian K Sims should be torched, but would have liked to. Instead: "the state legislature is corrupt, on both sides of the aisle." And emoted strong feelings about the demise of Kahleen Kane. I called her Harris and Ken corrected me, only small notches of my 17 year distress escaping. I did not bring up my life threatening self-evacuation that is scaring me so much my problem might solve itself with a mid-July stress death, putting my life in jeopardy to do this as it was. On a full charge, the dilapidated Jazzy barely made my 23rd to Market to 20th and Walnut trisect and back the same way. The Quantum balks at the cold, which should be worse this time of year, but I live in the chair, and this is not the reliable P-200. I'm obviously wearing the battery down with constant use, and have another mental hand of cards to play, as this machine is only giving me three and a half hours run time, at best, with the short. I wanted to press Krawchuk. Kindly colorful figure he may be, why keep doing it, being the wedge bitch, the thorn? But I've made this click my family: Kokesh, Miller-Miller, Stiles, and poor Craig. Libertarianism, local, national, this is my psychiatry, and doing some libertarian stories, even getting a scoop, (possibly) this may be part of my final act. I was going to be stark, and as hollow as a snub-nosed cartridge, but I am too empty of feeling, so drained I cannot summon the will for the caustic erosion, ignoring, for example, that there was an African American stud in the mist, as well. We are diverse. I am simply the only spaz, the dowager, being asked permission by the kindly stout wife of the operative if she could pull up my socks. She did,. My mother must be turning in her grave, that this is the solution I've given myself to, as if these fractious individualists would sacrifice themselves to rescue me from Center City Niggerland. Don't feed me shit about freedom of mind. I've lived a fucking holocaust, with interludes, without a scintilla of hope to possess something so vital as private property. Will still bobbing, with all these hooks, baited as a catfish.
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