Smothered In The Flock

"It was dehumanizing."-- Allison Stranger

A twitter notification, and I refrain from sarcasm, not particularly caustic, searching for the right way to put it. People are imbeciles, regardless of metadata, data mining, and automation which can actually be blamed on CNN and Ted Turner, historically. CNN, lampooned as it was, anticipated the nervous breakdown of the global conglomeration that is today's digital economy.

If I am so full of my own fucking ego, I certainly don't have any brand imprints but for a thimble touch, and whose particular fault is that? I have not troubled the New Yorker in an eon, not their kind of writer. The Atlantic. The New Republic, Boston Review, these were years ago, almost. This close, and The Atlantic does falter. Some of its women are weaker bitch slap contributors. In today's environment, one can shrug old media, as well, but we know the elite when we see it. Leaving myself out of it, there are perhaps four Niume bloggers who have professional experience, Gary Sharpe being one, the Parkinson's guy, and had I paused to assess, given my platform experience, I would have put him in as my referral. Sorry there, big guy. I'm hampered by aging laptops and reluctance to upgrade Windows, though Microsoft will eventually force the issue; I've already killed myself for CPM metrics, which is why I haven't pushed my posts for exhaustive originality, stringing my points on the backs of other stringers, those on the beat, access to Lexus. I could buy Lexus if I wanted to now, but I'm waiting. I need a media outlet to cushion resource expenditure of that sort, some kind of contract, cripple limitation notwithstanding.

I know I can quit Niume, significantly slow my pace, but it is mostly drivel, and that is the issue. I'm not afraid to push Niume's buttons, but their users are so placid, my meanness would be smothered by a melting pint of Ben and Jerry's. I know when I'm licked, even if I haven't barred rabid fangs, but I am going bare them here, to tell you this, whether Blogger gets alarmed or not: Philadelphia has taught me that black counter culture is destroying the United States, and in the collective sense, Black America, go fuck yourself. You want to get out, go back to Liberia. I hate you, not individually, but in the macro world, collectively, you drag yourselves down, with ignorance generative of your own cruelty. I can never repair myself from the bosom of Negro fatalism, and say this quite calmly: I am going to fight Trudy Richardson, Debra Horne, and Gerry, the old cleaning lady who is mostly out of her mind. Why am I going to do this? I have to. If they were white, given the same institutional hostility of religious corporations, I would do the same thing if the whites had violated my dignity to the same degree. Will I go to prison? Probably not. Be forcibly incarcerated? That I do not know, but I am beyond the reigns of my family in terms of not agitating. If I had a way to penetrate my former supervisor, it is her learned prevarication that triggered this, set the ball in motion. It is nuanced, as I've written in 30 odd posts, and I was at times taut, maudlin, but she played me to a criminal offense, and is the target of retribution I cannot access but by federal civil litigation I probably cannot engender. She and I are both near the end of functional biology, to the extent of the cerebral palsy we both have. I am not taking any more of it, criminal malfeasance, from minorities with skulls of two inch thickness and 100 brain cells between them. I'm taking them down, and if I suffer for it, change has to start somewhere. I'm cranky with the rain, and have to do grocery I am really not up for this morning, with my grand last gasp playing itself out. I will never befriend an African again, ever, though they need not see this, as yet. I can still mask it.