Ewe's Juglar

I feel like Upton Sinclair foisting the Federal Meat Inspection Act on her own vernacular. All I need to do is play the pedestrian and my social media rating jumps, and then all I have to do is spit vitriol and subsequently ignore it to console myself. I've learned not to make too much of the automated accordion by now, but I have not changed, and if the building manager had a popular online account, she'd tell you that. Libertarian embrace has made me ferocious, but, to sound like the ghost of Deng, there are only so many ways to slay the cat: and I am not interested in "making a scene" on niume. I have virtually next to nothing against the platform, and would have bolted it three weeks ago if they had mailed me an automated password boot. My issue is with the model, not the people running it, or the users, and this is Google's fault. The Godmother glares at search giant, round 2.1. I let Kwale Powerhouse go because he was a bit too eager to exploit me, and this is what I've learned. Blacks use race to hurt the disabled, yet I ain't allowed to say certain truths without the online world choking on a wingbone (rolls eyes). This is why I am angry with Jerry at a deeper level. I bought his intellectual argument, and it was as much a crock as any conservative hypocrisy. Might as well mention it now and perhaps refine later, but I missed O'Neal's self-pity, so self-evident on Tavis, in his younger self in Hill's genre driven experiment. If Walter Hill knew what thesis I was building on his film, he'd say "girl, pretentious snit is a generous charge," and he'd no doubt be right, but I see what I see, beat slow and steady. I have nothing against Ryan O'Neal; he was the romantic lead who shaped my youth, and recognition notwithstanding, his weariness and mine converge at many points. My ambivalence about him doesn't desire pillage: I care too much about my product, but I don't care about his Sunset Boulevard  melodrama. I care about his creative legacy, the output, biding my time to email his publicist again. He is going to be gone soon, and I need him to let me in, just a bit. Perhaps he dislikes Walter and doesn't want journos on the scent.