A friend says Chris Janson's 'Take a Drunk Girl Home' perpetuates rape culture even as it appears to attack it. She think it implies sexual assault can be accepted or even excused during "boyhood." What do you think? https://t.co/YzIku4jvhS@BroadusErinn— Nick Gillespie (@nickgillespie) August 5, 2018
My
sudden surge of page views from Ukraine at the mention of Mawson Dave may have
led to a certain Slavic misapprehension. In reference to my last post, I was
not indicating my approval of Dave’s work with Syrian relief efforts, only that
this low key social media user was more on par with an affinity in terms
personal attractiveness over and above my present-day direct care worker, nor
am I attempting to ostracize him beyond anything other than the usual digital
dissonance making me feel worse for the inability
to connect, as opposed to its inverse: I am alone in this near total new
found helpless and lack of control, my limbs now beginning to tremble, and
Mawson came and went beyond my ability to fathom, tainted around the edges with
a tinge of suspicion. I may have earned some brownie points with ant-war
humanists in my earlier posts when the out-lying areas around Damascus were
beginning to slip
beyond Assad's control, but the realities of Hezbollah and ISIS at each
other’s throats, with the Russian army engaged in strategic asset protection,
does nothing to restore geopolitical stability, or raise the ghosts of
massacres, such as that in Hama, under the father. Barely governable deserts
are a mirage of benevolent compassion, at least when we examine the number of
expendable citizens in the name of authority and power. If the al-Assad regime didn't lose credibility in my pulsating cerebral student days, at this point the current regime is a mere marionette. I give it up, allow it to evaporate within the current administration's disciplinary maneuvers against chemical attacks. It led to the martyrdom of Mevlut Mert, the futile murder of a Russian ambassador, and why we even characterize it as a civil war at this stage is beyond me.
I take some issue with the student's Quora post that Putin wants "a multi-polar world". The Georgian conflict, the backing of the separatists in Ukraine, these are pacification efforts even in the newfound disorder of a kleptocracy. Against this backdrop, my additional acquisition of Muslim accounts beyond my remaining Turkish followers was done so with unease, inclusive of a Saudi princess named M, who wisely only tweeted hello. What she offers to me in terms of perspective remains inexplicable. I surmise, however, that the gateway account for these Islamic followers is Angela Stewart, a reasonable facsimile of a moderate medical paradigm progressive, even as I finally lit a short fuse with Reason and Nick Gillespie, the expanse man of all causes. I pushed back against the columnist above in relation to women and personal conduct, and this is not blaming the victim. If I had told my direct care worker in April not to fondle me out of pity, I could have let him go before we bonded in this semi-aquatic fashion of the familial and the erotic in which I always lose. In the mechanical essence of it, sexual intimacy with him would be a mere ineluctable progression, but also an act of self-hatred, romantic inclinations dead but dead alive, one and the same. Every time he clocks out I hope I never see him again, I don't believe in it, us, his limited ability to apply himself, the fatalistic indifference to Ralph Ellison, for instance, and the novelist's influence on Obama.
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