Polynomial Spectrums

Alessandro Manzoni's mother was the beautiful and brilliant daughter of Cesare Beccaria, a distinguished writer on penal reform who enjoyed considerable fame not only in his native Lombardy, but also in liberal literary circles in pro-revolutionary Paris.-- Bruce Penman, an introduction.

I do not particularly enjoy considering myself a stalker, not beyond a certain point, and if I was as callous as I purport myself to be, I would have simply removed Tassoni's account from my Facebook feed, in tacit correction of a mentally hamstrung minority who thought he was doing something good for me, but instead, as grist for the mill, with a mastication near to that of Jamesian attenuation, I weigh the matter as heavily as Queen Elizabeth does in beheading a Catholic subversive. Heartburn versus he isn't the bad guy, and why did he accept the request if we quarreled in 02 in our relatively hale middle age? He achieved his goals, and I've done remarkably well, considering, annoyed at myself. My feelings are still involved, as if my consciousness teleported itself into Marquez's Love in The Time of Cholera.

The care worker, however, provided me with an understated life jacket. John is an authentic link to my more aspirational past, when I did believe my writing was a calling. He has 417 Facebook connections. I have 23, and torched more than a few of those, removed my mother's family from view because Mary wants me to go to a home because her brother, my dear godfather, couldn't get his apathetic technician to do the fitting right for my needs. So I am dying, simple as that. This is a serious rift between me and my aunt, also a partial cyborg. From what I have read of Cronin's trilogy, the Fox Network has its work cut out for it, and I'm rather in agreement with critics like Wheldon that it doesn't interweave properly between the novelist's past and future shifts. It does, as a show, tap into our anxieties in this post Ebola age better than Stephen King does with The Stand. That novel, while driven by well formed characters, was never worth the effort. It simply transforms calamity into Armageddon, a 70's era neurosis in tow. Cronin taps into a more complex undercurrent of civilization overwhelmed by a brute atavism humans never truly conquered.

I have witnessed the same ghastly minority devaluations in North Philadelphia, with the same white clean up operation, that has left district attorney Matthew Weintraub so visibly shaken. We all see the paternalism involved here, the privilege aghast at the color coded gasps of despair. Gosselaar and Sidney's studio manufactured bond, for our disappointed escapism, is no palliative, neither is the progressive fairy tale that egalitarianism is the better part of valor. My sister in law disrespects me because I don't coo at her son's child in the mall, not stopping to think how long it's actually been since I voluntarily went to a mall, or even have any funds to spend there. Instead, my finely educated mind has to spar with a black man who goes off on me because I do not salivate at his movie recommendations. There isn't any statutory requirement in Medicaid Waiver services that I have to be grateful to be diminished by his rote series of tasks, after living a life of mostly sterile disparity, and yet for all the violence in my failing lungs, nearly aspirating to death on a flu shot I did not want, but complying with an Asian resident's request to receive, I still refuse to go down. Should the FBI tag me, you think?

El Libertador

Rubio is best known on Twitter (sic) for posting inoffensive out of context Bible passages -- Cody Fenwick

I was in poor form last evening. but Kenney's account handlers didn't block me for my emotive outburst when Philadelphia's mayor by auto-renewal began pontificating to Trump about personal liberty and diversity. What liberty? I forget, honestly, for it was some time ago, whether this was a direct rebuttal to my plaint, or a general admonishment, but a Tweeter once said that we all have the right to refuse medical services. This is true. I can end Medicaid today and then take the time to figure out what to do with my significantly weakened lower extremities in thirty mile an hour winds (winds which have eased a dangerous battle with acid reflux; I was in serious jeopardy last week on that Medicare single size foam mattress) and then try to run. And this has been the predominant need underlying my inability to get the legal system to correct for the abuses I have suffered under Presbyterian Homes since they inducted me as tenant to abuse for life. Get out. This is exactly what Huston solicits out of Calhern as Emmerich in Asphalt Jungle, still a taut film which opened up a multitudinous complexity when dealing with the American underbelly, even drawing in the cripple as facilitator via James Whitmore as Gus. The character's scoliosis is not pronounced, but is nonetheless referenced by the safecracker's wife as her husband lies dying due to accidental gunshot, and this was the sewage of 1950, the tail end of a rather elongated liberal reign, twilight presided over by Truman. Today Venezuelans flock to Columbia, which is cause for concern given the recent truce with the cartels. Rubio's tweet of Qadaffi isn't "revolting" as it pertains to the actual fact of the Obama's facilitation of rebels who turned Libya into ungovernable territory. It actually gives Maduro supporters legs to stand on, pivoting against the power the US can apply. The American Scholar who has a contributing column about Chavez and his fortunes tied to oil never envisioned this. She was a sophisticated contributor, but style is not a policy application against an economics of smash and grab in conjunction with poor health outcomes for indigenous strongmen. I myself remain somewhat hawkish for the greater good. We shouldn't want South America falling apart at the seams, igniting something worse in the continuing spread of symptoms toward lower living standards. It is also noted that Bolivar became dictator of Peru, liberating the natives into the Shining Path, and those preoccupied leftist writers for a very long time. Bon Voyage.

tutto in famiglia

Shut the hell up you bitch ass nigga. You will continue to run this country further into the ground and risk lives every time you breathe. You’re not the president. Just a dumpster full of hate. FOH. Sick to my stomach that literal shit currently represents America to the world. https://t.co/qoNWllmZIm

— Jussie Smollett (@JussieSmollett) January 12, 2018

I have not had much to post about my mother's sister Mary in her ebullient mark upon her league of students in the face of her deceased sister's emotive turbulence. This is due to fear of consequence. Her husband, also obese to the point that its malevolence on his family is grotesque, is a Methodist prig, and in other circumstances her might have been to PA's Delaware County what Chris Noth's Peter Florrick is to Cook County in Illinois. If he had not married into Mary's Catholic family, he might have been a local big wig, and the paper's treated him him as such when he was "Chief of D's," to use the Dick Wolf colloquium from SVU in an overt strategism to draw the audience in. 

Unlike yours truly, Mary is a true bovine conservative, and when she gets a few simple ideas in her head she masticates them to the finish line, and if niggers like Trudy Richardson have terrorized me for nearly ten years of her managerial authority, than what better advocacy can the Worrilow family offer me but to move into Fair Acres with my grandmother's living cadaver in Lima? I'd be given a room with another patient where I could "come and go". The wonders of the empty hollow that is the Americans with Disabilities Act from a woman twice my size, twice as thick, replacing herself with titanium bones. I have broken with my aunt, permanently, which points to the anathema, the irony, that poets and writers suspended my account from the Speakeasy for detailing the issues of chronic condition which Gretchen posts about daily on Facebook, but I hate the latter, regret the former. Mary nearly died earlier in 2018, due to pulmonary embolism, and yet everyone is slavering to do me more harm. Trudy's been at it longer, and I am determined she'll pay a price for that. Lumping me in with dementia patients prone to violence is not a conducive environment, nor as safe as my sister might otherwise believe. I may not be able to assist true conservatives in excising LLhan Omar as a fatal virus on our body politic, but Presbyterian Homes is going to feel my bite. Corruption before the face of God might as well open the doors to Armageddon.

The Grimace of Machiavelli

Machiavelli's most famous work, Il Principe, brought him a reputation of an immoral cynic [sic]

The Italians. If my life in Philadelphia amounts to an abject deconstruction of perennial, thwarted aspiration, I am under little illusion about what it would amount to on the peninsula if I managed to land and assemble for transport in Tuscany. Cramped store outlets barely large enough for a 5 foot 7 inch male of perhaps 175 lbs to stand behind a small counter, equally compact flats in which to wedge persecuted Arabic foreigners, juxtaposed around the scenic beauty of Lake Como, a plethora of earthquake collapses in Naples. One thing native Italians share with my enthusiastic to fade away contingent of Turks is an overweening penchant for flowery allusions embedded in death threats which are basically meaningless, an emaciated breath of history from the tombs of the Medici. Is Beppe Grillo a little Mussolini with saccharine smiles for Rai’s studio lightning? I yowled at a copywriter who dropped me because I enjoy Matteo Salvini’s pugnacity, and it is into this subterfuge of less precise detail that lurking in on Tassoni’s prep school immaturity triggers an irascible desire to hoist myself on my own petard, but lurk I do, nonetheless. Then I emailed him once again, approximately the third time since I tracked his career accolades. I mentioned Brandon’s name, the Negro assailant who nearly took my life. “It would have been better had he killed me,” I wrote, nearly petulant with despair, still accusing.

Why weren’t you there to protect me? This was the embedded outcry to my interpersonal Rocky who rejected me when I was 19. Now who’s being prep school, the dowager asks wryly, so easy to believe you still love the one who got away? John Tassoni was, indeed, my Rocky Balboa, and my mild bout of digital hysteria elicited his solicitude, the little monkey on his back, the nascent savant who can’t get over a punk from Chester who was kind to her, bear hugged her, made her realize that masculinity needn’t be toxic. Imprinted for life, no matter whose husband I slept with, but sitting here, with the mock up board of our lives on social media, you take stock in the realization of unhappiness with a player. Had I been successful in seducing him, chaffing or not, the interpersonal would have wound up where I left the serial novel of Alicia and Peter Florrick, keeping up appearances as a matter of showboat necessity on the hollow knell of the attraction which brought them together.

This episode, the one where the flawed values of a moderate political couple defeat the NSA, would have been courageous on the part of everyone, including Ridley Scott, to leave it conclude right there after the departure of Charles. Alicia was far too ruthless with Peter. You may adjudicate that assessment for yourself.

I’m dropping The Passage, as edgy as it purports to be, and scrolled through Tucci in Fortitude as a British DCI, to my delighted surprise. Somehow, even with the edginess of an Arctic locale, British thrillers are grounded in domestic tensions which are anti-climatic. On the American scene, they are instances of grand theater. Another citizen from my homeland with its tertiary angles has joined my ranks, and like John, a doctorate. I’m mollified. For the time being.

Riverfront Alignment with The Brookings Institution

"That is all I wanted!" -- Marthe Keller, dramatic flair

Whether it is Mrs Florrick senior with her post-stroke Cuban nurse, or Marthe Keller behaving like a grand duchess playing off Aaron Eckhart and a Parisian actress of Tunisian descent, video entertainment integrates care giving as a contrivance that helps the elderly stay on their feet, but this isn't what happened to me. A power chair failed, and then I was tortured for the better part of seventeen months by what is now being termed the pink police in intellectual circles, just another nail nail in the coffin of personal liberty, part and parcel of the defeat of free speech Jamie Kirchick so eloquently expresses sotto voce in The Washington Examiner. Right after that link, he tweets a politico link about the dark side of gay innuendo, to which my private smirk is a deft act of self-depreciation. 

I am supposed to go to Magee Riverfront later on this afternoon with the paraprofessional whose first base transference and a hedge of tongue was a mistake. I cannot pity his cognitive and self-limitations too much, as I thank god sexual intercourse did not come to pass. I hate the man, not particularly sanguine about our stroll to the hospital for the courtesy van to Magee's Riverfront location. I do not really want to go. This poorly fitted Quantum via Mainline Medical isn't their fault, and even if they're willing to rectify the problem, the correction will be lengthy, arduous, and I am already barely able to maintain continence over the course of these nullifying seventeen months. With the way Galahad and I presently engage, we may not make it as is. His automobile has failed, and he is therefore under more duress, and onward. No contrivance here, no holistic pair bonding via Bryan Cranston's re-packaging of a French original. Barring a coronary, I'll be back this evening.

Projectionist Tricks With A Gila

"Every year seems the most terrible."-- James Salter via Edward Hirsch, presumably

I followed The Guardian because I believed it was tougher, more hard nosed, than its counterparts stateside. I stopped utilizing The Guardian as a news source after they followed the lead of The New York Times, or vice versa, and began excoriating "whiteness" as an identity crime, which it isn't, and although I was going to link to the late Kate Wilhelm's rebuttal to her husband's story a little further along in this post, anyone who can read this futurist, and deliberately sexist work of fiction objectively, as a predicate for YouTube can see there is nothing here. Those of European descent simply exploit each other with the same Orwellian damnation as any colonial extraction of scarce resources which has led us to the contemporary crisis in Venezuela. Through my research into the crisis I wince at my typographical error in my imprecation to Pope Francis to use his especial back channels to do something to diffuse the situation surrounding the kleptocracy of the late Chavez, but this contributor. Guardiola-Rivera, is at best mystifying in his hyperbolic antagonism toward Juan Guaido. Why would this young engineer not care about the poor in his own country? He is far too young to be an imperialist, or a crony capitalist beholden to oil. I wrote Guido to Francis while he was spelunking with his new brothers, the Ayatollahs, hence my wince. I do not approve of Bergoglio's leadership, and prefer the besieged Benedict's hawkish saber towards the Islamic mindset. His Holiness absorbed my hardness upon his humility by liking a critique I offered, but he isn't going to rescue civilization on proffered dovetails. IIhan Omar is also an enemy of state, and there is nothing I can do about this incredulous fact. Lashing out about her only puts the bit back in my mouth, tenuously vulnerable as I am. But these jacked up assassins attempting to take out Giffords or Scalise, are rather lamentable in application of their target practice, and the next James Hodgkinson needs to realize our enemy from within has a palpable front and center visibility. I understand intellectual disdain for corporate models that become too successful too fast, I grew up in this academic world, but I also came of age on medical socialism, and it has made me as predisposed as Hodgkinson to want to inflict harm, from right to left, not left to right.
I pitched to The Guardian once, some years ago, perhaps tweeting at them about it. I never say never, and will go anywhere for money, but this media outlet keeps its numbers lower than need be through a green lens partisanship which is far too off putting. It makes The National Review look center left.
But then why do I care about South America? Because, as I implored the Holy Father, I grew up with Peron's secret gravesites, and though bloodthirsty for conflict, it isn't at the expense of Latinos who govern predisposed toward mental retardation.

Fraudulent Undercurrents Toward Anarchy

"It is always a good idea to keep an eye on the enemy!"-- Linda C. Dezenski, much regretted colleague

I only wish I had the time to explore laxity in the citizenship application process. I do not, but Johnson's expose on the legitimacy of Omar's marital status illustrates the underlying problems with it. I do not know if Omar's tenuous claims about her partnerships are enough to have her legal residency in the United States investigated, but they should be enough to remove her as a duly elected representative of "Little Mogadishu".  This is clearly a case of election fraud, whether or not the insinuations about lax moral standards in underdeveloped regions echo the history of the Pharaohs in Egypt, who married brother to sister in an obvious misapprehension over concerns about preserving royal bloodlines. These Oedipal forms of intercourse, while rare, are not unheard of. These Oriental cultural norms, while exotic, are antithetical to the Enlightenment evolution of human rights on which the United States is founded and beholden to. 

Many people, when confronted with my livid anger at how ableism disenfranchises the impaired, and this includes Gabby Giffords, keep telling me to get help, and indeed, my very family wants me to surrender and restore myself to institutionalization, but what none of you can see is how honorable I've been. I do not engage in Trump's dubious and conflated deal making with his name as a form of logo visibility. This has nothing to do with mass production, or technical ingenuity, but I have also never intentionally committed welfare fraud. Without question, I use cerebral palsy to get away with, and evade behavioral control. That is about self-preservation, but I do not betray my own ethics, like many homosexuals in my life have, so perhaps my principles have as much to do with my downfall as my choices, but give the left a refugee patsy, like Omar, and they fall all over themselves to advance enfeebled infantilism courtesy of the Dark Continent. Pluralism and Muslim stricture cannot, will not, co-exist, without one destroying the other. The Islamic empires which emerged after Rome did not follow the same path of multi-cultural tolerance. They dissolved into the troubled Muslim countries of the post-war era much faster, overwhelming European existential angst when those of European descent allowed it much as Bowles and Joseph Conrad before him foretell it. Why in god's name can't we stand up for what we are? My country has intimated throughout my life that I am better off dead, despite the small modicum of individual identity I've wrested from it by sheer force of will, and I am willing to fight for it despite my encroaching expendibility. Why aren't you?