"They later reversed the policy." --Judy Woodruff on Facebook and beheading videos
Elonis v US brings together a number of tawdry elements which eventually leads to enlightenment in civil and criminal code, just as the Web is under no obligation to grant the indignation of my extensive disability and my forceful rhetoric tolerance: it is actually a reflection of my reality in the temporal world. I'm needy, and my oral stream is, can be, selfish absorption, but just as this is the case for me, so it is for Anthony Elonis-- but there are differences, and in the Elonis case, the difference is the real toll domestic violence, the possibility of it, inflicts on women, to a near universal degree, sans Janay Rice, versus Elonis need to act out with his impulse control issues (just as some of you may feel I simply derive pleasure from being malicious and have no redeeming value in my content, am far too eclectic, perhaps even nullifying, if you shouldn't be worried about my zealotry with age). Well, my hypothetical detractors have a point. Search is under no obligation to refer my content in the public domain if it is too negative. I can go back to my diary and publish a nihilist rant for kindle which would sell for nothing. Google, Poets & Writers, the literature forum, the NYT online book forum formerly with Mick Sussman which I really enjoyed and forget why I dared the emperor of American liberalism with a dirty ditty, starved as I am for fine discernment, all were within their rights, and Blogger has allowed me to throb, mostly, to its credit, because I've held at least a certain degree of puerile sentiment back, partly fear, partly the knowledge I have more ambition than that, and doing my best not to let my landlord roll me out in a straight jacket-- though it may eventually come to that.
Elonis, however, is simply puerile. But why does he need to do this on Mark Zuckerberg's digital interactive yearbook which has everyone's CV barring mine? He could write a private blog and invite other men to fantasy with semi-automatics. My outrage is due to the knowledge of my legal passivity: I was afraid to fight, one, and that a litigator would not help me, and secondly, I wasn't just screwed, I was royally so and everything in my present environment recollects it: Blogger let me find the courage to have a small effect, but what do we do when people who can take it in to their head to act if they are incited to do so? Mrs. Elonis has the right to her personal security, and bad systems that become intrenched, if targeted by violence, not only escalates tragedy, but escalates the fact that we need to teach each other about over reach. Progressives bear the brunt of my anger. They told me I could succeed and it is through hard won insight discovered that they are lying Stalinists, but the right gets some too. Property ownership is still more important than anything else-- we'll come back to this. People have the right to their rage, and to their intolerances even, and fantasies, but writing as therapy, on the merits, need not have absolute access to all platforms. I'd never write a project like this in an online yearbook-- and you don't have to read my posts when I feel a ventilation, not that I know what your kids think, though I can guess. I couldn't help laughing at Judy's language that evening. ISIS in the modern world is horrific, and ghoulishly macabre. It isn't the kind of diet we really need, however. We have the movies, and the right to bear arms.
Showing posts with label anthony elonis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anthony elonis. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Monday, February 16, 2015
Vanities
I have not self-published a manuscript to kindle yet. I do not feel quite confident enough to do so, and do not know if I should, nor what I'm even worth, be it as a poet or columnist. I am also not sure how to ask advice of anyone who has self-published through Amazon's distribution model. I've read complaints on the Good Reads site about delayed commissions, but I only ever had a problem with one Amazon seller, long ago, before I understood how the retail giant is an Intranet unto itself, partnering with other businesses. I have always received payments promptly, however.
I have, this after 34 years as creative writer later journalist, one, mind you, one poetry manuscript of strongest work about ready to go, and I will not tell you how much money I've lost on contest fees and contributor copy support, I who cannot afford to enter all that many to begin with, over the years, with this one manuscript always ready to go, but I've now slowly developed a rhythm for electronic submissions, finally found formula, as it were, even if, my sorry slaving for Examiner aside, my most powerful essay on urban poverty I gave away to a woman named Bianca for her Appalachian area journal which I haven't yet added to my CV because yours truly doesn't know what Karina K did with my contributor copy, and I cannot get this Karina K back on the phone, and the one editor who liked my deaf pitch before that, I failed. And this is the stuff who opines for legacy media, with a select hit list for disabled members of the Philadelphia activist community, except for the fact that I've been published in established media, but not lately, since I am Anthony Elonis with a sometimes more insidious, or entertaining menace, not quite so puerile.
No husband to murder, and my scar tissue has throbbed on past my long ago supervisor's departure, c'est pas? I haven't read Elonis's posts. I suppose he reads like ISIS in an inflammatory state, but if he was writing his *puerile* invective against wife in a journal on paper, would we be here? I am as savage as he is on my bad days, teetering precariously toward brutal, and I mean brutal, institutional indigence. Barring a miracle, I know exactly how much control a nursing home will impose on me if I go from section 202 housing into a Medicaid home. I've lived it and earned a living from it. Established journalists even publish about it these days, and we take out the violins. I very seriously do not want my remaining years to linger in such a circumscribed fashion, and I'm back to submitting poems again, after all this time. I am a fool people, to let a resource center which was never very good to begin with, cause me so much damage, not as if the system offers disability entitlement recipients all that many options.
I have, this after 34 years as creative writer later journalist, one, mind you, one poetry manuscript of strongest work about ready to go, and I will not tell you how much money I've lost on contest fees and contributor copy support, I who cannot afford to enter all that many to begin with, over the years, with this one manuscript always ready to go, but I've now slowly developed a rhythm for electronic submissions, finally found formula, as it were, even if, my sorry slaving for Examiner aside, my most powerful essay on urban poverty I gave away to a woman named Bianca for her Appalachian area journal which I haven't yet added to my CV because yours truly doesn't know what Karina K did with my contributor copy, and I cannot get this Karina K back on the phone, and the one editor who liked my deaf pitch before that, I failed. And this is the stuff who opines for legacy media, with a select hit list for disabled members of the Philadelphia activist community, except for the fact that I've been published in established media, but not lately, since I am Anthony Elonis with a sometimes more insidious, or entertaining menace, not quite so puerile.
No husband to murder, and my scar tissue has throbbed on past my long ago supervisor's departure, c'est pas? I haven't read Elonis's posts. I suppose he reads like ISIS in an inflammatory state, but if he was writing his *puerile* invective against wife in a journal on paper, would we be here? I am as savage as he is on my bad days, teetering precariously toward brutal, and I mean brutal, institutional indigence. Barring a miracle, I know exactly how much control a nursing home will impose on me if I go from section 202 housing into a Medicaid home. I've lived it and earned a living from it. Established journalists even publish about it these days, and we take out the violins. I very seriously do not want my remaining years to linger in such a circumscribed fashion, and I'm back to submitting poems again, after all this time. I am a fool people, to let a resource center which was never very good to begin with, cause me so much damage, not as if the system offers disability entitlement recipients all that many options.
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