Viral Transmission

"This is just to test your blood pressure," said Art reassuringly, noticing that the sweating was becoming excessive. As soon as the first slight pressure was applied to the bulb, the man moved. Without warning he screamed in terror and Art was on the floor... The Onion Field, location 459


Joseph Wambaugh's depiction of gay panic is quite different in text than in the screen play adaptation which led to the film, so different even the dowager isn't sold by what is going on in the company Ian keeps on his way to becoming a martyr in the name of law enforcement. In the movie, Ted Danson's Ian is a hastily contrived pastiche, because Wambaugh's underlying concern, as transmuted by the director, is the reverberating impact of justice as a convoluted process. In the book itself, whatever Ellroy's introductory praises, all of Wambaugh's character development seems like a hatchet job, as if he is desperate to imitate Capote and swallows his tongue in the process. This makes Onion Field a fascinating period piece, despite itself, and Wambaugh's hatchet has a nascent driving energy which intimates a command to skip the movie and read the true crime saga in the troubled years of Nixonion paranoia; but the screen writers for the film at least made homosexuality and vice recognizable. Wambaugh, by contrast, seems quite incidentally to border on science fiction.

By 1973 the dowager was growing up in the world, forcibly incarcerated just like Art's patient, and people didn't flip out over a blood pressure cuff due to sexual impulses. They might cry over girls on the ward engaging in mock lesbian teasing, to establish pecking order, as primate groups do, but this curious piece of exposition in the first chapter teeters on the edge of dramaturgic abstract art, as if Michael Rooker's serial killer was introduced on stage by Becket.

If the dowager was inconsiderate to Nick Denton in tweeting her repugnance for Michael Hall's brave and brief exchange with his fictional minority law enforcement officer, it was deliberate, but not quite due to prudent shock. Denton looks ambiguous, the way most radical Britons out of the radical left Labour wing do, and just as most radical Anglo Saxons do, male or female, they reach out to minority short order cooks to make political statements, perhaps covertly, through their sexual liaisons, and Denton does the same thing with his partner, besmirching marriage as a sacrament, defiant and in your face: I'm gay and love a black American. So what? The Western middle class has found a method of appropriating gay difference: elevating homosexual monogamy, even while medical epidemiologists' like Fauci hover in the background. Oh, they don't judge, but they are they failsafes policing sexual adventurism which by normal social standards are still considered criminal, like the use of handcuffs for restraint, for instance. And in a gay cross race relationship, there is always a bit of a hustle going on, cashing in on white privilege. I know it because I've been there, and indeed, could roll out on Market Street in my haggard skirt attire and pick up three black men willing to sleep with me, a broken welfare spastic, but a white broken welfare spastic, nothing more than a reprehensible power play, damning me into abomination territory. I'd like to remind the Holy Father, in this vein, that whatever his Marxist sentiments due to his Argentine background, he is the last Prince on the face of the earth whose statements have world renown impact, and one of religion's remaining functions is to name apostasy for what it is. You are not just a victim's advocate Francis, you carry thousands of years of Roman authority in that burden on your shoulders, and the growing material power of people like Thiel and Denton needs to be countermanded. The battle between them is almost akin to the sins to be plucked out of the Divine Comedy. Denton revels in sexual exposure because he wants to be accepted as a non-deviation, while Thiel blows 10 million on civil tort because he isn't quite gay enough to flout it in a parade, while broken withered crones can't even get a paralegal to do a case assessment on her life long toxic environments and medical model brutality which improved nothing on her original issues wrought by brain damage. Being able to blatantly buy the law simply because an individual created a flicker of a wrestling personality are episodes through which class resentment could trigger serious social unrest.

Brief Retrench

The web rushes me too, and I am not trying to be overly critical of what it does to other online journalists, but I think we all lose, regardless of where we fall on the ideological spectrum, when an agenda like homosexual partners and resources is driven by this lie of equal treatment. On the percentage, homo sapiens is still by and large an omnivorous primate with alpha males and females. Michael Nutter shut the entire city down for Pope Francis, once a seminarian bouncer in Argentina, now cordoned off from people like me for whom his church is so vocal. On the day of his visit I folded after perhaps a 30 second effort to hear the man give mass, and though I made an enormous effort to be unobtrusive, the police yelled at me and a security officer eyeballed me while I zig-zagged to do a little grocery; hairs stood on the back of my neck while SWAT followed a black man to the parking lot adjacent to River's Edge, a condo right next to my public housing unit. Only in America, as the cliche goes.

Now, I am not complaining. If I really wanted access to the Pontiff, I had advance notice and could have engaged in extraordinary rendition, and am fully cognizant of the fact that the poor fellow is trapezing on one lung, but his status is extraordinary, if now as decorative as any type of fame.

I haven't seen Freeheld; do not find in particularly fortuitous that Angela Watercutter's editor ran her article in Wired as is, but I'll assert this: Stacie Andree is ambulatory, correct? Lesbian or not, able to work? What about police officers disabled on the job, or a cop's widowed family strained for resources themselves? I can hear LBGT activists for the wolverines they are, but your disadvantages due to stigma over your sexual preferences is and remains largely cosmetic, and there are larger problems in the world than the lie of equal treatment regardless of sexual orientation.

THE STATE, and let's pause in a moment of respect for my libertarian sympathizers' groan of dismay, still enforces codes of conduct in relation to high risk sexual practices. Ask Fauci if sodomy isn't designated as a high risk sexual practice detrimental to the public health at large. Detective Hester's advocates might say it is just a pension rightfully earned under the terms of her contract with the FOP, and she wanted to provide Andree with a modicum of a security guarantee, but there are more invisible voices on the food chain in the garden state, and if Andree could walk, she could work, and what limited resources Hester did not absorb through hospice, these should have gone elsewhere.

Tunnel vision has its blinders even in the righteousness of progressive empathy.

Optimal Triggers

Sometimes, aggregate data leads to worrisome trends for minds that like to look at the larger picture. Even if Ebola wipes out a few million, and given my poverty, age, proximity to West Africans, I do not count myself invulnerable to the hemorrhagic fever out of the disappearing bush, granted, it will not wipe out civilization, but it is putting pressure on objects developed for travel, and airline industry stocks have dropped, cruise vessels are being turned away from ports, cars in Texas have to be sterilized according to guidelines developed by science fiction control freaks, but look beneath the surface at AP wire service items of late: since the announcement of Sarah Goldberg's earlier this month, a troubling cluster seems to have bobbled up in the pond. After Sarah came Jan Hook at 57, Elizabeth Pena at 55, then Misty Upham's suicide, and although she is not deceased, Amanda Bynes had her major depressive episode on twitter, and now an American Idol star dies from cancer at 32, not to mention Brittany Maynard is killing herself, at the age of 29, due to a brain tumor. She has my blessing, and something of my envy, because a woman as disabled as I, still relatively stable, affirms that a basic life of torture for my greater good hasn't been worth it. I've had many enforcers like Trudy Richardson controlling my life and limb-- not worth the fear and social anxiety they inspire, despite the fact that I do want to live, but on my terms, not those of barbaric state medical models. But look at the curve here, which as of 10/25 includes the anchor Terry Keenan.

Joan Rivers death was sad, perhaps (I never really found her improvisation revolutionary, for me Roseanne Barr had more of an impact) but it was equally due to her stupid vanity. She was 81, enough with the surgeries already. Her age fit the longevity curve that is bankrupting the social security system, however, as opposed to the cluster which seems to have bumped up obituary writing.

Our systems, however complex they are, appear to be in crisis on a global scale. Bio diversity is at its most basic level, in the hands of any lunatic zoologists you might care to name, and so on. Without viable ecosystems, how will any of us survive at peak performance? The only way to reverse it before it is too late, if it isn't already, is what I've advocated all along, a global rational euthanasia policy.

Yes, it is difficult, smacks of eugenics, may lead to corruption and certainly abuse by the wealthy, except for billionaire liberals like Warren Buffett, as he is too old, too ill, for his dynastic wealth to matter, at this point-- but we have to start finding wise methods to minimize procreation and really, begin to let people die. Once we hit 9 billion, I certainly don't know where I'll be, but human husbandry will begin to be seriously examined; I am not an advocate for China's one child policy and never was. That type of state control will eventually destroy the country-- but evolution seems to be indicating human pressure is reaching limits beyond which lies disastrous consequences in the wings. We have to start applying ourselves to a healthy population cull, even in purely conservationist terms.

I did a bad thing I am not going to discuss just yet, but it signifies the depth of my hatred for state model ineptitude which imposes itself on my existence.

From The Mouth of Ashley Judd's Assassin

"You think I pushed Cheryl too hard?", Stephanie March, SVU incarnation

Hilary Swank and Jennifer Garner have the nearly exact corresponding genotype in the eye of a casting director. They are both reasonably attractive tom boy brunettes with well defined cheekbones, with complexions comparable to a glass of milk; not great beauties, but wholesome American girls with thick African defined lips in a darker contrast to their Caucasian skin tone, at least with lavender colored lipstick, with equally equivalent range and talent, the only real difference between the two of them is Swank attained elevation against Eastwood and then went poof, both women having trouble maintaining their first billing leads on screen, with Garner more tangible to television. Wait another ten years lady. At 44 you think your body will hold the assembly line, mature but sturdy. By 55 those martial arts moves you've perfected as Supergirl in a technocratic age will require performance enhancing drugs.

It is easy to believe as brunettes, we are all Hilary and Jennifer, this is why the studio selects them. Girls just like us who marry the reasonably hip boy next store Affleck, but none of are truly like this, on closer examination, the athletic naivety which muddles its way through rural trash family exploitation and betrayals of trust, landing on our feet with a chance at second love, or the true father figure riding to the rescue on a mercy mission which concedes that our determination and strength as overwhelmed, shielded, as always, by the Hollywood marriage, an inexplicable anachronism in the modern age, much like Foucault's fascination with the royal body of the sovereign as a living embodiment of the body politic. Michel's queer intellectual rigor wasn't in error, as the still relatively undefined AIDS virus destroyed his body due to his inability to stave off unsafe anal penetration and direct his energies elsewhere, (though in fairness, in 84 ,  Fauci's carefully proscribed phrases about "unsafe sexual practices" weren't current in liberal lexicography). The health of the sovereign does reflect the health of a national power. The real problem, as we hurl four years ahead, where the dowager logged on to research temporary political jobs, isn't the pneumonia, but the clots, the concussions, bad temperaments tailgating fading relevance, on both ends of the political spectrum. More on this in more demanding thought processes later; this post was borne out of an annoyance, desiring some quiet evening reading. The dowager failed, volume and video the only things to penetrate a sterile evening, loneliness, fear, sore epidermis, stressed digestion.