Yes, I am finally researching my damn article project on speculation and yes, I told the responding editor I had a transfer slide down and yes I've been writing it in my head, but to illustrate that my cataract rage can still appreciate the unflappable numbers guy, kudos to Timothy Taylor. I suggested his current post to him, and so you see I am proud to take a little credit, having no need to email him today. He is a good man. Coming from me, you need to evaluate what it takes to get that seal of approval, and why I'd conversely execute my building manager without the slightest twinge of conscience.
Yes, I know, fine people, only 53 is still pretty close to 55. They cannot take my mind. Adjust, fight. Listening to Trudy Richardson and I bitch slap each other is a thematic lesbian food fight once removed, and I am aware of it and need to get out of her orbit. Now I'm going back to bed.
Showing posts with label conversable economist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conversable economist. Show all posts
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Degrés de barbarie
Timothy Taylor does not address the empirical quagmire of what actually constitutes poverty on the basis of geography. In my fight with Presby, for instance, I may achieve the unthinkable and make myself homeless, and if that happens, then what happens to me is not a cardboard box in Fairmount Park-- I am physically incapable of surviving on the street. What happens is I shift into the margins where I lose what I'm fighting for by fighting the system in the first place: my self-determination in my last few viable years. Yet, even hurling myself into the bottom of the abyss in Eastern Pennsylvania, I cannot enter into the unimaginable bestial behavior of Lisa Coleman and her former partner, impatient as I may be with children. Murdering enemies is one thing. We all understand revenge motives, but the relentless torture of other human beings, sans Ariel Castro, or other gruesome domestic instances, is beyond me, even if the social safety net has done a significant degree of damage to my well being. Yet it happens in this country over and over again, the sordid shame on the social fringes: the scandal of Danieal that made Philadelphia a confirmed national stigma.
Fences have eroded. After 9/11, I had rather diminutive views of the sterility within the Arabic world of what led to the creation of Isis, but not anymore, not for all the vigor in the united alliance between Obama and Cameron, Isis beheadings of hostages is a form of extreme bombastic hyperbole, one beneath contempt, from the same old playbook, regardless of Ali's ruthless battle prowess, but it is, nonetheless, an argument against liberalism, a facade of contraction, which, even if victorious in some of its aims, is as corrupted by material greed as any other ethnic adhesion.
Coleman's brutality, however, is not. It is not even innate to primate aggression. Great apes occasionally engage in infanticide for evolutionary reasons, but they lack our cognitive capacity for such an extraordinary ability to degrade our own kind in such a fashion. It is beyond disgust.
Fences have eroded. After 9/11, I had rather diminutive views of the sterility within the Arabic world of what led to the creation of Isis, but not anymore, not for all the vigor in the united alliance between Obama and Cameron, Isis beheadings of hostages is a form of extreme bombastic hyperbole, one beneath contempt, from the same old playbook, regardless of Ali's ruthless battle prowess, but it is, nonetheless, an argument against liberalism, a facade of contraction, which, even if victorious in some of its aims, is as corrupted by material greed as any other ethnic adhesion.
Coleman's brutality, however, is not. It is not even innate to primate aggression. Great apes occasionally engage in infanticide for evolutionary reasons, but they lack our cognitive capacity for such an extraordinary ability to degrade our own kind in such a fashion. It is beyond disgust.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Health Care Crisis
Perhaps Google earns money off my raw content, and since I am not earning money off my raw content, then why am I investing so much of my time, breaking so many eggs, shredding my wounds? A Blogger account is not much, in terms of a legacy, if it can even be counted as one. Let me return to the poor vaunted Louise Norlie, secretly telephoning me from her backyard in New Jersey. "Most people go with their aide," she said, with an implied perplexity at my lack of having one. But in the ten years plus of having one, then using my own money to borrow Tim, I was abused, for the most part, by the African Americans taking the job. Not all of them, but a significant percentage. Every "aide" I had except for the new one, whom I have only used once, has discomfited me, if not abused me with micro-behaviors, and this is all I have to look forward to. Dealing with low income stressed strangers who have their own triggers. I did not go through six fucking years of university to make getting a diaper change my life time award, but my age is pushing the turning point where I'll have no choice but to depend on ignorant women with bad teeth for my care.
My last advice to Louise, by the way, is to assert herself for herself. Stop looking for apron strings, or for someone like me to draw you out on a specialized list serv, or for someone like me to engage with you because we both have other aesthetic needs beyond medical model maintenance. Go out, take a risk, meet a boy. Have sex. Do something rather than sneak telephone calls to wounded warriors.
Marie and I haven't spoken in over a week. A record for me, but father's sister and I have worn each other out. She doesn't want the same services offered by PCA that I also refuse at my peril, but it was her choice not to have hospice care for Lillian, my favorite grandmother, or my uncle, her husband, who died of lung cancer while she still smokes three packs a day. Nor is my father getting care for my stepmother Louise, with her RA. Did he marry her to punish himself for me, his dead son? I don't know, but he is eighty and cannot give his wife nursing care.
Louise hates us, my sister says. I don't doubt it. Maybe that is guilt over my mother, or that my physical vulnerability reminds her of her own, but let's extrapolate, even though I am not Timothy Taylor: You probably have an uncle Joseph with cognitive limitations signifying mild dementia, or an aunt with a broken wrist who can no longer climb stairs, with MRSA exposure and infection. If a mostly stable quadriplegic like me can fall out of production due to transit restrictions and major fallout with compliance, with the parental generation of her family now falling into "nursing home eligibility" (I welcomed padre into the club not many weeks back when Marie and I discussed the Louise crisis). My stepmother always is a crisis-- how are we going to afford the direction in which we're heading? You may think my euthanasia advocacy cruel, but demographics estimate global population will reach 11 billion by 2100. We're crushing ourselves.
My last advice to Louise, by the way, is to assert herself for herself. Stop looking for apron strings, or for someone like me to draw you out on a specialized list serv, or for someone like me to engage with you because we both have other aesthetic needs beyond medical model maintenance. Go out, take a risk, meet a boy. Have sex. Do something rather than sneak telephone calls to wounded warriors.
Marie and I haven't spoken in over a week. A record for me, but father's sister and I have worn each other out. She doesn't want the same services offered by PCA that I also refuse at my peril, but it was her choice not to have hospice care for Lillian, my favorite grandmother, or my uncle, her husband, who died of lung cancer while she still smokes three packs a day. Nor is my father getting care for my stepmother Louise, with her RA. Did he marry her to punish himself for me, his dead son? I don't know, but he is eighty and cannot give his wife nursing care.
Louise hates us, my sister says. I don't doubt it. Maybe that is guilt over my mother, or that my physical vulnerability reminds her of her own, but let's extrapolate, even though I am not Timothy Taylor: You probably have an uncle Joseph with cognitive limitations signifying mild dementia, or an aunt with a broken wrist who can no longer climb stairs, with MRSA exposure and infection. If a mostly stable quadriplegic like me can fall out of production due to transit restrictions and major fallout with compliance, with the parental generation of her family now falling into "nursing home eligibility" (I welcomed padre into the club not many weeks back when Marie and I discussed the Louise crisis). My stepmother always is a crisis-- how are we going to afford the direction in which we're heading? You may think my euthanasia advocacy cruel, but demographics estimate global population will reach 11 billion by 2100. We're crushing ourselves.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Ladies' gloves
How far would you go to bite that hand that feeds? Shit on your kitchen table? The question reminds me that as much as I hate musicals, Dennis Potter's highbrow muck was a rare and indelible experience. I have had masturbatory fantasies of Michael Gambon ejaculation like simulations for a long time after a much younger, or more adventurous, WHYY aired the risque vision, for which they took some heat and never aired again. Pretentious wussies. I was going to deploy harder diction, but I'm tired.
Look, people, if most of you think I am a troll, or a portion of you do, to some degree, you're right, but rules about not feeding aren't always a valid proposition. If some of you think I'm obfuscating or confusing, you may have a valid critique. I may carry the burdens of my anti-social behavior with me, but I do not attack a participatory audience merely to provoke. When I respect responsible thinkers, I can mind my manners. Ask him. It isn't that I want to beg for feedback, but if I lose you I can't read your minds to divine that.
Look, people, if most of you think I am a troll, or a portion of you do, to some degree, you're right, but rules about not feeding aren't always a valid proposition. If some of you think I'm obfuscating or confusing, you may have a valid critique. I may carry the burdens of my anti-social behavior with me, but I do not attack a participatory audience merely to provoke. When I respect responsible thinkers, I can mind my manners. Ask him. It isn't that I want to beg for feedback, but if I lose you I can't read your minds to divine that.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Swinging It
Or I could have married an economist like Timothy Taylor, which is a subversive assertion without the provocation of temptation. He doesn't turn me on, but parses my plight more reasonably than the public housing residents with whom I live so unwillingly, or the disability center staffers who simply outsource institutional compliance and make the disillusioned expendable, and even more than a few believers expendable, as a price for the lie in the paradigm. I didn't have this insight when I was a physically mature 28. It escaped me, that all Liberty proffers is the same centralized institutional care, with blue collar level skill, outsourced within the community rather than the institution.
I had what Liberty now calls skills training at Home of the Merciful Savoir as a precocious child, and support coordination staff start off on their entry level 18k making this lifetime compliance model a rectal scope to shove up our asses.
Ambulatory individuals might ask what the fuck is it that I want, to be able to entertain myself in a cockroach colony?
Not quite. What Tim's hard driving cerebral analysis grapples is the cost of a domesticated biology, and getting it right isn't always about equilibrium of expenditure so much as the right level of investment early with applied and rational levels of ruthlessness. Hence Vonnegut's assault on Billy in Slaughterhouse Five, or the disjunction between scene locale, precision acting, and the real Americana buffeted and billowed by the great recession that Up in the Air epitomizes to the point of a near gold standard. Jayne Anne Phillips, in whose work I was once enviously invested because I couldn't "fool around" with my teachers, a flippancy that Vera Farmiga throws off so coolly, decries the injustice of mandatory drug sentencing, channeling a Nicholas Kristof column, like good militant liberals.
I no longer have the ability to be outraged by individual trafficking circumstances which have quadrupled the growth of the prison industry. We've already damned ourselves with welfare state corporate models so top heavy they implode with every uptake in the climate shift.
I had what Liberty now calls skills training at Home of the Merciful Savoir as a precocious child, and support coordination staff start off on their entry level 18k making this lifetime compliance model a rectal scope to shove up our asses.
Ambulatory individuals might ask what the fuck is it that I want, to be able to entertain myself in a cockroach colony?
Not quite. What Tim's hard driving cerebral analysis grapples is the cost of a domesticated biology, and getting it right isn't always about equilibrium of expenditure so much as the right level of investment early with applied and rational levels of ruthlessness. Hence Vonnegut's assault on Billy in Slaughterhouse Five, or the disjunction between scene locale, precision acting, and the real Americana buffeted and billowed by the great recession that Up in the Air epitomizes to the point of a near gold standard. Jayne Anne Phillips, in whose work I was once enviously invested because I couldn't "fool around" with my teachers, a flippancy that Vera Farmiga throws off so coolly, decries the injustice of mandatory drug sentencing, channeling a Nicholas Kristof column, like good militant liberals.
I no longer have the ability to be outraged by individual trafficking circumstances which have quadrupled the growth of the prison industry. We've already damned ourselves with welfare state corporate models so top heavy they implode with every uptake in the climate shift.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Second The Motion
It is difficult for nationally syndicated columnists to merge issues with micro-localization, but Samuelson gets credit for understanding and explicating the disability insurance explosion. Another flower in his buttonhole is deserved for recommending Timothy Taylor to educated readers. Mr. Taylor, more familiar with the American idiom than Niall Ferguson, did not dispense pity on a penny platter, and he and I had a civil exchange, at least until I was brazen enough to paste in my blogger url in my final response.
I like his work; he is worth following, and deserves a paid subscription. I have sold my last potentially commissioned essay. I am out of manuscripts, and need to cull my posts to develop more articles. Spastic takes on economic theory? The Swiss will undoubtedly upgrade security.
I intend to dismantle independent living centers. I shall not succeed, but do not underestimate my zeal to expose their abuses and remove the mandate that gives them the security of incompetence. I have to do some research and weigh the level of exposure to my disability entertainment public. I did give myself an escape clause for hitting a little of this, a little of that.
I like his work; he is worth following, and deserves a paid subscription. I have sold my last potentially commissioned essay. I am out of manuscripts, and need to cull my posts to develop more articles. Spastic takes on economic theory? The Swiss will undoubtedly upgrade security.
I intend to dismantle independent living centers. I shall not succeed, but do not underestimate my zeal to expose their abuses and remove the mandate that gives them the security of incompetence. I have to do some research and weigh the level of exposure to my disability entertainment public. I did give myself an escape clause for hitting a little of this, a little of that.
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