Treasure
Coast Newspapers had a small scoop in disseminating Paul Ryan’s exit speech to
wire services like Reuter’s and The Associated Press, but it was diminutive and
low impact in terms of any breaking news story, and was rather reflective of
attrition of established Republican ideology, to the extent that Ryan’s
departure was a harbinger of any sort, and it was, for the core tenets of fiscal
conservative sensibility. Ryan took the political temperature, told the truth
about the swerving fissures under Donald Trump’s feet, and then walked it back,
under pressure from whom, unknown. One might reasonably surmise the Senate
Majority Leader used a careful selection of words, and the 54th
Speaker was reigned in, unlike the new empress from New York, who is seeming
impossible to restrain. But when a somewhat simple-minded polemicist like
Posoblec asked his followers what Ryan achieved after his 20 odd years in the House,
this is disingenuous. Legislating is a difficult process even under one party
rule: the Obama Trinity actually got the ACA into law and created a healthcare
crisis in an ideologically aligned city like Philadelphia within five years.
Insurance carriers hemorrhaged, and this represented a beginning once unfathomable.
Beltway policy and execution put an already vulnerable quadriplegic in jeopardy.
Ryan and the Freedom Caucus had the more difficult task of restricting federal
outreach. Sequestration proved nearly undoable, recalling Obamacare proved
nearly impossible, and yet Ryan is still the boy wonder who has remained rhetorically
elegant, consistent, and mathematically accurate. Entitlements will always
outpace capital, they are punitive in stricture, and entirely unsuitable for
quality of life, and the Rust Belt outcry prevailed. Trumpian populism lanced
Ryan’s fiscal faith in business models, and Ryan, like Scott Walker, saw the
writing on the wall. Yet people who live in Philadelphia row homes aren’t
financially secure, let alone those who are subsidized in public housing. This
may not be the case for every individual, but compliance modules and red tape have
been the tragedy of this blogger’s life, and what did she want, precisely? The
freedom a secure career might have offered, the esteem of home ownership, a
husband. All this is a fairy tale now, bootlegged by the minority collective,
lungs wheezing as readily as the PA GOP is losing. Lamb beat Saccone by a very
narrow margin, D. Raja was asleep at the wheel, felled by lack of campaign contributions, and young Turks no longer emulate Ryan's exercise regime. Would it help to reflect back in time to when you did?
Cagliari has been the capital of Sardinia since at least Roman times. travel guidebook, p 1071 If I was stranded on a desert island, one of the most prevalent of literary motifs in American literature, regardless of genre, as Lost in Space owes its analogue optimism to Robinson Crusoe, and on this island, had the ability to steal wireless passcodes, but could only have one serial, I'd opt for Bruno Cremer's Maigret, not solely based on my fascination with Simenon's ability to be unsparing, stripped and terse, with flourishes; there is just an aesthetic appeasement in the France Belgian production, sadly absent from more contemporary grafting of other writers, like Higgins Clark. These mysteries may be done in France, but they feel like hatchet jobs. Cremer transcends this, when it comes to marrying Simenon's exposes to the modern world, and any number of these teleplays can be studied again, and again. Simenon recognizes provincialism, and the people Maigret knew often serve as lynchpins, either as victims or perpetrators. Maigret's schoolboy friend, from the estate where his father was a steward, initiates the action which leads to the death of a courtesan, and that is still the proper term. We can argue about prostitution as a designation, but these are more properly street walkers, risking their lives, and I am not sure what the local LOTR chapter hopes to achieve today in demonstrating against violence street walkers face as par for the course. I certainly cannot say that legalizing whore houses makes whores any safer than a Craigslist notice. I am, never less, confirmed to attend, rather irritated. I had intended to show with useless objects in a shopping bag, a twenty four dollar butane lighter I no longer use, old Glimmer Train issues for five cents, other things. All this takes time to prepare, and hard winter is around the corner, with my disability insurance static, once again, even if a small COLA was restored for 2017. I am going to have to opt out of Medicare shortly, if I do not want SSI-- SSI has stringent overpayment rules, and even if I never sell another article, I cannot live with threats from Social Security. In 1987 they suspended my entitlement, for what I'm not entirely sure, and I had nothing, for months, in the dawn of getting sucked into Presbyterian Homes-- so those of you who marvel at my obstinacy may want to reconsider. I was a kid, a student, and the Social Security Administration halted Supplemental Income because ?-- I don't know. Lack of case management review. I cannot remember how I survived, but now I'm in my mid-fifties, and I fear government more than I hate Thiel for taking a media outlet away from me and others who challenged boundaries. I rushed another piece on Daulerio's settlement with Bollea's legal team, against my better judgment, but if I go down, I go down fighting. I'm building a dossier. Why, I'm not sure. Nick Denton revolts me. Every homosexual does, but there are degrees, and I'm still a bit bruised over the fact I wanted to save a radical British faggot's successful media model-- but Peter Thiel, there we have revulsion combined with fear. Homosexual psychology cannot be trusted, and I'll never get away with asserting this in mainstream outlets. It will not stop me from trying, notoriety, name recognition, notwithstanding. If Denton had survived, yes, I would have had the utter nerve to tell him he was a radical abomination, and then showed him my CV, and would have expected him to take me seriously, at least under the ADA. Bafflement away.
As I come online, look at The Freeman on American mental attitudes, consider Petula Dvorak's district byline a catastrophe, I may be in error about what my American viewers understand about the federal entitlement system, how pervasive it is, and how corrupt, whatever someone like Witter sustained. Unlike Dvorak's profile of hard bitten determination of a wronged beneficiary, most recipients getting SSDI, or SSI cheat. I am one exception, took my hits, and now I'm the bitch who needs to get piked by minorities who treat me like a rabid animal. I was going to write a lengthy post about this, and perhaps I still will, about classification, and gaming the system, all stemming from the fact Marie pissed me off. She doesn't know it and didn't mean it, but her "handy man" is a buzzard on SSI who cheats under the table, cleaning for cash. His sister is an aide on the system, and now, I want nothing to do with either. Your FICA taxes fund this shit hole of fraud, and looking the other way. It is doomed, and we're dooming ourselves with it, this welfare state, beneath the surface. It speaks to why I embrace Toomey, despite his disconnect, despite that his staff, in my limited contact with them, probably envision me much like Witter's service providers before she found an attorney willing to listen. Billy Varenas is my favorite cousin, and in fact, is probably my one family member I like most, but his mother's long kiss of death to cancer, and his uncle's long kiss of death to infections and developmental ailments represent an astronomical burden, as does my stepmother. They take from aging people like me who still cling to restoring gainful activity, and it points to why I take such a dismal view of the human animal, of the mental health consumer model, in particular, and the utter fucking travesty at the bottom, the entitlement dependency so entrenched any rollback will result in cataclysms which would make the 08 crisis look like a mild market correction. I too made my living off this. Some of you know that. Grants to try to curtail the welfare burden of the mentally ill we now incentivize to cripple themselves as much as I defy the limits people want to impose on my quadriplegia, and I'm still fucking full of myself to think I can revolt, roll out of section 202 housing, and survive it? I sent Moss a despondent contact submittal, forced to miss my appointment this afternoon. The sixteen year old post surgical patient I was in their beds, missing out on normal teenage high school preoccupations, that poor girl never got very far. I have no idea why I'm bothering. I should just throw my fucking keys in the office and get an accessible bus ride out of state, find a sewer and wedge my ass in it.
I had forgotten about the US House of Representatives on my twitter feed. They are still following me, which, oddly, doesn't trouble me. They legislate federal public housing, and I was a year into section 202 housing travail when I showed up, like a wayward spark, on the Senate Committee for Social Security. At the time I received a few expressions which suggested that I was a fool suffered gladly, primarily from a bald Hawkings-like figure who was a doctor of public policy, diseased power chair user whose only commonality with myself was our medical equipment. I forget what I asserted to earn such implied censure, but I understood him. Matriculated intellect challenged, disrupted, by a petite spastic savant, forgetting why Richard Baron sent me there at all, other than it was part of my job to cajole people like myself away from entitlement dependency. We had two meetings about a bill, the first meeting hastily scheduled because I was already on Amtrak and could not be called back, so I committed the sin of inefficiency under the Clinton's watch too! I should put this back on my resume. No one in the Executive Branch knew I breathed, and Toomey was still a private citizen then, but I learned that politicians are figureheads, and power is vested in the aides. If we recognized this I think we'd have fewer problems, because politics boils down to appropriations, and appropriations would find it prohibitive to customize architecture and programs toward optimal outcomes. But I am going to say something: I did not move into a section 811 building like Diamond Park simply due to an English professor whose mouth, like mine, was his weapon. I moved into Diamond Park because my private living arrangements with Marie were horrific, not due to any fault of my aunt. My family never invested in best accessibility practices. I suffered for it, and Diamond Park eased that, absent medical technology, but my bid to live independently was a failure because the violence I was party to was endemic. My transfer to Riverside was also a failure, and I consider it inhumane to forcibly lump the disabled and low income seniors together. My first years here were hell, Babette Josephs notwithstanding, I was terrorized by the seniors, literally, then gradually by management, years before Trudy Richardson took over. I've individualized her and Debra Horne, but that too is irrelevant when the landlord's goal is marginalization for the sake of the regime. One solution is to reconsider segregation: I would have been happier in a smaller community of peers with CP and MS who had the ability to remain autonomous outside of monstrosities like Inglis House, but to mediate such infrastructure issues costs a significant domestic investment. It is all about money, just as Sturgess realizes, to his character's dismay, in 21. For all the government mandates that integrated me, the government still failed, abominably, because it cannot regulate the reality of my vulnerability: I'm expendable.
