In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President., 25th amendment, sec.1 Running the air a little in the heat of the day before I go to lie down, daring, when I do, to shut the air conditioning off, in sooty urban ninety degree weather, little changed since oh, let's say, 1918, before the technology of Freon was widely available so that toady peasants could live past sixty. I've heard twice now that "hate", whether as an entity, a thing, which only exists as an advanced internal motivation in primates, or a modal verb, is a strong word. The ambulatory world uses it as a moral teaching tool, like in Kung Fu, David Carradine went up against an old monk controlling the warrior who appeared to have superhuman strength, until Caine journeyed to the monk's residence, and the Shaolin broke the corroded man's will through focused meditation, and viewers then saw little more than emaciated bark and dust, the supporting actor impossibly shriveled.
It isn't quite so allegorical in real world terms, when the tsunami strikes with as much steady consistency as it does with surge and currents. For developmental damage, it is simply part and parcel of our vocabulary, not extraordinary in the least. If we had extraordinary, we'd be running the Phineas Priests better than they run themselves. Richard Spencer, in his carefully plotted alt.right facade, his pretense toward being a reasonable think tank, probably knows quite a few of these anarchists a la mode, in their conflicted ballet with local and federal law enforcement. I write this in speculation only, and do not claim his ethno romantic views on white privilege serve as a front for domestic paramilitary enthusiasts. They can believe anything they please, except when it comes to insurrection. Authority looks askance at sedition against a purportedly constitutional republic, one thing it shares with otherwise discredited regimes where governance is a wink and a nod. They only way extremism ever comes out victorious is in numbers, sympathizers, converts. This is one way the status quo moves. Innovation is another, like the technology surrounding television. We very rarely dwell on how complex the components of video are. We grasp the basic concepts of how electricity is harnessed, controlled, but our numbers are fewer in the expertise of audio, or radio waves, satellite technology. Count me in as useless when it comes to these applications, how magnetism carries voice, how antenna captures signals, how transistors convert this so that pixels can create exactly what cameras film. Control these mediums and then you control the dissemination of the facts to be distorted in one variation or another, but how to lust for power and keep it in the dynastic sense is increasingly difficult to do, despite Chancellor Merkel, and it cannot be done by terrorizing Spokane with pipe bombs and strategic bank heists. Take Silicon Valley and its oligarchy: Tim Cook, Peter Thiel, Chris Hughes in New York, Zuckerberg, Jack, even Ev Williams, and their enablers. They may not all share the characteristics of a regressive, if occasionally patriarchal, homosexuality, but they all have, to some degree, a coastal, dandyish elitism-- even Thiel, who seems, at least superficially, to be a boy he-man who doesn't grow up, but we've been co-opted by them, augmenting, as they have, the Defense Department technology which is now the digital age, and whether intentional or not, unless the Internet is destroyed, (unlikely), freedom is dead. This may seem like I give the saying nothing environment of social media too much importance. Toomey, to pick a conventional establishment example, doesn't live on it. He is a legislator, a man of great privilege, juxtaposed against the hordes, but nothing, and no one is free, in this age of computer science, cameras, facial recognition software, quarantines Apple, Google, and their heirs knowing everything. Minority Report will seem like a piss in the bucket, compared to where we're headed. Along the way, hate will flare, and for those whom justice has never lifted a finger, it's comprehensible. Libertarians may see the dowager's hostility to homosexual culture as a violation of liberty and privacy. On one level, it is. But what political aspirants like Austin Petersen do not see in their paramount individualism, is, gay men and lesbians generate victims too, as did my mother's once best friend, even in the closet. Kmac's eventual happiness with one of her husband's relatives had repercussions, and created estrangements. Don't Semitic moralists also have the right to believe sexual sodomy is sinful, as well? Liberty for all is not quite the utilitarian striving that it seems, in this context. Not that I am forsaking libertarian beliefs. They've helped me a good deal, but freedom is exceedingly fragile against a collective which automation has made so banal it's difficult to see how aesthetic transcendence will find space to flourish in future world.
"The best advice I can give you is to stay out of hospitals Lieutenant." -- Leonard Nimoy For the few of you who may have noticed, I emoted to Secretary Kerry's account that "we had to help France!" But I am in tandem with the analysts who say we cannot prepare for that level of contingency which led to the massacre at Nice. The images did indeed feel just like a joint Francais American thriller, or even the one novel by Harris not about Hannibal, inundation and emotion struggling hand in hand with each other. I want to help, really. I want to drop everything, apply for an impoverished Visa and meaninglessly shed my blood for the neo imperial nation which did so much to launch the United States, but I'd only be a hindrance, despite the dark irony of my intuitive understanding how public housing enabled this man to lose his conscience. This has been a sometimes blaring subtext of my Blogger account for exactly this reason. This so called social safety net should never be a lifetime injunction. I don't even have a criminal record, but can understand if it was despair which drove this Tunisian, how that despair flowered, because his age is precisely how long I've lived under this regime, nearly my entire life, and myfamily would say I don't want to accept reality-- but Reeve was injured far worse than I, and Dana never abandoned or dumped him, not in the way so many of us are left to hang, and yet, at the same time, this senseless idiot has merely paved the way for more bloodshed which is coming, because he had absolutely no objective other than to sow destruction which will ultimately unite NATO, even if the alliance ends up targeting certain geographical areas of the Arab spring with limited warhead strikes. This degree of carnage simply cannot continue, and we all know it. To fall back on the post modern conceit of one person's terror is another's freedom, that holds true if the objective can be traced to an oppression which has lifelong consequences, as in the case of the Holocaust era Zionist, or a Chinese Maoist radicalizing against destitute starvation, or a disability activist imposing a tyrannical strike on ambulatory norms, but the Nice attack was an exercise in futile carelessness. It would not have been draconian on the part of Nice traffic authorities to check the damn vehicle, from the back stories I hear coming in. Everything is a weapon now. Digital technologies, 20th century industrial technologies, and the worst things I could never imagine are no longer left to the imagination. God help us all.
When I get disappointed by a writing failure I sometimes stop writing altogether, a character flaw solely attributive to buying into the subtext of desuetude. It would not serve me to get into specifics, but perhaps I need to set this piece aside, work on it as I can, and stop punishing myself. The belt buckle is raising welts on my already desultory worldview because I needed the money, and I doubt the woman will pay me now, despite using my bragging rights, even if I manage to deliver at a later date. An obscure disabled freelancer cannot afford a failure such as this, and my confidence in my verbal acuity has been badly shaken, given that I have experience working under pressure.
There was a lesbian children's author on my endless stream of PBS fodder on Steve Adubato's show, not that I give two fucks about New Jersey, except for the fact that it is where most Philadelphia commercial employees live, and it might surprise you to learn that I agree with what she said about the over classification of identity, which is my main objection to progressive advocacy and activism, although I disagree with her that homosexuality should not matter, and yes, I can write this as a straight sentence without mockery, but treating my objection as a serious thesis, as I've written, is a difficult proposition, and does involve something of of a roll back on sexual liberalism, and doing so without becoming a Rick Santorum acolyte; not an easy thing to do while respecting evolutionary theory, and I do respect it.
To swing back to my insight into how hatreds and extremism develop in a psyche, in relation to Tarek Mehanna, I realize the cost of what I write in being frank that I can boil with the capacity of a fanatic in my loser's bid with matriculation and western materialism, but it isn't because I have cerebral palsy; it is because a series of impulsive decisions as a young woman left me stranded here, and I don't see a way out, even if the ACLU and the politicians are sympathetic. I know myself well enough to know that my emotional well being would improve if I could leave public housing, and find a change of venue. Too much baggage here, as louise, my would be acolyte, observed in a conversation, "Frank lives with you?"
Yes. I thought that was a given; he moved into the building in 04, and I broke our engagement in 05 three weeks before our wedding, then I published in the metro, and now he is dying while I struggle not to become a prime candidate for the silly Species franchise Our conception of alien contact is too stereotypical in video.
"That was a silly thing to say," keeps replaying in my mind, because I was actually attempting to be fondly facetious, nothing more, and afterwards recoiled under the bedsheets, sulking, and have pushed the young ones from the James list serv away, sometimes deliberately, sometimes conflictedly, and shut down a conservation with a new fellow from Rhode Island. Why?
I don't really know. I understand rubbing shoulders with mummified academics can be intimidating, as I've iterated, and I understand newbies, or those lacking in self-assertion, look for softies like me: I love James and literary theory and all that, but the arcane details can shrivel the gonads, and so the non-mummified find me approachable, unless I breach, or drop an egg, but I'll grasp at straws on flimsy pretexts, as I did here, with ten words of personal expression about my need for a change of locale. That ceased the rapport, except it did not, and I own a mea culpa. There are dangers of reeling too much in, especially on my own bumbling.
