"It deserves its own taxonomy of suckitude." Julia Scott, more cutesie than a grandiose spastic
If you put this online you'll regret it immediately, interior conscious intoned. Interior conscious voice was absolutely correct, and the piece isn't kept for it virtual jazz with a composite of a man whose intellectual energy was all but fatal to a precocious disposition embedded in quadriplegia; it isn't kept for the sake of the fact that it serves as a bad apologia for not doing the work toward dissertation, nor for self-pity.
Given that, writers need to know when to throw something out, move on: my animosity toward my philosophy professor was unconscious when I was 21, but age has seasoned an intense dislike: he did sleep with a student, did hurt her, and I did get angry, and it did have repercussions I shall leave unstated. Some wounds are worth picking; some aren't, and naked bodies horrify me when I am not ready, and when I am, make me laugh callously. Penises seem to convey evolution has a sense of humor (can I hear Richard Dawkins scoff? see how Catholic atheists and Anglican atheists get on? Dawkins and I would come to blows in roughly five minutes on the talk circuit). I keep Discard because I am trying to get at something, and may keep some elements of the meta-autobiography.
There are interesting imperfections and, more simply, just imperfections, and knowing the difference takes seasoning.
The spastic in the story was present in the narrative before my (ahem) nervous breakdown, and I asked myself if I was a latent lesbian like Fern, the Jewish Trotsky who case managed with an iron fist and was driven out by my favorite transsexual. I have known too many faggots for my own good, after all, and I've created bisexual women for my own subversive intentions, so that must mean something, but masochism isn't the same thing as gravitation: breast nipples and and the modesty of the labia do not arouse me.
However, my now nefarious supervisor was causing me pain, and I kept talking. Real fucking smart solution, and 14 years to even begin to ease my trauma, being disparaged by colleagues, classmates, because two women with cerebral palsy, slighting-touched by it more than some, inflicted so much damage on each other. I miss Linda Dezenski. She was the peer I never had growing up, and needed, and while she and I were screaming at each other on the phone, 14ish years back, "What do you want from me?" She wailed. Enough respect, for a start, for her to admit her liability, make amends for it. If people like her are true believers, that is what you do.
How is this a tutorial on revising and discarding, again?
Showing posts with label fern markowitz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fern markowitz. Show all posts
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Sunday, January 26, 2014
bolero entre aguila o mono
"Huh?+the collective gasp of Tyler Oakley's followers when playful instigators direct them to my Blogger url.
At times Thomas H. Earle earns my clinical, objective, commiseration. If I wasn't going to be engaged in a major legal battle against his interests fairly soon I'd have a bit of bemusement emasculating Mamma's good little boy molded into a compliant pedestrian who owes his current position to a rabid locally recognized, contemporaneous mummy transvestite who had a titanic struggle with a Jewish lesbian named Fern Markowitz and won what can only be a hollow victory, only to step into a pile of dog shit between a mafioso embittered Roman and my titanic battle against a Jewish bully in petticoats, whose center spiraled downward from suburban middlebrow to the inner city shell shock density of North Philadelphia. Everyone gets corrupted, but let's hold the thought. Other things on my schedule.
At times Thomas H. Earle earns my clinical, objective, commiseration. If I wasn't going to be engaged in a major legal battle against his interests fairly soon I'd have a bit of bemusement emasculating Mamma's good little boy molded into a compliant pedestrian who owes his current position to a rabid locally recognized, contemporaneous mummy transvestite who had a titanic struggle with a Jewish lesbian named Fern Markowitz and won what can only be a hollow victory, only to step into a pile of dog shit between a mafioso embittered Roman and my titanic battle against a Jewish bully in petticoats, whose center spiraled downward from suburban middlebrow to the inner city shell shock density of North Philadelphia. Everyone gets corrupted, but let's hold the thought. Other things on my schedule.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Human Singularity
Other futurists have long argued that we are heading instead towards a global economic and ecological collapse.-- Eden, Steinhart, Pearce, Moor, Singularity Hypotheses, p2
Bill Bixby was no doubt resented by countless fathers during the run of this quiet and unassuming series. I certainly saw padre in the projection of the actor as the suave cosmopolitan patriarch who had to negotiate the cracked terrain of the me decade. I had no idea he succumbed to prostate cancer after doing the earlier switcheroo version with Ferrigno, and the only clever thing about the 03 Hulk was giving the body builder the cameo in the opening. The film wants to be liked, wants relevance, and in the ghost of Ebert's tumorous glands, bollo uncle Roger focuses on Elliot's graphic performance as a worthy conformity to the genre. Yes. Connelly and Elliot redo Beautiful Mind with more exaggerated gravity, but Hulk is not terribly interesting. Schwarzenegger trying to psyche Ferrigno out in their early competitive days is more so, in terms of the psychology of bullshit and bravado. Should I bother comparing 08 and 12?
Wait for pins to drop? The 12 variation looks more like Lou. To summarize: the 03 version is the weakest of the resurgent Marvel films. Enjoyed less with each viewing. The continuity rolls like a rushed three penny opera, and the best I can say about Nolte is he seems to be channeling Katherine Hepburn; it does not absorb into the character.
I have to stroll out in a bit. The female throws house cat tantrums when her dry food vanishes, so hopefully CVS is open and I will be able to get into my branch. This year I am not looking to gather with exuberant students of my defeated hopes. I can only speculate that some of you aren't that stupid and do not like the implications of my festering temper, but people like Fern Markowitz, within her secular indulgences, and narrow minded bitch slappers like Debra Horne, manufacture the kind of aggression driving against liberal eradication. Debra has threatened me, more than once, and I do not like shallow paint by numbers organizers with that kind of power. 28 years is enough, even if compassionate capitalism might turn out to leave me worse for wear.
What do we do with poignancy for fallen father figure archetypes?
Bill Bixby was no doubt resented by countless fathers during the run of this quiet and unassuming series. I certainly saw padre in the projection of the actor as the suave cosmopolitan patriarch who had to negotiate the cracked terrain of the me decade. I had no idea he succumbed to prostate cancer after doing the earlier switcheroo version with Ferrigno, and the only clever thing about the 03 Hulk was giving the body builder the cameo in the opening. The film wants to be liked, wants relevance, and in the ghost of Ebert's tumorous glands, bollo uncle Roger focuses on Elliot's graphic performance as a worthy conformity to the genre. Yes. Connelly and Elliot redo Beautiful Mind with more exaggerated gravity, but Hulk is not terribly interesting. Schwarzenegger trying to psyche Ferrigno out in their early competitive days is more so, in terms of the psychology of bullshit and bravado. Should I bother comparing 08 and 12?
Wait for pins to drop? The 12 variation looks more like Lou. To summarize: the 03 version is the weakest of the resurgent Marvel films. Enjoyed less with each viewing. The continuity rolls like a rushed three penny opera, and the best I can say about Nolte is he seems to be channeling Katherine Hepburn; it does not absorb into the character.
I have to stroll out in a bit. The female throws house cat tantrums when her dry food vanishes, so hopefully CVS is open and I will be able to get into my branch. This year I am not looking to gather with exuberant students of my defeated hopes. I can only speculate that some of you aren't that stupid and do not like the implications of my festering temper, but people like Fern Markowitz, within her secular indulgences, and narrow minded bitch slappers like Debra Horne, manufacture the kind of aggression driving against liberal eradication. Debra has threatened me, more than once, and I do not like shallow paint by numbers organizers with that kind of power. 28 years is enough, even if compassionate capitalism might turn out to leave me worse for wear.
What do we do with poignancy for fallen father figure archetypes?
Friday, January 25, 2013
The Mossad Foul is Fair
My attitude toward the state of Israel has invariably shifted over the years, from that of unquestioned idealism to serious doubts about American foreign policy being tethered to Ashkenazi self-righteousness, and today, merely colored by cynicism, I respect the ruthlessness of the Mossad, but much like the Guardian staff, question the morality of that ruthlessness. Though I am powerless to be ruthless, my own morality has suffered from its intractable growth, which justice would staunch, an abstract idea that seems unlikely at this point, though the question of a diabolical disabled evil preoccupies whatever remains of my creative talent, as an ethical, technical problem. Whatever Linda's virtue, she undermines it by unnecessary humiliation, and her employer refuses to deal with it by utilizing an appropriate discipline, which in this case, is forcing her resignation. Linda repeatedly gets "herself into trouble." Her words, disrepecting her colleagues, turning on, and I cite, on the basis of facts I have in evidence:
1. blind subordinates, otherwise qualified
2. minority subordinates, who successfully sued under her administration
3. quadriplegic subordinates like myself, too incapacitated to meet EEOC deadlines
4. paraplegics in the same situation
If she was a corporate executive, do you think her tenure would be so long lived? Her former boss, Fern Markowitz, is as much a bigot as some feel Martin Peretz to be, except that Fern gets a free pass, as a Jewish lesbian, and I don't, because I troll in dark crevices, chewing grubs, but make no mistake, Fern was never about equality. She needed to control wheelchair users like myself, and that is not respect, with the exception of the symbolic tokenism Cassie James Holdsworth emanates. That is untouchable in Liberty's world, but for when I pierced it in anger. Fern took the problem Linda created and compounded it.
"I need to make a living Fern."
"Welllll," she trilled, like that, gesturing her hand at me, akin to a trainer with a rebellious circus animal, one that did not comply, instead of offering me a respectful discussion. Liberty's entire staff operates under this pathology of prevarication, which lesbians exude with peculiar talent, in Fern's case probably generational, and necessary, to evade the animosity Shakespeare reserved for supernatural androgyny, and this is the seed of my villainy, which, depositing in my rare disabled characters, is problematic, for I am taking a conceit, coupled with the real pain of my terribly cruel ouster, which Cassie acknowledged when she team tagged me on the grant proposal I was not going to do for their evil, and disservicing disability empowerment by letting this evil take its course in my work. Fern herself was ousted by a transvestite and his unstable and occasionally vicious partner, so it would be ironic, if, in truly unleashing my view, I wind up with a best seller, which is why I study intelligence. The price of vengeance, however, is an ancient lex talionis in the time warp of a modern age.
It is not Fern I want to eliminate, as Fern is punishment enough for her own reality, but the cruelty of the paradigm that allows her and her successors to engage in nearly untrammeled corruption, it has to go. Nursing homes are not an apologia for federally protected disability center ineffability.
1. blind subordinates, otherwise qualified
2. minority subordinates, who successfully sued under her administration
3. quadriplegic subordinates like myself, too incapacitated to meet EEOC deadlines
4. paraplegics in the same situation
If she was a corporate executive, do you think her tenure would be so long lived? Her former boss, Fern Markowitz, is as much a bigot as some feel Martin Peretz to be, except that Fern gets a free pass, as a Jewish lesbian, and I don't, because I troll in dark crevices, chewing grubs, but make no mistake, Fern was never about equality. She needed to control wheelchair users like myself, and that is not respect, with the exception of the symbolic tokenism Cassie James Holdsworth emanates. That is untouchable in Liberty's world, but for when I pierced it in anger. Fern took the problem Linda created and compounded it.
"I need to make a living Fern."
"Welllll," she trilled, like that, gesturing her hand at me, akin to a trainer with a rebellious circus animal, one that did not comply, instead of offering me a respectful discussion. Liberty's entire staff operates under this pathology of prevarication, which lesbians exude with peculiar talent, in Fern's case probably generational, and necessary, to evade the animosity Shakespeare reserved for supernatural androgyny, and this is the seed of my villainy, which, depositing in my rare disabled characters, is problematic, for I am taking a conceit, coupled with the real pain of my terribly cruel ouster, which Cassie acknowledged when she team tagged me on the grant proposal I was not going to do for their evil, and disservicing disability empowerment by letting this evil take its course in my work. Fern herself was ousted by a transvestite and his unstable and occasionally vicious partner, so it would be ironic, if, in truly unleashing my view, I wind up with a best seller, which is why I study intelligence. The price of vengeance, however, is an ancient lex talionis in the time warp of a modern age.
It is not Fern I want to eliminate, as Fern is punishment enough for her own reality, but the cruelty of the paradigm that allows her and her successors to engage in nearly untrammeled corruption, it has to go. Nursing homes are not an apologia for federally protected disability center ineffability.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Altered States
It is not that I would not sleep if I tried, more simply, Thursday vanished, and half dressed for the drug store, I stopped, like the song, not undressing, like the singer, but stopped, ate, wondering how long I can stop speaking to my entire family, and find a bus, survive getting off it, and never returning. I use my past, my memory, and will continue to do so, but unlike what happens to lost itinerants in Hollywood, there is nothing for me in that past, its people, even if I use their names. Quadriplegics cannot do Jack Kerouac on the road, especially with old diodes that will not behave, and charge properly. "Whatever it is they did to you," Anne Kline intoned in a low voice, "people here still care about you."
No they don't, but the point is, for all that able bodied individuals are aware, or not, of how these centers function, they do not stop doing harm to a substantial number of people that come in, get indoctrinated, humiliated. The lucky ones, like Chris, sue and settle and then become director of an independent training center that then burns down, and the cycle continues. Sue and settle with the next Linda. The unlucky ones, like Ken, do pot in their nursing home apartment wings, and never mind Cassie's freedom rhetoric, suffer in obscurity, and me? I just took too many blows from too many sources, and what truly angers me, my own case aside, is no one puts a stop to it. Certainly not a lawyer like Thomas Earle, who I used to believe was a decent man, nor Fern Markowitz, the lesbian, whose decency seemed tied to being the bad cop. She was always a ferocious and inexplicable woman to me, who treated me like she needed to use a whip on my haunches. Not the national cil council, not the state regulators, nor the auditors, and employee litigation is just the cow with an udder always full. Corporations, like BP, oh, they pay a price, but no one gives a holy fuck about disability center malfeasance; their scandals get buried, particularly in areas with large disadvantaged populations. The closest the right gets to it is with a home grown idiot like Rick Santorum, and the best the left will do, nationally, is scream they will protect entitlements, when Medicare is a fucking nightmare to begin with, and public housing does not know what constitutional law is, not when government is subsidizing its brick and plaster. The left says this is better than what it was in Roosevelt's day. Not by much, especially not when age makes risk more costly. I cannot reform this by myself, but wince at what it may take to rouse the public. Caretakers killing us doesn't do it, Paratransit drivers raping us gets a script in a Dick Wolf drama, and cil consumers look the other way, until it happens to them, then they sue. No one touches how this system operates, because those like me are supposed to be matriculated, with superhuman effort, minimal resources, and those mostly badly managed. Now I'm going to bed, lucky if I don't drop the Joyce group this weekend at the little museum that tries very hard. Money already pissed.
No they don't, but the point is, for all that able bodied individuals are aware, or not, of how these centers function, they do not stop doing harm to a substantial number of people that come in, get indoctrinated, humiliated. The lucky ones, like Chris, sue and settle and then become director of an independent training center that then burns down, and the cycle continues. Sue and settle with the next Linda. The unlucky ones, like Ken, do pot in their nursing home apartment wings, and never mind Cassie's freedom rhetoric, suffer in obscurity, and me? I just took too many blows from too many sources, and what truly angers me, my own case aside, is no one puts a stop to it. Certainly not a lawyer like Thomas Earle, who I used to believe was a decent man, nor Fern Markowitz, the lesbian, whose decency seemed tied to being the bad cop. She was always a ferocious and inexplicable woman to me, who treated me like she needed to use a whip on my haunches. Not the national cil council, not the state regulators, nor the auditors, and employee litigation is just the cow with an udder always full. Corporations, like BP, oh, they pay a price, but no one gives a holy fuck about disability center malfeasance; their scandals get buried, particularly in areas with large disadvantaged populations. The closest the right gets to it is with a home grown idiot like Rick Santorum, and the best the left will do, nationally, is scream they will protect entitlements, when Medicare is a fucking nightmare to begin with, and public housing does not know what constitutional law is, not when government is subsidizing its brick and plaster. The left says this is better than what it was in Roosevelt's day. Not by much, especially not when age makes risk more costly. I cannot reform this by myself, but wince at what it may take to rouse the public. Caretakers killing us doesn't do it, Paratransit drivers raping us gets a script in a Dick Wolf drama, and cil consumers look the other way, until it happens to them, then they sue. No one touches how this system operates, because those like me are supposed to be matriculated, with superhuman effort, minimal resources, and those mostly badly managed. Now I'm going to bed, lucky if I don't drop the Joyce group this weekend at the little museum that tries very hard. Money already pissed.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Josie Byzek, LBGT, Disability Activism
Progressives need to realize they are front and center in this kind of backlash. I have been turning over my hostility to gay lifestyles for many years now, since I have stated that, in the past, I was intellectually with the left. What changed is that I've had far too much exposure to lesbian duplicity on the one hand, both of the secular Jewish and Gnostic Christian genotypes, represented by woman like Fern Markowitz, and Josie Byzek, and my personal sense that homosexual males are more unstable, and I take this view despite the removal of homosexuality from the DSM as a disorder. Am I indicating that same sex orientation cannot be as pedestrian as an HIV positive Briton like Andrew Sullivan, with his gnostic Catholic my sodomy is blessed sentiments would like it to be? No, but Andy himself is a contradiction in terms.
That charge might as equally by aimed at me, an atheist who thinks that American Christianity is about as equi-distant from its Bedouin roots as pagan river deities are to the Hoover Dam. It is complicated, and I cannot disentangle it all in one post, but I am convinced things will get uglier before we develop a new social paradigm my dried bleach bones would not recognize. Ironically, however, it was my nearly lethal email exchanges with Linda that destroyed my tolerance, because I let her twist me inside out to such a degree that imagining I could ever be anyone like Fern virtually annihilated any self-esteem I had left, in the time frame that these events occurred.
I am not quite stupid enough to let myself off easily with moral prognostications of the sort that Yahoo details, but I also will not condemn revulsion. It is a legitimate response, and I will build up my argument over time.
Josie did not, and does not now, occupy the same space in terms of what was once my regard and respect, admiration, for a woman like my former supervisor. The wounds that each inflicted on me carry nearly the same weight. I cannot write about my relation to Linda, not yet, because it triggers me like Amy Irving in De Palma's early and interesting, if overwrought, supernatural thriller, but as of the winter 2013, I can put my money where my mouth is in terms of Ms. Byzek. She is a managing editor and I am a freelancer who needs a contract, if not the (relative?) security her publication offers, but I am a powerful writer, and just how powerful, she is one day going to find out, with my metaphorical fist aimed right between the eyes. It will not undo what she did, but people like me know how to put full force and credit into the desire for retribution.
That charge might as equally by aimed at me, an atheist who thinks that American Christianity is about as equi-distant from its Bedouin roots as pagan river deities are to the Hoover Dam. It is complicated, and I cannot disentangle it all in one post, but I am convinced things will get uglier before we develop a new social paradigm my dried bleach bones would not recognize. Ironically, however, it was my nearly lethal email exchanges with Linda that destroyed my tolerance, because I let her twist me inside out to such a degree that imagining I could ever be anyone like Fern virtually annihilated any self-esteem I had left, in the time frame that these events occurred.
I am not quite stupid enough to let myself off easily with moral prognostications of the sort that Yahoo details, but I also will not condemn revulsion. It is a legitimate response, and I will build up my argument over time.
Josie did not, and does not now, occupy the same space in terms of what was once my regard and respect, admiration, for a woman like my former supervisor. The wounds that each inflicted on me carry nearly the same weight. I cannot write about my relation to Linda, not yet, because it triggers me like Amy Irving in De Palma's early and interesting, if overwrought, supernatural thriller, but as of the winter 2013, I can put my money where my mouth is in terms of Ms. Byzek. She is a managing editor and I am a freelancer who needs a contract, if not the (relative?) security her publication offers, but I am a powerful writer, and just how powerful, she is one day going to find out, with my metaphorical fist aimed right between the eyes. It will not undo what she did, but people like me know how to put full force and credit into the desire for retribution.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Comparative Temptations Also Count
Scorsese finally made a film that I can enjoy for its own sake, without grudging the excesses of his imprint, in his 1999 Bringing Out the Dead, with Cage and the ever supernatural Patricia Arquette. The tonal whine in her voice has the ability to grate the nerves, but she serves as a well cast foil here. I'll be percolating on it, as usual.
I am sure some fine analytical mind already compared Scorsese's more theologically superlative Last Temptation to Gibson's Passion, but I will not oblige by caring to do the same, not for the time being, I suppose it is due to the hyper manic personality cult that Martin generates, one to which I am not partial. Mel interests me more, due to his self destructive implosions that have tarnished his seasoned celebrity arc.
Though I have had a few scuttle butt moments as a white trash Catholic, myself, and feel guilty still about that brashy 14 year old at Rusk Institute, which me believes I posted about in brief, in 2010, I do not share Mel's scope of prejudice, but do still have issues with the Hebraic adhesion to secular liberalism, and one day I am going to make myself more popular still by describing my interactions with Fern Markowitz, who was once the epicenter of the universe at Liberty Resources, but not today, still snooting for sources as I am.
I am sure some fine analytical mind already compared Scorsese's more theologically superlative Last Temptation to Gibson's Passion, but I will not oblige by caring to do the same, not for the time being, I suppose it is due to the hyper manic personality cult that Martin generates, one to which I am not partial. Mel interests me more, due to his self destructive implosions that have tarnished his seasoned celebrity arc.
Though I have had a few scuttle butt moments as a white trash Catholic, myself, and feel guilty still about that brashy 14 year old at Rusk Institute, which me believes I posted about in brief, in 2010, I do not share Mel's scope of prejudice, but do still have issues with the Hebraic adhesion to secular liberalism, and one day I am going to make myself more popular still by describing my interactions with Fern Markowitz, who was once the epicenter of the universe at Liberty Resources, but not today, still snooting for sources as I am.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
loki_onyx and the affluence of generosity
I am particularly soured on web writing this morning, having wasted so much time on the issue of enabling code when I do not know how, and disgruntled at the prospect of wiping everything out and starting over. It isn't so much the forty dollars, or hammering out a niche, and failing not to devolve into my own ego, which I did not wish to do, or do but sparingly. It is about restoring a sense of respect and esteem to my life so that as I near the end I can say it was worth it.
As it stands now, it wasn't. I derived very little joy out of my equally sparing intimate episodes with men, and I doubt trying a lesbian experience would have improved on this, as I am hostile to the eroticism of my own gender, especially when directed at me deliberately. My main source of satisfaction was my work ethic, learned from my father, but only rarely enjoyed, and of that, being a journalist was my most vibrant investment, taking me outside of an ontology.
Short lived as it was, AccessLife made me happy, and I haven't been able to duplicate that experience very often. Ebert is not necessarily being a pansy ass when he tweets New Mobility columns, but New Mobility is trapped in an IL ideology from which it will not readily deviate. Josie Byzek, just like Jimmi Shrode, and Erik von Schmetterling, and Cassie James, and Linda C Dezenski, are all woven into this paradigm. None of them like me anymore, if they ever did, but none of them necessarily like each other. This movement is not entirely what it seems, to outside eyes, and what it expects to achieve in the long run is a mystery to me.
As I have written, I wanted an able life, and know I have the intelligence for the success I have envisioned but that otherwise eluded me; if Erik cannot work, I am not sure what emptying his catheter cached urine on Governor Rendell's leg achieves, as has been alleged. Erik has a studio, an entitlement, and his lover; his rage in this context seems counterproductive, and I think it has more to do with his failed body identification, and his inability to practice as a physician, since he became too disabled to be a doctor.
I share the anger at the society that they do, but both have failed me, the IL paradigm and what the able society is willing to invest toward equal opportunity, which, in the US, if your mobility options and adaptations are limited, means you're screwed, unless you live in DC and can access the federal district subway system. The EPVA had the muscle to create it, but as a country, our transport authorities are patchwork nightmares.
loki_onyx admonished me, before unfriending me, about attacking those who'd been kind to me: I needed to take a good look in the mirror. I wonder if loki isn't more protected in his Australian welfare state than I am in mine. After Suzanne Bacal'a funeral, Linda wrote me, "I wish I had been kinder to you," and "I've always recognized the bond between us." Confusing me, even before we came to blows.
Any CIL regular might suspect what she was up to. Peer support, feeding my concerns back to me. I actually thought she meant what she was telling me, and took it to heart.
But how was she kinder to me? I did not ask to be placed like a hapless pawn in the middle of a power struggle between her, Jimmi, Erik, and the indomitable Jewish lesbian, Fern Markowitz, who was toppled while I was gaily being crucified.
Maybe I cannot be *good enough,* any more, but a scholar willing to give me a chance on putting a thesis about Lampedusa's modernism together, or an editor giving me a chance to do a hard policy paper on redundancy, this means more to me than acts of charity.
As it stands now, it wasn't. I derived very little joy out of my equally sparing intimate episodes with men, and I doubt trying a lesbian experience would have improved on this, as I am hostile to the eroticism of my own gender, especially when directed at me deliberately. My main source of satisfaction was my work ethic, learned from my father, but only rarely enjoyed, and of that, being a journalist was my most vibrant investment, taking me outside of an ontology.
Short lived as it was, AccessLife made me happy, and I haven't been able to duplicate that experience very often. Ebert is not necessarily being a pansy ass when he tweets New Mobility columns, but New Mobility is trapped in an IL ideology from which it will not readily deviate. Josie Byzek, just like Jimmi Shrode, and Erik von Schmetterling, and Cassie James, and Linda C Dezenski, are all woven into this paradigm. None of them like me anymore, if they ever did, but none of them necessarily like each other. This movement is not entirely what it seems, to outside eyes, and what it expects to achieve in the long run is a mystery to me.
As I have written, I wanted an able life, and know I have the intelligence for the success I have envisioned but that otherwise eluded me; if Erik cannot work, I am not sure what emptying his catheter cached urine on Governor Rendell's leg achieves, as has been alleged. Erik has a studio, an entitlement, and his lover; his rage in this context seems counterproductive, and I think it has more to do with his failed body identification, and his inability to practice as a physician, since he became too disabled to be a doctor.
I share the anger at the society that they do, but both have failed me, the IL paradigm and what the able society is willing to invest toward equal opportunity, which, in the US, if your mobility options and adaptations are limited, means you're screwed, unless you live in DC and can access the federal district subway system. The EPVA had the muscle to create it, but as a country, our transport authorities are patchwork nightmares.
loki_onyx admonished me, before unfriending me, about attacking those who'd been kind to me: I needed to take a good look in the mirror. I wonder if loki isn't more protected in his Australian welfare state than I am in mine. After Suzanne Bacal'a funeral, Linda wrote me, "I wish I had been kinder to you," and "I've always recognized the bond between us." Confusing me, even before we came to blows.
Any CIL regular might suspect what she was up to. Peer support, feeding my concerns back to me. I actually thought she meant what she was telling me, and took it to heart.
But how was she kinder to me? I did not ask to be placed like a hapless pawn in the middle of a power struggle between her, Jimmi, Erik, and the indomitable Jewish lesbian, Fern Markowitz, who was toppled while I was gaily being crucified.
Maybe I cannot be *good enough,* any more, but a scholar willing to give me a chance on putting a thesis about Lampedusa's modernism together, or an editor giving me a chance to do a hard policy paper on redundancy, this means more to me than acts of charity.
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