Vicious Irritation

I want to expand a bit on the travesty of vanity. Examiner is useful for a student or casual citizen journalist who follows aggregating methods. Even established media outlets aggregate, blog, dumb it down or up. Clarity Media outsources a tutorial which is standard journo 101 from your eleventh grade high school collegiate track instruction. The reviewers are a grade above the vanity contributors, and basically all they do is approve or reject news content for Google or Bing's RSS feed.

Now, follow along a moment. Examiner's guidelines suggest content between 150 to 400m. My rapid write up on Glass, which is starting to bore me as the ultimate angst device, ran to about 230m, aggregating from three other more content driven pieces. The reviewer rejected it as newsworthy for being too short and gave me new guidelines, which are Google's standard for newsworthy material. 

Fine. You fix it. This is what journos do-- but I only wrote it hurriedly to maintain my eligibility for promotion on Google News, which is under threat because yours truly hasn't written news in 25 days. None of Examiner's trending topics interest me, a major exception being Oscar Pistorius. I see larger issues afoot in the plight of Bladerunner and the damnation of identity. I want to do a real article on this, my own work.

I am having technical problems on my Examiner page, however. So, do I now lose my precious eligibility to have my content promoted? Ha ha ha. I do not know much about Clarity Media. I know they own The Weekly Standard, which I would like to apply for a position with, if they could accommodate me, and have an opening, but this publication has more sobering standards, and I myself am nearly done in, so to speak.

Points to a larger issue of aggregate systems collapse. Examiner itself has a well meaning personality disorder. Saying one thing under management, another at the zombie stooge level, under which I'm running myself haggard, stinky witch with fish oil arm pits and straw dry dull greying hair, trying to maintain some modicum of self-reliance. I have no idea why Frances Glenn Cross believed his anti-antisemitism would be satisfied with the deaths of innocent people in temple. Since he is being tried under hate crime statue, presumably federal attorneys will argue he is rational, and wanted to kill out of hate.

My impulses toward violence are different, and stem from both deplorable inefficiency of state systems, my significant hatred of compliance models which are going to relegate me into infantilism anyway so why am I still fighting? and getting screwed so significantly by the activists themselves. BBC mystery producers know something about this in their Inspector Gently series. The desire to strike back doesn't pop out of a vacuum. I have no idea what you think about my content, contradictory as it is, maybe sometimes loopy also, indicative of skills giving way to belligerence, and maybe my hatred of gay and lesbian psychology has something to do with ugly women relegated to getting off on themselves with dildos, (investigating for a cover story) and my ex-supervisor's imaginary climaxes that she painted for me. Maybe. Reflexive analysis isn't an arm wrestling match with psychiatric manipulations, but it is also something I intuit as more compelling.

I don't know what I'd be willing to do in real world terms, if age, dependence, could be surmounted. It is not the innocent I want, but gnostic self love, regardless of its gender spectrum, is a kind of self-interested tunnel vision. We aren't all special, in the aggregating sense, and you know it.

Ragtime Cadenza

"If you show people their future, then they have no future."--Ben Affleck, giving JJ Abrams the scene to replicate Colm Feore's death in his more contemporary series.

More than likely, I will only ever see Hannibal through the actors who've embodied him rather than as Harris created him. I dislike thrillers in print. There are exceptions to this, but on the whole, authors rarely if ever deliver the goods. Hence I do Harris an injustice to give Bryan Fuller and Dacy and Mikkelsen all the credit, layering their vogue-ish series over top what has come before. Diabolical natures can amplify altruistic impulses. Moral rectitude can have its own obdurate obstinacy. Paleontologists seemingly dispense with the sanctity of life because epistemological  production is paramount, but Frances Glenn Cross will be, if the accusations against him hold, expurgated, and eliminated, for killing on the basis of murdering due to hatred of ethnicity. He violated the social contract that modern human societies vowed and failed to eliminate. Christopher Dorner, comparatively, engaged in revenge murder against a civilian police system which is probably still corrupt, despite reforms instituted in the aftermath of the Rodney King beating. Neither man had a rational justification for their actions, in the tension between the expendability of being and the precious nature of being. Being is preferred to not being, barring the exceptional instance, like seditious intent, or national interest. Yet we're still in a place where violence is coded to produce what we necessarily conclude to be a just outcome. We see it in formula thrillers like Affleck's mediocre futurist vehicle, where Eckhart wastes what he has proven to be a brilliant social intelligence, but we also see it daily beyond our fantastical destruction of villains, or those who do not tune it out when going to shing dings where it's bring you're own clams, sometimes we tune in, beyond cell text pings to the wrong number, to what foreign and domestic fanaticism wreaks upon optimistic and happy individuals. We do not assign hierarchical values to Afghan or Pakistani lives,and though we expect NATO forces to defeat the Taliban, American forces are expected to be disciplined if they urinate on enemy flesh. Killing is easy. Desecration is more onerous, more unspeakable, enveloped by darkness. I am that angry to dig into it this deeply, and I do not truly know what decency I am willing to transgress for the sake of appeasing my virtue-- no, my sense of injustice. I gave Erik the finger, shaking with Barbara's rage, back in winter. I am that angry with shim, his rhetoric and ethical sleaziness. Last week she/he said hello while I barged up to my ex. (I own Frank due to his marriage proposal, which I admit is my not entirely rational prerogative) One look from me, Erik drove back into the building. Just one look. If I could get away from shim, our history and our younger healthier intimacy, my hate wouldn't be so corrosive. I don't exactly hate the US, but our welfare state is a cruel, derisive business, one I was weak enough to be destroyed by. Barbara, if you're wondering, is another spastic, totally helpless, 70 year old slut who vented on me some years ago. "Asshole," she hissed, a tubular sea worm undulating in the coral.

Do I frighten you? There is nothing I can convey to Bernie Taupin, strangely, other than to express skepticism with how deeply embedded his best work threshed out my interior longings, I debated one of my bizarre and skittish communiques for five minutes. Fuck it, him, and the entire British invasion of rock and roll.