Twinkle Toes with Bulgakov

"Do you believe no human is worth saving?"-- Jeremy Irons

Foreign analysts can lead one to blossom provocative ideas of which you can almost convince yourself to attempt, like cashing on the new age of polemical half truths by our adversaries. I was going to contact the fabled genesis heir to the KGB and place myself at their disposal to troll a web of lies in exchange for a transfer out of the 202 housing system, and still might do it, since finding work at home is difficult, but then reassessed, why would Russian Federation handlers treat me any better than Philadelphia's minority power class, tethering themselves to state rock candy? What could I convey to the FSB that wouldn't lead them to turn my missives over to the FBI, and what would earning myself a federal file achieve, in the attempt to deploy Slavic cronyism to give myself one last boost? The only thing I have that RT media would value is a verifiable life of white indifference in institutional depositories conjoined to black violence and mental health dysfunction which has broken me down, on top of my chronic incontinence. One also assumes being a petrol state is not the highlight of the season, as a 44 dollar barrel of oil is still low, despite the Canadian crisis. Sometimes I tend to forget I'm a writer first, and that this account hasn't down anything for me except to enrage decency, and, conversely, lead to trivialization, much like Niven's caviler reversion to form at Seberg's instigation in Bonjour Tristesse.

Sagan's work is a mid century take on social manner, catty ploys, people not knowing what to do with themselves, youthful angst breaking the yolk of restraint to carry the first real wounds of growing up.

I've always been an online junkie, but these days, it is quantitatively different. We fear moral majorities of a different sort, and if Google wants my scar tissue out of the way, if my intense stride is unacceptable, aren't they doing the right thing, if all the years of abuse and failing against poverty in part due to corruption, hasn't taught me acceptance, but transformed me into an equally failing warrior? I'm so over extended that the private space every writer needs, whether pure reporter or not, is creched into a treble. This isn't particularly beneficial to twilight, in whatever way we sip the cup of cessation. A developmental mastermind is a contradiction in terms, isn't it?

An Alibi for Boris Nemtsov

"The man in the hut can hurt you."-- Bill Maher

If I approached the FSB and attempted to negotiate with them, I still face the same difficulty I would if I approached a gang affiliate. I work on the assumption that every African American has closer ties to someone willing to shoot, and someone able to shoot, than I do, but with that as a given, I simply lack the knowledge as to where to find ruthless people, not that those who've humiliated and abused me are substantial. Eight years on Page and Norris Streets, and all I have is a Paratransit driver who one day showed me where he used to deal drugs. I would not recognize him if I saw him again, and he has moved on, if he did not get murdered himself.

Then you have to consider the contractor, the stresses you'd bring to bear on the individual, how you could be sure they would not kill you even if they took out your target, or didn't take out your target, the pieces grow exponentially.

And what would FSB agents do once they found out what I wanted, handle me or refer any effort on my part to the FBI, and then the Philadelphia police would laugh, because the cops know how often they've restored me to a wheelchair in 20 odd years, not that police themselves cannot be bought, but my leverage is small potatoes. People tend to leave spinsters alone. We're unpleasant, but that wouldn't necessarily make me an asset 

If I had the ability to tell Vladimir Putin anything, I'd tell him you cannot gun down opponents indefinitely. It makes Russia look as backward as the political cartoons depicted at the end of the Victorian era, right at the outset of the great war. No one will ever know the truth about Nemtsov's killing. Putin's protestations may be genuine, or they may be plausible deniability. Either way, the man is as inept as the cronies holding him aloft. 

But I'm still turning it over. To echo a former supervisor's question: What would I have to gain? If my body is in the preliminary end stage of a chronic condition, not much personally, but NSCIL, which like everything in the US, is the national independent living center association, knows full well that corruption runs rampant in IL. The federal mandate acquired leads to complacency, and sometimes, if you want an omelet, you need to break some eggs.