As if Captain Bly Hailed from Scranton

As a corollary aside to my meeting with Krawchuk, what rankles me about former AG Kathleen Kane goes beyond political dualism, to borrow the phrase from my short lived protégé Louise. I have read at the very least a dozen articles on the Kane saga and I cannot quite offer a cogent summary: it involved an adversarial relationship with Corbett, one of the worst one term governors in PA history, the fallout from the Sandusky scandal, the pornographic emails floating around the state capital of Harrisburg (I obviously have some experience there on the municipal level), Kane's investigative overreach, paranoia, which seems justified, a shaky press conference once she was indicted, her omission to the jury in relation to any vendettas she harbored with DA's. One could simply say she was out of her depth, don't over-analyze it, and yet, her downfall, and patently unfair prison term, seems to throb with my own mortal scars. The citizens elected her, but this counted for nothing once the legal machinery kicked into place to impeach, remove, put her on trial. Representative Brian Sims, the great gay "Philadelphia hope" who could not see me, not see me at all, may have been quoted in the press telling Kane "I love you!" for not defending Pennsylvania's defense of marriage act, but once the grease hit the pan, he didn't stand by her. Typical for these cases. I did not vote for the woman, but remain disturbed. The Commonwealth is still far too much the "old boy's network," and I still have a significant residual sympathy for her vanquished star. If President Obama could release the significantly disturbed Bradley Manning from federal prison, where he should have remained, Governor Wolf could and should commute Kane's sentence. She is a mother with children of her own, and we should be able to comprehend that the destruction of Joe Paterno's legacy, the scandal that rocked Penn State, should never happen again.

Hitting Stride

My post about Kane's legal problems is mainly a rehash, in order to reach another thesis, not that I can fault myself. I don't have any fresh sources, but my point was about the forgotten in all this, which, going out on a limb, were the athletes Sandusky sodomized, as I'm assuming he engaged in anal penetration, though being convicted on sexual abuse charges is not statutory rape, I think. I'm undecided if I should delete my file, or just keep researching bylines and let my interest simmer. One insight I've gained: the coverage between Philadelphia and Allentown has succinct differences, which is also an interstice  of interest.

Have I made a choice to write out of my depth? I am posing the question as a failed freelancing tutorial, in a sense. More research. (Sigh)

Rectifying Chemical Imbalance

"Don't be so sensitive!"-- Robert De Niro, naturally inclined to mimic palsy

Jack Goes Boating is as much about transference as it is a contrast between experience and innocence, in attempting to come to terms with Phillip Seymour Hoffman, his craft, destructive escapism, and the use of a hookah as a biographical antidote. There is resistance toward full commiseration with the absence of his gift, repugnance toward his pudgy and nascent clueless character he portrays here, four odd years ago, but also admiration for the willingness on his part to savage vanity, passing the buck to Ortiz, whose limousine driver is more than the sum of Vega's contempt.

Why do we see the extended capture of an amputee engaged in rehabilitative training at the pool, which clearly serves for an extended metaphor for fleshing outward towards cumulative maturity? Appreciation of the actor doesn't lend itself toward connective sympathy for the liberal arguments embedded in his roles. He upended that by dying like hundreds of junkies before and since, either on a libertarian or material note, depending on the perspective we have toward addiction, and in spastic's view, the naturalist thesis is the prevailing victor. Complex life forms gravitate towards destructive dependence to alleviate negation, which to me seems covalent with our tendency towards being corrupt hypocrites, sans the plight of Pennsylvania's Kathleen Kane.

The Attorney General might hold my equivocal sympathy for her plight somewhat suspect, as well she should, since her review of Corbett's handling of the Jerry Sandusky investigation clearly had a political agenda to it, but the entire sorry fiasco illustrates that one doesn't have theological objections to gay marriage and the equality of sexual orientation as a purely cosmetic, Orwellian denial of bestiality. Is it really a form of political liberalism that led to the discipline of Pennsylvania's judicial employees over pornographic emails, or is Kane a closet authoritarian? If I disagree with her allegiance to Democratic principles, why am I standing by her now?

Because she's right, even if she engaged in some sort of orchestration of the grand jury to play hardball with her perceived enemies. Next week I'll have more time for substantive research to really wade into our modern jeremiad and the urgent need to scale back from regulatory reliance.  

Local Stir Fry

How would you like to be a Penn State administrator in the aftermath of such a scandal? The only reason anyone cares is because this is the mammoth collegiate sports mill, a wobbling of the American triptych, the other legs of which are consumers and capital, so severe as to possibly involve the penalty of death.

Freelance Maldoror

I am actually reading Les Chants on kindle, and despite the Dadaists, but for Ducasse's age and early death, I regret losing my money on this kind of hyper-romantic spleen, and do not see the allure in corrupting children, even in a fantastical mode. No use for children here, nor pederasts who stand in violent opposition to God as a character. There was a poster whose avatar on the literature network forums was Etienne. He was Ducasse's advocate during my active years. Pedophiles should be executed, if the predation is serial, and prolonged, though no one will pay me any mind when it comes to men like Jerry Sandusky; I'd lay odds he will be killed in prison. My failed ambition is rather like a dead crane shot out of the sky with pellets of the appropriate size, or Joey's dying face on my bathroom floor, frozen in place, which is in no way related to the arrested triggers of prepubescent arousal. I am a doomed failure, and do not know what to do about it. My lungs will kill me soon enough, even though one of my white collar professional sources got back to me, I am not sure how to save my article except to start rewriting it and then maybe pitch it elsewhere or send it back to this particular editor. I am juggling too many variables, in the article itself, in how much reading and writing and thesis research and viewing I can do in a day tending to cats I mainly do not want, and I have to go shopping. Charmed as I am that UpstateCP now follows me, of what use they are or can be to me at that distance remains unknown. I scanned Blogger earlier and found the mostly inactive accounts of little interest, but assume there must be a way to search for wonks of similar vent who are more active, and I need learn how to find.

The gradations of French social intelligence, particularly as Proust deploys it in his masterwork, is a good starting point for entering into my paradigm shift on the issues surrounding the cultural memes of same sex orientation; at least when I am feeling better.