Showing posts with label kathleen kane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kathleen kane. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
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.
A Libertarian Will Pull Up Your Woolens
"I don't hate anyone." Mike Baduchio, political operative-- (sic)
This evening I actually made it to my first Libertarian Party meeting in winter, this due to prior knowledge that I could ramp it up onto the Irish Pub's portico, and I met my first local libertarian politician, Ken Krawchuk, a bit of a ne'er do well with a grizzled out of Montgomery County, running for Guvenor against the seemingly insipid Tom Wolf.. He has run for the governorship several times, Mr. Krawchuk, and told me to write about meeting him, his tutorial on canvassing, being a wedge issue bitch in general-- not that he told me to write that, but I can be as disillusioned with libertarian political chapters as anything else, always a distant fourth rail in the American primary system. I met new people, old people, all my white boys, promising energetic turks, the geeks, the pot bellied stoners, the disruptive quadriplegic barking orders, spending money she wasn't prepared to, birthday gift not cleared yet due to bowel and holiday, meeting Molly and Mitch, the servers, and Mike, Krawchuk's handler. I broached Milo, and was respected enough to be asked about the state legislature. Was astonished to be asked. I did not say Brian K Sims should be torched, but would have liked to. Instead: "the state legislature is corrupt, on both sides of the aisle." And emoted strong feelings about the demise of Kahleen Kane. I called her Harris and Ken corrected me, only small notches of my 17 year distress escaping. I did not bring up my life threatening self-evacuation that is scaring me so much my problem might solve itself with a mid-July stress death, putting my life in jeopardy to do this as it was. On a full charge, the dilapidated Jazzy barely made my 23rd to Market to 20th and Walnut trisect and back the same way. The Quantum balks at the cold, which should be worse this time of year, but I live in the chair, and this is not the reliable P-200. I'm obviously wearing the battery down with constant use, and have another mental hand of cards to play, as this machine is only giving me three and a half hours run time, at best, with the short. I wanted to press Krawchuk. Kindly colorful figure he may be, why keep doing it, being the wedge bitch, the thorn? But I've made this click my family: Kokesh, Miller-Miller, Stiles, and poor Craig. Libertarianism, local, national, this is my psychiatry, and doing some libertarian stories, even getting a scoop, (possibly) this may be part of my final act. I was going to be stark, and as hollow as a snub-nosed cartridge, but I am too empty of feeling, so drained I cannot summon the will for the caustic erosion, ignoring, for example, that there was an African American stud in the mist, as well. We are diverse. I am simply the only spaz, the dowager, being asked permission by the kindly stout wife of the operative if she could pull up my socks. She did,. My mother must be turning in her grave, that this is the solution I've given myself to, as if these fractious individualists would sacrifice themselves to rescue me from Center City Niggerland. Don't feed me shit about freedom of mind. I've lived a fucking holocaust, with interludes, without a scintilla of hope to possess something so vital as private property. Will still bobbing, with all these hooks, baited as a catfish.
This evening I actually made it to my first Libertarian Party meeting in winter, this due to prior knowledge that I could ramp it up onto the Irish Pub's portico, and I met my first local libertarian politician, Ken Krawchuk, a bit of a ne'er do well with a grizzled out of Montgomery County, running for Guvenor against the seemingly insipid Tom Wolf.. He has run for the governorship several times, Mr. Krawchuk, and told me to write about meeting him, his tutorial on canvassing, being a wedge issue bitch in general-- not that he told me to write that, but I can be as disillusioned with libertarian political chapters as anything else, always a distant fourth rail in the American primary system. I met new people, old people, all my white boys, promising energetic turks, the geeks, the pot bellied stoners, the disruptive quadriplegic barking orders, spending money she wasn't prepared to, birthday gift not cleared yet due to bowel and holiday, meeting Molly and Mitch, the servers, and Mike, Krawchuk's handler. I broached Milo, and was respected enough to be asked about the state legislature. Was astonished to be asked. I did not say Brian K Sims should be torched, but would have liked to. Instead: "the state legislature is corrupt, on both sides of the aisle." And emoted strong feelings about the demise of Kahleen Kane. I called her Harris and Ken corrected me, only small notches of my 17 year distress escaping. I did not bring up my life threatening self-evacuation that is scaring me so much my problem might solve itself with a mid-July stress death, putting my life in jeopardy to do this as it was. On a full charge, the dilapidated Jazzy barely made my 23rd to Market to 20th and Walnut trisect and back the same way. The Quantum balks at the cold, which should be worse this time of year, but I live in the chair, and this is not the reliable P-200. I'm obviously wearing the battery down with constant use, and have another mental hand of cards to play, as this machine is only giving me three and a half hours run time, at best, with the short. I wanted to press Krawchuk. Kindly colorful figure he may be, why keep doing it, being the wedge bitch, the thorn? But I've made this click my family: Kokesh, Miller-Miller, Stiles, and poor Craig. Libertarianism, local, national, this is my psychiatry, and doing some libertarian stories, even getting a scoop, (possibly) this may be part of my final act. I was going to be stark, and as hollow as a snub-nosed cartridge, but I am too empty of feeling, so drained I cannot summon the will for the caustic erosion, ignoring, for example, that there was an African American stud in the mist, as well. We are diverse. I am simply the only spaz, the dowager, being asked permission by the kindly stout wife of the operative if she could pull up my socks. She did,. My mother must be turning in her grave, that this is the solution I've given myself to, as if these fractious individualists would sacrifice themselves to rescue me from Center City Niggerland. Don't feed me shit about freedom of mind. I've lived a fucking holocaust, with interludes, without a scintilla of hope to possess something so vital as private property. Will still bobbing, with all these hooks, baited as a catfish.
Friday, August 21, 2015
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)
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)
On Labor Day
"It's not that I don't have some sympathy for Ms. Kane. As the old saying goes, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there aren't people out to get you."-- Brian O'Neill
Media sometimes obfuscates as much as it informs, and I personally have no stake in whether the once vaunted Attorney General stays or goes. I did not like that she declined to defend Pennsylvania's defense of marriage act before SCOTUS nullified two thousand years of Judeo-Christian principles, nor did I care for her investigation of an assisted suicide case that wasn't, as re-litigated by the free daily City Paper. The daughter did not actively help her father die, so it was moot whether we're for or against euthanasia, but this whole scenario is patently absurd. Kathleen Kane is anyone's starling sister whom we wish to see succeed, and what her tribulations expose says less about her and more about the fact that if one of the oldest European land masses in the New World has lost the ability to govern, and China's state model is no particular antidote, I might as well take a sip of water, lie down, and pass away after a few weeks of excruciating dehydration.
My post title refers to a youthful stanza about never having anything to do on these lesser ceremonial holidays. Same conditions apply at the age of 53 with a dollar in the bank, but this hardship is entirely my fault, as I refuse to reapply for EBT or SSI, and will continue to refuse until the state forces me against my will, even as I milk homicidal aggression to get off my mattress finally, both the fault of the mattress and the poor quality of the Jazzy. I want a live-in companion, not an aide so much as an ambulatory friend, and that is easier said. I'm not Wonder Woman, but I am not all that sick despite incontinence and my lung function decline, and yet thinking out of the box to help a fiercely independent disabled writer beat welfare abuse is too much to ask, evidently.
People living together is analogous to a courtship, I know, but this is in the spirit of the new collaborative economy. Think about it, pass the word. I'm willing to leave Philadelphia, and even consign my felines to lethal injection. My entire online life has been a cry for change.
Media sometimes obfuscates as much as it informs, and I personally have no stake in whether the once vaunted Attorney General stays or goes. I did not like that she declined to defend Pennsylvania's defense of marriage act before SCOTUS nullified two thousand years of Judeo-Christian principles, nor did I care for her investigation of an assisted suicide case that wasn't, as re-litigated by the free daily City Paper. The daughter did not actively help her father die, so it was moot whether we're for or against euthanasia, but this whole scenario is patently absurd. Kathleen Kane is anyone's starling sister whom we wish to see succeed, and what her tribulations expose says less about her and more about the fact that if one of the oldest European land masses in the New World has lost the ability to govern, and China's state model is no particular antidote, I might as well take a sip of water, lie down, and pass away after a few weeks of excruciating dehydration.
My post title refers to a youthful stanza about never having anything to do on these lesser ceremonial holidays. Same conditions apply at the age of 53 with a dollar in the bank, but this hardship is entirely my fault, as I refuse to reapply for EBT or SSI, and will continue to refuse until the state forces me against my will, even as I milk homicidal aggression to get off my mattress finally, both the fault of the mattress and the poor quality of the Jazzy. I want a live-in companion, not an aide so much as an ambulatory friend, and that is easier said. I'm not Wonder Woman, but I am not all that sick despite incontinence and my lung function decline, and yet thinking out of the box to help a fiercely independent disabled writer beat welfare abuse is too much to ask, evidently.
People living together is analogous to a courtship, I know, but this is in the spirit of the new collaborative economy. Think about it, pass the word. I'm willing to leave Philadelphia, and even consign my felines to lethal injection. My entire online life has been a cry for change.
Friday, August 14, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Cosmetics
Though I am only chipping away at my antipodean retrenchment toward progressive horizontal planes that Yahoo correspondents whip up like fruit salad, and in fact wasn't going to post at all, since my cunt feels like it's being eaten alive in a granary silo, due to dryness, lack of healthy sexual activity--most of the men who weren't sexually assaulting me like pavement dung were otherwise impotent--I never had a very active sex life to begin with-- and when the bottle blond I hired hugged me and we both exclaimed "go girl," I wasn't sexually aroused and repressing it, merely relieved that I found a nice white twit in her thirties who feels compassion for my cash payment--when I move she suggested maybe she'd live with me, and it is possibly doable, with enough space for her young middle-aged sex life, her dirty finger nails and her enjoyment of trying to *glam me up,* like Susie back in the day (and did the former Susan Davison formerly my best friend have kids? Sue, I am old and in pain and miss you and the intimacy we had, you out there?) Ellen Page is impossibly shallow and narcissistic, which is why I oppose homosexual equality in the first place. There is no such thing as equality between heterosexual and homosexual and metrosexual latent eunuchs. Marriage, as such, is the invention of the city state, which eventually evolved into empires, then modern nations.
Monogamy, in humans, is a haphazard affair, necessary for the welfare of children. Like my former instructor, Jerry, I am diffident about marriage as a civilly regulated sanction, and I don't give a fuck that the LBGT mob unleashed by Andy Sullivan of whom I was once, briefly, an admirer, which is why the pompous Oxford twerk sent me a screen shot of the Amtrak building outside my window, I don't care that ferocious queers wants this legally regulated bond for themselves. Fuck LBGT activists. You want a piece of me, that's fine. I've suffered more than you and I'll kick you to the curb regardless of potential ostracism. There is no such thing as equality between people. Jesse Staub dicked with me and he was one of yours. He did not have to lie to me because he was conflicted about the condition of my unit, but he did, and caused me additional weeks of unnecessary stress. But that has nothing to do with Kathleen Kane being a good liberal unwilling to defend traditional marriage in Pennsylvania for when Staub meets his significant other. It doesn't cost anything, this monogamy for homosexuals, and in fact, creates new and unending venues for post nuptial litigation. Lawyers need to maintain the fact that their expertise is essential. If Charlie Rose gave me a corner the next time he had Andy on air, if I did not have such first hand experience with how deadly AIDS is, I'd eat Andy's ass for breakfast. I'd make headlines alright. I wouldn't have a damn thing to lose.
Monogamy, in humans, is a haphazard affair, necessary for the welfare of children. Like my former instructor, Jerry, I am diffident about marriage as a civilly regulated sanction, and I don't give a fuck that the LBGT mob unleashed by Andy Sullivan of whom I was once, briefly, an admirer, which is why the pompous Oxford twerk sent me a screen shot of the Amtrak building outside my window, I don't care that ferocious queers wants this legally regulated bond for themselves. Fuck LBGT activists. You want a piece of me, that's fine. I've suffered more than you and I'll kick you to the curb regardless of potential ostracism. There is no such thing as equality between people. Jesse Staub dicked with me and he was one of yours. He did not have to lie to me because he was conflicted about the condition of my unit, but he did, and caused me additional weeks of unnecessary stress. But that has nothing to do with Kathleen Kane being a good liberal unwilling to defend traditional marriage in Pennsylvania for when Staub meets his significant other. It doesn't cost anything, this monogamy for homosexuals, and in fact, creates new and unending venues for post nuptial litigation. Lawyers need to maintain the fact that their expertise is essential. If Charlie Rose gave me a corner the next time he had Andy on air, if I did not have such first hand experience with how deadly AIDS is, I'd eat Andy's ass for breakfast. I'd make headlines alright. I wouldn't have a damn thing to lose.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)