Bell Jar Vibrations

 "When Jimmy Kimmel isn't unfunny, he's utterly intolerable, he makes uniformed talking points for television."-- one of Twitter's remaining true believers.

Death knells can be larger than any one small cluster of human frailty, and even though certain pugnacious leftist personalities like Maher claim that 9/11 didn’t change anything, in terms of wake up calls for the salvage of western liberalism, his assertion is a kind of confabulation about the nature of human disaster. 9/11 didn’t change anything on the surface of the American empire, but there have been a series of tabulations in relation to the state of the national psyche, which is why, for the life of me, I don’t understand whatever political muscle Keith Ellison has in Minnesota; it’s obscure, shrouded in fog, the diagram that divides his definition of patriotism from Nation of Islam’s own jingoism, this is discomfiting, regardless of whatever Maga bullshit was orchestrated behind the scenes on January 6^th from Charlie Kirk and his brand of Christian nationalism. I tried to warn Charlie about this before he tarnished whatever coup de grace Maga’s revolt once had in 2016, but hot dogs don’t abide by the chastisements of a world weary fury, such as both his and my Twitter accounts amounted to prior to Dorsey’s understated and eloquent diatribe about healthy conversations; his thread reads like a Kafkaesque dissertation waving a “guilty as charged” flag, but Twitter was never about the health of any lingua franca. My diffident wading into social media’s alure in the mist of its contradictory crackdown is over, despite the inordinate amount of time I recently spent on deactivation out of sympathy for our latest Bull Moose Idiot, only to reinstall it temporarily upon realization that Gab is about building capital through outrage; I have been mortally wounded by enough dalliances with pre-pandemic losses to the Exchequer, and knock off models which claim to offer agitators against progressives a firewall for a hefty fee isn’t much of an inducement, not when socialized medicine continually illustrates the folly of rationed care through so many arbitrary layers of nonsense. A woman who is a static failure gets to experience on a daily basis the tenuous relationship between entitlement and constitutional right. There is no such fucking thing for a wheelchair user who has to operate under and be haunted by “nursing home eligibility” her entire life and then have society break her down for its final act. So she avoided more triggers about 9/11 in documentary hyper-realism, such as films like United 93.

In this context, the Amazon Original 7500, although much later than United 93, coming out for distribution in 2019, is gently derivative in it’s spin off from the perspective of Paul Greengrass. As far removed as Vollrath's narrative is from the events of that day, I still had a panic attack watching this from beginning to end. It is only under the duress of populist cynicism that I begin to question this. Ilhan Omar bleats in the House like one of Orwell’s pigs, while I, always aspirational in my patriotism, until the ghetto scorched my eyelids, sit dying in her socialist belief system, not simply due to lack of retail insurance.

The Prohibition Against Pork

"I hate it when there's no bad guy."-- Joe Mantegna

In the week before the Tree of Life massacre occurred, there was a significant reaction on Twitter to Farrakhan’s now excoriated verbiage comparing Jews to termites, and I knew nothing about it, and raised my voice to suggest for those of us who wished to remain in ignorance on the matter, the collective scolding gave Farrakhan an undue legitimacy his fading relevance had long bypassed, at least on the merits. I mentioned that he had the same linear minded fixation with Jewish identity as when he appeared on Phil Donahue in our prehistoric analog era prior to the Digital Age, and it was suggested to me not to be too dismissive, especially in light of the fact that Keith Ellison's political aspirations are stained with Farrakhan's sphere of influence-- such influence he still holds with Nation of Islam, and I admit I was stymied by the brief colloquy. Then Bowers had his rampage which mortally wounded us all, collectively, whether Maga or never Trump; indeed, Trump rather capitulated that this casualty list out of Pittsburgh was too much for our collective psyche, and we're gamely flailing ahead, recoiling.

I myself am no longer quite capable to experience such devastation as that which lead my follower JD Landis to ask if Bowers would not have happened if Trump had not won in 2016. By this I do not mean my conscience isn't troubled, only that the quivering dissonance has been muted by my own personal calamity. I did not engage with my occasionally prurient gallows interest in such rhetoric as this, and what The Jerusalem Post offers up as confirmation is the farthest I go in an examination of Farrakhan's nefarious notoriety. I have reasons for this, reasons which, if I am to be sincere with myself, demand that I torture the matter out, follow the curve where it leads me, in between horrid power chair tilt naps and my current domineering submergence to the interpersonal regression to the care giver always at me, like a battering ram. If I am lucky, the grist will turn the mill further later this evening.