The Ugandan Presidency

https://twitter.com/RealJamesWoods/status/1427681061148848135?s=20

What has been happening in Afghanistan over the course of the past week in no way offers up a vindication of libertarian political philosophy, despite the fact that an angry and indignant president stood at that podium late Monday afternoon trying to master Rand Paul’s designer rhetoric for sympathizers of The Confederacy as it existed in 1862. Joe Biden, the nominee of the hour, the blabbermouth who touted his forty years of policy experience, playing Secretary Rumsfeld’s gadfly by flying a trial balloon for a “federated” Iraq,  as the "shock and awe" of the needless occupation of  Baghdad wound down, came off last night a shade or two more ruthless than Idi Amin. This doesn’t bode well for political professionals like Amash, who also has considerable mastery over rhetoric for individual liberty, or for those with the ego of an over-inflated self-importance, like Austin Petersen, my long time viral acquaintance. I like Austin, and many libertarians I have met, locally and online, but this withdrawal of our military forces was a humanitarian disaster of epic proportion. If the prestige and power of the US was hemorrhaging since 2005, by Friday evening it officially became a disabled veteran with an amputated limb!

A Jade Dagger

The 2008 film The Forbidden Kingdom is a lavish coming of age film, and although one doesn't forget that Jackie Chan takes up the composite drunken kung fu master where the B movies from Hong Kong left off, to my mind this is an attempted blockbuster homage to Jet Li, because his time as the warrior moralist heir to Bruce Lee was drawing to a close, and why am I thinking of this boys will be boys flick? Because its violence is ornate, fantastical, even if it allows for the tributaries of outcry for daughters who are determined to seek retribution, and I am somewhat infuriated with a handful of progressive Libertarians on Twitter, namely a husband and father of a five year old who mastered the smart phone camera to take a plethora of doggie photos. Laughable moment. I am pissed off at Curt for flashing a gif of starving Africans, the motif of the public service pleas of television broadcast for as long as any of us can remember, given that humans of the radio age are dying out. Curt says sorry you have to see this, but both Biden and Trump are to blame,

No, neither Biden nor Trump, especially Trump, are to blame for the suffering in the underdeveloped world in the sense that Curt means it, and I am not sure where the conservative right exists in the American scene anymore. I lost my temper with Curt for pandering, barely restrained myself from launching into a micro Tweet tirade for which I might have been suspended. I have wanted to write something about the condition of libertarian minorities for a long time, and we'll pick it up as soon as I can. I am dearly trying to salvage the remnants of my strength, and it's very difficult, not the least of which because of the nigger skulking about my studio with his frustrations. Terminating the working relationship with him wouldn't be easy on me right now.

Green Room Dialogues Toward Cultural Relevance

But there are questions about Foster, now, that any reasonable person-- much less any reasonable employer-- should want to have answered.-- The Ringer, in a voluble chorus against a franchise over-valuing marketing skills against trauma we never used to discuss.

Ross Douthat’s appearance on Rose was the first that I became aware of him as a vivacious, enthusiastic analyst with an optimistic outlook. The link I selected for my viewers to stream is arbitrary as opposed to the actual segment with its few sentences I recall, the show where Ross deconstructs Harvard as a pulsating progressive mass with a model libertarian overlay. It was not so much what Ross said during the interview, as much as his engagement with his answer. It caught my attention, and that was it. It was not enough for me to rush to Amazon to purchase his book, or resubscribe to The New York Times. I am more interested in The Wall Street Journal at present, but that his tweet about Michel Houelleberg's byline, his underwhelming column about the ruling elite of yesteryear, his brazen assertion on Twitter about membership within that elite not being all that privileged as it’s cracked up to be, led me to do some background research on his biography. Ross Douthat and Niall Ferguson, in combination, with a little Sullivan in the mix, as you gasp that my virulence against homosexual identity momentarily makes allowances for this argument, represents a reasonable approximation of a writer’s life I thought I could sustain. All of them have scheduled appearances on television, and this is something I’ve no idea how to do, nor have the work product to make the effort feasible. Is this an agent’s responsibility? A publicist’s? Arcane details within the supposition that knowledge acquisition on camera doesn’t lend itself easily to mnemonic retention. I have been on television, purely for gawker purposes, but never as an analyst with access, to serve as a conduit, or to engage as an equal. Krauthammer, although he is no longer around to ask, presumably needed assistance in his daily living activities and was still able to manage. I no longer know now if the biggest joke is that which I have played on myself. Still, one receives the sense that Houelleberg is disingenuous in his appreciation of our Trump transformation. The president has thoroughly exhausted me and everyone else, and under Douthat’s playful assertion that we’re living a libertarian West Wing in realtime these days, I rather interjected that it is unfair that I can barely keep myself afloat within the labyrinth of a punitive public housing system while he almost had his career handed to him on a silver platter. This is not the “fusion” I envisioned in being able to go toe to toe with someone like Kathleen Parker. This is why I created this account in the first place, to reach across the divide, whether to a conventional moderate such as Parker, or Ross as her slightly more contrarian alter ego. The opposition to his Wasp nostalgia on social media was misguided, although that opposition to his prominence is the only battlefield Ross engages for his salary, but that doesn’t mean he defined his parameters all too clearly: JFK certainly emulated what being part and parcel of American royalty entails. His Catholicism was virtually an afterthought, and Truman, as the heir to Roosevelt’s deified mantle, didn’t ascend upwards in national politics with a silver spoon in his mouth, and the historical lens through which we view LBJ isn’t necessarily urbane, polished. Johnson was a local color Texan who played the ends against the means, cementing the Medicare disaster we live with today.

Nail Clippings

 If I actually attempt to tongue, and he responds, that is a change, a risk. -- quoting myself

This almost occurred today, in the esoteric sense of writing your own script, and I am not entirely certain he was play acting. I also learned in my early 30's, I am not as invulnerable to letting physical attraction take its own course as I may put forward, but other than that, I am going to divert your eyes from any further details except to convey this is a simulation of a dried twig trying to be a mature bloom. This positive attitude, from him, the therapists, from Dana, his predecessor who has a serious enthusiasm for Stromae, who lost his father to the Rwandan genocide and used it to energize his music, I cannot maintain it as the majority of you do.

I have an intrinsic awareness that I am in the latter stages of my quality time, and being treated like a piece of red tape for over 24 weeks, white coats bopping to sign forms, takes its toll; beneath the surface, after I save my non-cloud loaded files, I want to fold, despite Shane's (let's call him that) compassionate excellence at my care. One or two members on my family branch like him a great deal, glad he makes me happy, but his masculinity is like the USS Enterprise lowering its shields against a Borg cube: after 33 years of my hardened routes, hard won achievements, maybe I bang a minority, or come close. So what? Regardless of the post-Obama era, in my family structure, he'd represent the otherness Joanne brings to the table, whether or not he remains virginal. I want the damn welfare circus to cease rotating its slats for each of my body parts. Again, I have no latent condition which requires that only a podiatrist clips my toenails, no infection, or diabetes, and if someone just put my heels on one of my sitting chairs and leaned me forward, I'd do it myself, just as most of you would, instead of being vacuum packed poultry parts.. Theoretically, I could shut all this down-- but if I did, and drove my chair as far as the park, scuttled under a bench, eventually first responders would place me in a medical facility commensurate with my growing fear of being imprisoned in them sooner or later. Good evening-- that is as up beat as I go. Off to bed, still willing to allow 4 the process.

Coin or Pea in The Shell

"I believe in a world where gay married couples are free to protect their marijuana fields with fully automatic machine guns."-- Austin Petersen, slogan maker extradinaire

And I do not believe in this world of a libertarian political hopeful on whom I've kept eyes for some time; if I find a better outlet than Reason to give him a serious expose, I will coax my friend to lose the above quote, try to give my readers a sharper definition of why he is the right Senator for Missouri, and for that propose, the moral relativism needs to be dialed down, this coming from a woman who, in 97, saw gay marriage as an inevitable legal victory, supported it, and in the intervening 19 years, I am not entirely unsympathetic to Roy Moore's hardline extremism on homosexuality. That is quite a shift simply because I felt threatened and survived trauma which for me was too much to bear. I know I'm on the losing end of this argument, and that progressives outnumber the right, and that my hostility has little intellectual standing other than medical model stricture, but I have been too close to too many men and women "in the life," some of whom I have written in here more than others, like Alan Gordon. Alan was privy to the intensity of my unhappiness for a long time. He and I kept our connection with each other through the deaths of our mothers in 2005, online and otherwise, and he knows me intimately. I cannot say he reads Disability In Entertainment Arts, but if he has, he must be appalled, and tried hard once to pull me back from the sheer extent of my hatred for what I allowed this center to do to me. Much has changed, and Liberty has been significantly downgraded due to Harrisburg's centralized horror of a shell game with Maximus, and I'd no longer recognize the chaotic empowerment tactics therein of my day. The chapters of past and present are no longer parallel, and this brings me to Craig Brittain's second suspension from Twitter, with a weary sigh.
A first amendment lawyer I chatted with briefly told me Craig was a fraud, and that he had to be directed by the SEC to stop representing himself as an attorney, but he was one of the first of my followers to accept me for as I present myself. I don't know what he did this time, but he takes Twitter's banned or suspended accounts like the holy grail. I do not, and have yet to see the evidence of Milo's genius. But I do have to say that Terms of Service policies have always had an air of uncertainty about them. Spam is speech. Twitter wants to be profitable, yet law firms cannot solicit clients. Account holders cannot ask other account holders for money, but we can promote, and even there, up to a point. We cannot harass other users, but I've trolled my share. Peter Thiel, though inactive on social media, probably could have had me banned for my brief outburst at him. Don't know. Nick Denton isn't exactly an exception to the dowager's coda, but I was nonetheless angry over Gawker's downfall. Once fraudulent parties are excised, we do not consider what happens to them unless they are recycled as an event worth telling: Stephen Glass denied at the state bar. Jayson Blair's plagiarism recast as an interracial motive for murder on Criminal Intent. They become life long outcasts, crippled in some fundamental way. I was going to profile Craig too with some libertarian window dressing, but in the third largest political party full of outliers, even felons, Craig is an outlier. He makes Austin seem nearly as established as Rand Paul.
In my shameless and weary dithering, I am working on a legal outline against Mr. Wheelchair. Vendors such as these dissolve with incremental regularity, but I cannot endure this machine. Pyrrhic victory at this point?

Family Feud Embellishment

Torture is not who we are as a people. America has always been that shining hope of liberty. People around the world look to America want freedom from torture NOT freedom to torture.

— Senator Rand Paul (@RandPaul) March 18, 2018

I am off to bed momentarily, anxious about my travel plans, partnered with a tall gargantuan of a lanky fellow named Shawn, both of us in a situation where we have to make it work, I do not have enough money for the taxi, nor enough change to take the buses back to the city, so I may literally be stranded when I get to Saint Kevin, if I get there, taking longer and longer to orient myself for even a pretense of work, the conventional wisdom in the media is the GOP is in trouble for the midterms due to Trumpian cannibalism of its core values, particularly after Conor's razor thin victory. The dowager leans toward a certain Puritanical cruelty lobbed at Murphy, which she is not exactly positive is a benefit for any district's constituents. I do not know how to evaluate Murphy's experience as a representative, but my argument, one which cuts across ideology, is that Americans seem to equate bad personal conduct with bad governance. This may be accurate when Trump's rhetoric corresponds to questionable policy positions, but I am not so sure who gets laid where matters when it comes to static public unions versus right to work. 

Twitter can also be a non-statistical weather vane, and that Rand is reigniting Abu Ghraib is a more pertinent sign of troubled waters, whether or not we're gearing for war with Iran, in lieu of a third world war pivoting on North Korea. Rand's adamant iteration is a fall back position, not entirely true, whether we look at DOD policy or domestic. Americans combine a certain degree of linear simplicity (thinking of Bosch), with an undercurrent of brutishness. I asked the Senator from Kentucky where this histrionic Bush era replay was coming from, didn't expect a response, but landed an interesting debate, even in the face of jet lag, given that our ideological militancy with Islamic factionalism has run its course. The hits France took from Allah's partisans was the lunge of a dying beast. Persia is a different cup of tea, and libertarians have to do better than wave the flag of an innate manifest destiny. That died with the invasion of a country which had nothing to do with 9/11, and Katrina. Good night, as we see what tomorrow brings in its enfeebled journey, if it even gets off the ground, still able to press myself, nevertheless, I'm never to be the same, ever again.

Activity As Tolerated

State Department denies Tillerson called Trump a 'moron' --Meghan Keneally for ABC News

If I was into this stiff upper lip business, like my former follower Mark, then I would just wade in with a High Castle analysis, in equal parts pernicious and praiseworthy of Rufus Sewell as John Smith, whose series son did the right thing, turning himself in to the American Reich to be destroyed due to his muscular dystrophy,  
I almost followed suit, with a different diagnosis, almost, and ultimately may not have a choice. My shins are emaciated, like my outmoded hardware. My family is at war over the matter, and the assholes from Adult Protection Services are salivating at the bit to put me away, in the Belmont Avenue hellhole, but a few things are holding me off. Control, the right to say no, and a race to save my published work. I can blame this vendor, but only in part. The power chair isn't bad, whether or not he overcharged me. It drives well. I remain conflicted about keeping it. Adapting to it is something else. I was over ridden, by fearsome matrons in their 60's over replacing my furnishings with a hospital bed, can't use that either, my father, his sister, Debra Horne and Trudy Richardson, favorite niggers to hate, annihilated my personal effects, and I am virtually choking to death to lose the 52 year old West African immigrant keeping me alive. She is Muslim, hyper and ignorant as much as caring. We clash daily. She is rough and hurts: only when these ruthless Marxists do their final assessment can I lose Sarrin, if I choose. We all have to fail biologically-- but I just keep taking too many punches, and my ligaments are starting to buckle. Holding my weight, which just eight weeks ago I could manage, is now being contested. Arthritis. But I still have some fight, my hair matted beyond rescue, at the moment.

I lost approximately 18 social media accounts since October, in my semi-anguished outcry, perhaps rightly. Old invalids moaning, after all. Credit Austin for staying with me, along with some others, but I am a bit sore at Mark Antro. He has the right to drop what accounts he pleases, but I'm his ally and thought we were friends, and I mean friends. I am too battle scarred to have a cougar interest in him, but I support him. He seemed puzzled by what he claimed were my 'attacks'. What attacks? For me an attack is telling Paul Krugman he is a fucking fascist at heart. That's an attack.

I always respected Mark and defended him against his critics; having tuned down my woe meter, however, I gained 3 or 4, including, inexplicably, Ed Rogers. Unless I am in error, I remember Ed's more active political currency. I respect his voice, and in the revolving door of preference, followed him earlier, having dropped Jennifer Rubin. I only 'unfollowed' Ed as a traffic issue, tweeted a positive on his Trump tabloid piece. Voila. I've no idea why I've been so graced, and mentioned it to my novelist poet colleagues with astonishment, as only the Trinity knows if the universe has a contracted byline left for a vulgar Italian in her spastic frailty. Is a Principal calling Trump a moron insubordination? If it's merely academic, I tweeted to mogul man "to get his fucking act together". Nothing doing. 

Verdi's delicate precision instruments

Libiamo, ne' lietti calici
che la bellezza infiora,
e la fuggevol ora
s''inebrii a volutta.-- the libretto

Collaborative state model systems like niume earn the ire of the damned because they aren't very well thought out. Thousands of users, all vying for attention, none particularly discriminating when it comes to pixel image resolution, and the dowager is, herein, also at fault in this, unable to upgrade at an affluent pace, hence, the British based platform's advertising rate hikes hurt many people, pensioners, homeless individuals, not simply those limited by conditions, and the staff should have anticipated this beforehand, considered previous ailing models, like Yabberz, Examiner, and looked at what Medium is doing, especially since Niume utilizes the proprietary software of Medium's model. Considering the physical labor of blogging, 89 percent of it not revenue generating, how have these efficiency models optimized anything for those without the capacity to grasp computing technology? It demonstrates capitalist vulnerability, like a carnivore. Powerful, lethal at first glance, transformed into an atrocity by simple technical constructs, like spears, and then socialists like the disability attorney Tom Earle commiserate while they make sure mortuary services are in their investment portfolios. I give Virily something of a pass on this because they are Marxist heirs, not quite classical communists as such, but emulators, kissing cousins to western European compassion, even while that compassion crashes on its face.

Earlier this summer, though I demurred rather than continue, I almost got into a serious battle on social media with mother's sister, her family, about a certain level of inattentiveness to my plight, and of all people, (soft snort of deflected affection), Sheldon Novick jumped in, attempting to offer reassurance "we love you." And then he went silent. Had this been one of Mrs. Ramsey's dinner parties, I might have looked at him edgewise-- not so much for the interjection, as I've been equally inappropriate with the good legal scholar-- but I was raising my voice about the blinders of family self-interest. As an academic sympatico, he's blameless. During this episode, I committed a serious cognitive error, not recognizing another woman with cerebral palsy who I knew slightly from the intake center. When she friended me, I did not enlarge her photo image. I thought she was one of my aunts contacts, a case manager, possibly setting me up to fall on my sword, and the whole time, she was just Maria, a woman who knows I'm aggrieved, but not much else. This level of paranoia illustrates the disease of Philadelphia's static social model, making most of us sicker, not keeping us healthy. Tom posted to Maria on Friday in the last days of August, like an amicable simpleton, and it took me some doing, stifling the trigger for a condescending legally blind taco soft Mexican, tolerant of everything except for legal accountability, admitting fault, actually making amends. It seems nearly impossible for them, and the shock I put on his face sixteen years ago was like a land mine he had inadvertently triggered, then he clamped his jaw. Even the poorest lawyers have innate discipline for instinctively going non-responsive. This may be worthy to applaud, but he is one of two attorneys who specialize in rehabilitation law, and he's an enemy. It makes me wonder, how little social order would hold if Wall Street and similar finance centers, truly fell, no whipping boys to prop up so many dependent hordes. We'll never know, not in my lifetime, unless I assume too much.

Every cognizant wheelchair user knows what Tammy Duckworth has achieved, and on Thursday, I pushed back, politely, against her egalitarian altruism by illustrating how its opposite only confirmed my basic conservative convictions. I argued with her tweets as one disabled woman to another, not nameless writer to new branded political liberal. I believe she understood this, and neither of us had the upper hand on the better part of valor. It is a curious thing, little eddies amid the Trumpian wars.

Second Edition: Vermont Broken Vessels

"Others imagine that he served in Flanders, where he was raised to the rank of ensign in the company commanded by Don Diego de Urbina; grounding the belief on the supposition, that the history of the Captive, related in the first part of Don Quixote, is a literal detail of his own adventures."-- Smollett excavating Cervantes

Though there is nothing to dispute with Welch's argument on its face, one thing he overlooks is that Sanders proselytizes in order to indoctrinate supporters and instill in them a fervent sense of righteousness, and it is just as deadly to do that today as it was in the 30's, when Bernard was making love to Wobblies.. The dowager reacted so rudely to Sanders, under her real name, because she has a lifetime of experience with that. To tone down her volatility, with more even-handed balance, spastic did do two things under her Yahoo address: she signed onto Obama For America and gave the president's Pac a contribution before the ACA left her in the lurch. She also explored Gabby Giffords'  Americans for Responsible Solutions, but did not like its pastoral quality, and never participated, later unsubscribed. Sanders people got the email from one of those two, and it should not have been done, thus the septuagenarian's twitter stream paid the price of her umbrage. Even under Jerry's tutelage, as a young woman, the inclination against radicalism was always there. Suspicious as one may be of Thiel's Orwellian tendencies towards sophisticated metadata and its instruments, which seems to contravene liberty as a key tenet of libertarian ideology, he is nonetheless behaving the way magnates behave by investing  in business concepts. Bernie Sanders, in contrast, is a lunatic worthy of defeat, if we pop him in Don Quixote.


Socialized medicine has long been in trouble in Britain. Quality of care under Chinese and Russian state models are probably more difficult to ascertain, but such attention as it receives on public television leaves informed audiences dubious, and in the States, the Medicare trust fund and the premiums beneficiaries pay may seem to work wonders in aggregate terms. Diabetic supplies, catheters, and diapers and office visits get covered. Whoopee, but the rationing of medical equipment is not quite so utopian when wheelchair users need to wait forever for equipment. There is an "independent living" client here we'll call by the name of Cherry. She set my mother off years ago. Why? My deceased mentally ill parent saw, in Cherry, how it would eventually be for yours truly, despite my greater functionality and Pennsylvania's concerted efforts on my behalf. Cherry does next to nothing, and is cared for by Susan, a nice enough piece of Scottish trash who gives birth at regular intervals to Jesse Jackson's rainbow coalition. She assisted me briefly out of my own pocket, but the minute the husband stepped into my unit he received a bio-hazard alert as a sexual opportunist. The end of Susan in my personal circumstance doesn't mean Cherry has grace. Cherry is compliant without really having much cognition about defying the system. She gets everything welfare services has to offer, everything, and she has her own private coral reef engulfing her shins. She is too heavy and too old to bathe on her own. You'd think a physician would at least treat her legs? Are Cherry and I equals? Oh, yes, she has a use. She keeps food in the stomach of Susan's children, and is otherwise discarded. How is she, in any way, one of Bernie's sisters? The dowager has yet to see any of them engage the human animals who inhabit the regimented paradigm of section 202 housing. Dowager's libertarian associates, at least, learn to accommodate her limitations through the sheer dent of her persistence, when she is able to engage them. This is not to blame Cherry for what she is, but not even her attendant cares enough to see that the woman gets a better standard of care. The spastic dowager was trained to do that, but she has broken with the homosexuals who sing the songs of hellish limitations for Inglis House residents, and more than a few of the other residents with cerebral palsy hate her guts. Why? They don't desire to be more proactive, to stay engaged, to get better matriculation. This is the fucking free lunch warbling around in the skull of the Bern, and if I have anything left to contribute in my time, I'll see his legacy incinerated before I'm through.

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.

The Unbearable Pressure of Kiffany's Collective Altrusism

"I work hard."-- Patricia Idlette

In the third or fourth to last episode of Dead Like Me, S2, the British punker Mason, played by Callum Blue, gets into serious trouble with Kiffany the thickset black waitress, when he attempts to palm the tips at der Waffle House, and before the character is forgiven for his sleazy opportunism, Kiffany gives him a long spiel about rationed, collective distribution among low skilled laborers. This is Vancouver's voice, North Hollywood, letting the Canadian argument for liberal free society socialism hold its sway in virtually ecumenical reverence. How can libertarian ideas possibly push back against this mass pressure, decrying caste and economic inequality? There are no positively drawn capitalists in this Bryan Fuller vehicle, with the exception of the newspaper magnate's heir who deflowered Millie, Georgia's alter ego, in an earlier episode.

The rich, whether business class or blue blood, are satirized mercilessly in this Showtime pork roll concession to the Common Man. Beneath the surface, it is the blue collar stiff and fundamental fairness being elevated, since no one truly knows when they've taken the last step to heaven. Kantian universalism carries through every episode. The importance of regulation and order drilled into our craniums.

A rather strong refutation of Kiffany's point comes from an unlikely source: Google's automated, efficient, metadata model, which, ever so painfully, in gradated steps, created Medium, which is universal, but cannot generate profit, and collaborative models like Niume. The developers who run Niume are probably little wealthier than the pensioners and (some) marginalized account users who post to it, and to its credit, Niume is not pay for play, like Blogger Adsense. But what writer, whatever form is their strongest, cares to pursue excellence in an environment like this? It is as mediocre as the collective median of the online crowd, which some intellects need to shun.

Forget about me. 32 years of taking inner city beat downs have made me an illegal anarchist, and Google is within its rights, as is my internet provider, to suspend me at whim. Given means, method, and opportunity, I've become overzealous, and I'll leave that there-- but the only individuals who can get away with incitement in the name of an agenda are fairly protected power mongers like Milo, or in France, Le Pen. The Silicon Valley, which is Twitter, Facebook, and its derivative models, have already made Huxley's Brave New World a reality. 


It is not even a question of whether Joanne Marinelli stays or goes. I'm likely to vanish simply by getting barred from access to my apartment. And whether or not I'm still writing in three years, mind intact, is one for the devil's bookie. No, what I see is an alarming loss of independence of thought, and increasing difficulty toward incentivizing in this still fragile, digital world. This is why I support libertarian models, however much they contravene primate group dynamics.

Black Opal Aubergine

I wanted to know what happened here, to feel viscerally the headstones and the shoe leather---- Sue Eisenfeld

I always tell myself not to waste my usage like this, since I need it for other things, and it is too cold to lug laptop around for WiFi, but James Stewart's mature post-Kennedy era work forms an important codicil here, and Shenandoah is one of the most heightened libertarian statements the studio system ever created, and takes the price and the power of individual liberty quite seriously, whatever else might be extracted from it during the turbulence surrounding the fall of Saigon, and deserves credit for the sheer sweep of its panoramic scope. Only Stewart could have carried Charlie's gravity with such noblesse oblige, bearing up to his losses on such unswerving principle. The script is at once a magnificent argument for freedom, self-reliance, with a warning that it doesn't come cheap, bordering on hagiography. He'd revisit some of the same themes, roughly 3 years later, once again foiled against George Kennedy, in Fool's Parade, where spastic's suspicions were aroused that Stewart's key opening on the train with a fake glass eye was stolen from Ray Milland. The Man From Colorado, with Ford, and some years younger, I believe nearly 20, is what Shenandoah might have been if Charlie had taken sides. It is also a libertarian obelisk, which doesn't give PTSD killers any credit. Ford's damaged colonel becomes exaggerated caricature, but for 48 must be given credit as a post WWII film making the case for troubled veterans. This is a preliminary summary of what I hope to revisit.

Humanist Bound

I figure, if I am getting blocked without being able to pinpoint either the user or the rationale, it must be because I put too much heart in saying "look, here is the end of the road!" I have little to no idea how Carson will change section 202 policies by the beginning of April, but by any reasonable standard, I am non-complaint, and my interior is not orderly, nor clean. Eight year old carpet needs section replacement, etcetera, yet shame is the least of my concerns, as I sat here attempting a minor note of eloquence to Sheldon Novick, his a learned mind of wonderfully constructed explanations of our best achievements. Henry James as a collector of social culture. Legal theory that turned constitutional law into the progressive victory whose zenith culminated, and started its process of erosion, under Lyndon Johnson, and I, in my worst moments, the stoking troll with charcoal eyes whose rage, when she is really tired, really tired, is beyond reason in its destructive cruelty. His social media metrics are sterile, Sheldon's, though I alternate with my distance of address from him, one one formal, "Dr Novick," which feels pretentious. He is neither colleague nor instructor, we are not socially familiar, and my numbers, not huge by any margin, yet more dynamic than his, My private message failed because the Toshiba cursor bounces and I lost the window. Sheldon would not care and I'll try another day. He's been extremely generous with me, and I feel traces of guilt. How can I froth with genocidal pathology and appreciate his scholarly arguments in the same brain mind dualism? There are ways to defend libertarian freedom and deplore Donald Trump simultaneously. I'm getting there but I'm not superhuman, and if I give this building manager her victory, go out into a cruel world into an environment where many people my age are strapped, I at the very least, need a destination. At the same time, I am too overwrought. But I am not doing what I plan to because of libertarian theory. Last time I checked, we all live once, and I need to get the fuck out of here, and the wreckage of my past in the gait of Jimmi Shrode's indignation, his partner's virtually zombie dead body with catheter tubes. Erik is a literal figure out of Shakespeare's supernatural.

Titans Clash

Beneath the surface of both, liberal and libertarian exhaustion, The Washington Post seems to have gone into hysteria mode, and I am bemused, partly incredulous, but bemused, all the same. Jeff Bezos doesn't run the editorial staff, or so I imagine. This is not All The President's Men, just a wealthy New York shyster implementing a Gilded Age, the likes of which we've never seen, and yet, it seems Amazon's might and power have taken the reigns, trying to curb the living embodiment of a dismantling: the dignity of presidential sovereignty has melted in the span of a week, and I am in a mild case of hysteria myself, desisted from tweeting to Potus that his thumb and forefinger movements suggest he's over-skilled in the art of penile stimulation-- yet, libertarians aren't incorrect. How can I possibly say that when my life is in jeopardy? Because the entitlement system is a strangulation. I've lived it nearly all my life and all the sudden, the telescope sharpens focus, and I'm in my fifty fifth year of life, nearly insane with misery. A young Southerner graduate I met at LOTR last summer said he hoped Trump would bring down the government, and we seem to be already there, whether Article 25 is invoked or for some reason, Ryan is compelled to impeach. I do not see that happening, but my country feels doomed, and I'm going straight to hell with it. I never liked Trump, ever, never followed his damn show, yet we voted for an antithesis of liberty, not an actualization of it. We're finished, and the young woman I once was, who I used to be, has a broken heart. I'll come back at this later. I had a horrible two weeks. I am sick of being a welfare pigsty, and running, abandoning what little I have, will certainly shake a loose tooth out of my gums.

Death Knell of the Knell

If anything killed my appreciation of the digital  medium, it's Facebook. Much like Yabberz, I don't like it, though most of my feed is my family behaving like the American Catholic class. I understand it is like anything else, account links and feed, but it's rather killed the internet for me, all tacky, flashy, bread and circuses. I prefer Twitter, though we all have to resist that to some degree. Yet I am uneasy, because there is spillover, and not just the Chicago attack. People do horrendous things, thinking what, that they'll get a following for engaging in victimization?
Craig Brittain and I make an unlikely alliance. I followed him first, primarily because Uber models intrigue me, and anything I might apply to make independent living less static is worth paying attention to. He complained this afternoon about leftist troll accounts, and I waded in without need of reference, without backing down either, and he kindly gave me permission to explore opportunities with him, so I sent him a LinkedIn connection request. I'm not partial to LinkedIn either, but it is necessary for me to maintain a presence there, even if I find work-- but I am unsure indicting Twitter's administrators to crack down on bogus accounts solves our freewheeling problems with  the online wild west. I myself am getting slightly over my head with libertarian factionalism, addressing Adam in the familiar as though he's remember the hard bitten wheelchair woman in her skirts, but that's neither here nor there. He proselytizes well for those who adore him; my alienated dissonance is of another timbre, however. Disaffection probably means I need some breathing space. 

Hostile Take Over, Anathema

Of course there should always be the possibility for another war-- my cynical rebuttal of Prime Minister Abe's grandiloquence

I really have things to do before the housing authority's mandatory paradigm heats up once more after January first, and thus, did not want to take the time for a first draft rant (I actually do have more thematic complications turning the gears behind my cranium), but Yahoo has hurt me with its new security measures. Extraditing myself from a mail account I've had for years, as my twitter inactive brother suggests, is not going to be a game of barefoot in the park sentimentality, and I'm genuinely angry. Though one can imagine an old portal site like Yahoo has a high turn over rate, similar to the revolving door for public housing managers, journalists beneath the top tier, spastic has had a long, addictive, aggressive-triggered relationship to the portal. Now it is serious. Their security changes are interfering with my personal life, and I am wondering if I should talk to a lawyer. Yes, I can export and then deactivate, but I always end up losing receipts and other items I need to keep. A more interesting question is, invoking the raider ICahn, made rich by his consumption, why do we continue to allow Yahoo to limp along on life support? Carrie Fisher's body, if not her psyche, at least, had the temerity to make her exodus at an appropriate time. 
Yahoo we disparage withe an undercurrent of affection, as if the company incorporated itself using Snoopy as a beta stud. Yes, I am concerned with my vulnerability, and its trip wire quality. It isn't as if I haven't known episodic crisis's, and hurling headlong into the next, but I legitimately want some freedom before a form of dementia sets in. I have not turned to a libertarian wardrobe simply to arouse, amuse. My experiences with the welfare state are argument enough against it. Traditional conservatives like Pat Toomey and Paul Ryan can't really look at my struggle with matriculation and be forthright about it, that my exploitation made the careers of quacks and surgeons with a god complex, but I've done my time. The poverty re-enveloping me now is worse than when Liberty initially inducted, then kept me at arms' length after I hit eject. The sheer enormity of what is now economically almost impossible for me to achieve overwhelms me. I shut it down, so as to get off the mattress at all, but when I lose all ability to control my own limitations, it will put undue limitations on my sister, Little Ben, and my brother's a grandfather. Me? I have the compassion of a brave ditz I hired from Craigslist. Once independent living exculpates you, supervisors and their Jeffrey Dahmer jokes aside, replacing that familial relation is unduly difficult.

Hyper- vigilance with Lobster Bisque

"She went after everybody," my dead ex-fiance on why Trudy Richardson's predecessor, Brenda Williams, was terminated.

Once a nervous breakdown occurs, however mild it might have been in comparison to that of maternal progenitors, the threat of an escalating relapse is always present, the anxieties of post traumatic stresses more prevalent, the war between pragmaticism and the platform for your byline a harder struggle, as I tossed my Lessig rebuttal, as a speculative all nighter, to Brian Doherty of Reason when I actually had another pitch for him, and the dead bloodhound olfactory nerve linked to my ego is saying leave him alone. At least for a few months. On the other hand-- there is always the other hand, even if one wants a libertarian flag to flutter over virtual skeletal fracture, my bones snapping in creative destruction, my younger sister yelling at me when I said civilly that I know she'd put me away, time permitting, when the time comes; but we did not fight. I simply told her my writing ability was losing to anxiety, and if I was ever to in fact go senile she needed to tell me.
"Get out more."
With what? The LOTR meet up tolerates me, but none of its members reach out, and while the peripatetic Karina does reach out (maybe she needs an elder female figure too spastic, ever think of that?), the failed private care giver and the troll are on different tranches.  Karina isn't a peer, and I really have nothing to talk with her about.  Extremes of destitution take their toll on the calcium of bone which has passed the half century mark. The disabled community which follows me online cannot really help me, even if I embraced them more readily, which I do not. Where I am not cruel outright, I am either otherwise cold, or cool, although this particular slice of my audience can take pleasure in the fact that I've taken 20 lashes from think tanks I believe I have a divine right to penetrate. Snorts at self. Get up, keep fighting. I had an argument in my head about why I abandoned My Disability Matters. He and I messaged each other about prospective job proposals, and as usual, the end result was a significantly lower level of expectation. "The site is up, maybe you can write about it." Thanks Dale I know you're blind and have a much more positive attitude, but no thanks. It is analogous to fake news and false hopes.

In relation to the left's latch onto the newest evil, that of digital propaganda, Foucault has a point when he raises his voice about genealogy records being a more trustworthy metric over narratives. Take Gwen Ifill's death. PBS inflated Ifill's video eulogy out of proportion; the Newshour, one of the first pre-cable news shows to air the Watergate hearings, spent an entire week giving Gwen a memorial. It may not have been a concoction, like the pizzeria, secret den of iniquity, but it was a lot of inflated padding, less so in print. Her obituary wasn't truly news, not under the rubric of the right to know. It was an accolade, meaning, in essence, that much media filler is a take, a perspective, basically unnecessary, diluted already by television technology; now it collapses under automation. I'm still enough of a journalist to know how to check my facts, how to investigate and confirm. A public which cannot do the same cannot simply paint Russian hackers as the new red devil. 

American Elections Are Rigged

From the time I attempted to merge my online activity with Yabberz and failed (not griping here, I hate the portal, troll or no troll) I have been looking for a reason to sing along with the Trumpets, not due to my enthusiasm for the mogul, but due to my anathema for the Clintons, this despite being on Bill's Social Security Committee and not getting groped, but nevertheless gaining insight into what power does to sex drives, even enhancing performance, perhaps.
 When it comes to exercising my right to vote, I am a nearly rigid libertarian, by default, by wariness, but my time clock is telling me my mind may be gone by 21. I am collapsing, biologically, and giving my notice and rolling back to Springfield to butt heads with my stepmother for a day isn't going to make the Blessed Mother part the sky so that I ascend in a direct line to sit on her knee, hence I'm adrift. Trump isn't wrong about what he says, but he is brusque to the point that it ignites antagonism, much as I do; he is neurotic, paranoid, defensive, and a misogynist. And yet I'm rewriting his syntax so as to provoke my viewers, belaboring the question as to why the GOP didn't contest the primary vote, take Jennifer Rubin's point, and put Pence forward as the frontrunner. Be that as it may, American elections have always been dirty. The establishment goes on PBS to talk about Trump's dangerous undermining, when all we have to do is read our own history books, which we conveniently ignore Teddy Roosevelt became president by accident. Party bosses wanted him out out the way, never expecting McKinley would be assassinated. No one voted for Teddy, but no one can say he wasn't a bull moose to be reckoned with. Special classes of people like me and disenfranchised Africans had nothing to do with the figure of Franklin's larger than life uncle. It was Franklin who set the federal welfare state in motion which is now a bloody global phenomenon. 
 What Trump is exhorting in shorthand is this: the two party American primary system spits out consensus nominees whose rhetoric bears little resemblance to actually running the country. In that sense, voting is rigged, and the party of Lincoln has troubled times ahead: I'm a fucking 54 year old cripple whose tragedy is the welfare state: Had my father been a proper Roman patrician, in the time of the empire, I would have been asphyxiated at birth, but people like me, in our survival, anticipate massive bureaucracy and global conglomerates. If republicanism falls, it is because it doesn't have the guts to be honest about marginalized expendability, but when it comes to who is or isn't out to get Donald, he turns off mortally outraged individuals like me, looking for hope in the ability to control my own fate.

Denton's Grail

Why I cannot get to heraldica at night, my eastern standard time, is probably related to the fact I no longer purchase virus protection, and if you're going to ask me why I don't just kill part of my online service, that issue will be rearing its head, soon. I did, however, succeed earning partial supplements through 08. So I'm breaking my back, literally, trying to hold on, ignoring all the rules about blogging, but let me assure you, that if I had done the right fucking thing and left Riverside in 05 after I broke up with Frank and mama collapsed and died, you would not read such a dismal tone. My chairs broke around 06, and building manager's trench war with me started 07, and I spent down, with no money coming in, from that time, perhaps no longer a target employee for one of those wedge businesses. Gawker is dead, and if I was a very good blogger I'd know how they acquired the Bollea tape which led to Thiel's litigation. I know what Gawker did with the tape, wrote about it in my vanished Yabberz profile footprint. I know Gawker's former editor testified. I know Thiel is pissed about something which doesn't matter; I'm anti-gay and even so, it doesn't matter, and I've worn a lot worse than a tweet using the word faggot to scold. 

Yes, libertarians would say Thiel read The Fountainhead and played it out, and fuck that. Gawker uses fuck; for them it was sartorial; for me it is menacing; this is what 22 years of screaming at my family to get me the fuck out of Riverside adds up to. The scar runs deep, a virtual gouge. Is Thiel going to help me? Ease my pain? Let me have my freedom? Doubt it. I'm ruined, because I let Protestants and minorities scam me like an EBT magnetic strip-- though I am on Nick Denton's side, however, the rancor is starting to grate, one note of chopsticks, leaving us to wince. I don't know what is going to happen to me. I'm got going back to a home though. I'll die in Houston raped by a gun muzzle sooner, and some of you know I no doubt mean it.

I will have more to say later. I may not have a contract, but my nose knew the Bollea victory would ripple. I just do not want to do extensive edits now.

Warning Signs of Indigestion

Ashlock told me many a tale of the Indian wars then in progress. -- William T. Sherman, Memoirs, page 18

I understand the arbitrary nature of social media, and had more than a few bouts of distemper on twitter, most of which aren't any fun, but to my recollection I haven't harassed or harangued any followers recent or long term. I may have mentioned a few of them, but certainly have not aimed any missiles, hence my puzzlement over a recent September 9 block, as I cannot fathom why it occurred; if anyone knows something for which I might consider an apology in order then I'll consider it, as I prefer to claim ownership of the sin: it is not the loss of a follower, but the block. The block in and of itself I find mystifying. I am what I've become, and if this summer and my COPD are any indicator, I am going to drown to death in my own phlegm soon enough, or head into congestive heart failure, and shall not apologize for what Southeastern Pennsylvania living has done to me, nor my frustrated and forceful assertion as its outcome.
Gary Johnson's honest ignorance in relation to the city of Aleppo is actually classic libertarian indifference to nation-state viability, while Thiel's war with Gawker is not really a traditional libertarian response. I was going to go on about this for at least a few paragraphs, that Thiel's purchase of civil tort hurt peoples' livelihood, until I looked up some biographical facts on Nick Denton, saw pictures of him and Derrence Washington, and my reactionary synapses said okay this is a homosexual war of thermonuclear proportions. 

I have been caught in such cross fires of men with such emotionally regressive traits, and blocking it all out is only delayed prevention, in essence, as this unfortunate quadriplegic does not have the strength, this evening, to bring down the wrath of a little pig bitch like Jimmi Shrode and his allies. Just as we cannot kill our way out of disability, we cannot kill our way out of homosexuality, but the LBGT activism and its growing power is cause for concern, as there are numerous examples of others becoming victims, and I am not writing this in merely to be a provocateur, but as a victim of progressive egalitarianism at its finest. The dowager understands why liberals feel they're on the right side of history. I was in a great deal of pain when I boomeranged from the Chester-Ridley Park axis to unwittingly burrow myself in Philadelphia's Third World destitution, but I had the liberal cause burning like the spastic orgasms over which my former supervisor liked to gloat, and I was dead center wrong about what I believed could be accomplished, and now I have to perish with all my actual potential squandered.

If I had listened to everyone and had not moved into Diamond Park, I'm not sure what my counterfactual would have been, as life in the rowhomes of  my aunts was little prettier, at the end of the day, but I'm no longer young enough to turn the stern and get myself out from under, even with all those wonderful behavior modifications of the health police. Like Ellen Muth's character in Dead Like Me, I cannot go back, and my bronchial flares are worsening, though I've contained them. Loss of control hasn't gone too badly this season, but it's over. I'll never recover the exuberant life which I believed possible, and the culture wars had a great deal to do with it.