As far as I can tell, in terms of Google Blogger services, I still have an inactive AdSense account, and would like to reactivate it, except I do not know how. Since my purchase of a domain against those who object to how I push with my reactive dips into psychic negation, I do not have an earnings tab, at least not that I can see in settings, and I'm not sure what Google customer service agents will tell me if I contact them next week to buy in again since my departure from LiveJournal.
I entertain the idea of asking my Libertarian adoptees for assistance, but that presumes Blogger will permit me to have ads despite my dim view of civilization. I suppose I'll have to telephone the company and see what's what. I could leave Blogger, but know I would not fare much better on other host services, though I only skirt the edges of blood, gore, radiation poisoning and plastique manufacture for explosive ordinance; of course I am not being serious, not in this post, about thriving in the violence of guerrilla warfare, unlike Michael Caine in The Quiet American, but I should know how to navigate through simple things like re-monetizing my damn account. Unlike Van Johnson in The End of the Affair, Michael Caine is suitably pathetic as Greene's callous journalist, Tom Fowler. Brendan Fraser, however, looks like a Clark Kent beefsteak. Perhaps he was supposed to, serving as a contrast to the wan Vietnamese amputated like fish sticks. Why do they always have to kill the loyal and loving dog? Directors do that, exposing the heartless developing world.
Should we kill the psychopaths of animal cruelty? Should Halle Berry's character in Losing Isaiah have been vindicated? I do not remember what Jackson did as the lawyer to persuade the court to overturn the adoption, but it was never made clear how it was discovered that Isaiah as a crack baby was Halle's dumpster guilt to begin with. Who the hell was supposed to know? My sympathies were for the conscientious Caucasians that Strathaim and Lange represented, the Hollywood version of the Clintonesque middle class which doesn't exist. Certainly not for Catholics.
If Almighty Google, which undoubtedly is now hardwired in every row home and apartment complex over one story, allows me to monetize again, I am not under any illusions that my ... what the fuck are you... viewers? My family having a heart attack every time fecal matter becomes a predominant motif? An audience? I'd doubt you'd click enough to provide much more of a supplement than what I earned at Examiner, but at least I could afford the yearly fee for the domain until the welfare state tortures me to my grave. Odds are it will, bad parenting and all. Government needs to get out of the business of child protection services, and progressive Innocence Project lawyers have their own blinders.
Too much trash television: I saw one of those American Justice episodes where three or four low IQ blacks gunned down a more stringent black couple who tried to foster boys who would go onto car jacking anyway, and all holy shit was raised over a platypus named Darren Wilson, who went with the guy with the low IQ and was implicated in the felony murder. The defense lawyer who took the appeal to get Wilson off death row said the blood on the shorts wasn't that of the deceased, and since Wilson was asleep in an alcoholic stupor during the killing, that he was innocent. Maybe this was Illinois, which is the Midwest.
Never have I seen liberalism go on such a crusade for such a sorry ass mother fucker as Darren, who took absolutely no responsibility for what the violently predisposed brother did to these black business owners. Moral culpability still applies, exactly the same as it would if anarchists bonded with me and knew I was up to something if I wanted to go after the pathological bigots who took such a toll on my economic security. If I had a crew that knew I had intent, in other words, they'd still be accessories even if they did not aid me in my vendetta. The more attention I give to criminal litigation, the less faith I have in it, even as I never went after my rental agent, nor a breach of contract settlement for myself.
It isn't that I am not *over* the immediate psychological damage perpetrated on me by the center between 99 and 07, but the blows have taken tolls which cannot be undone, and it is unlikely I'll find patrons to protect and get me out of Riverside, as I weaken steadily.
Showing posts with label losing isiah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label losing isiah. Show all posts
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Adversary Across The Table
With a supreme act of will springing from the essence of his being, he turned away from his life and the long train of disastrous consequences that had flowed from it." --Richard Wright, Native Son, page 255, 1957 edition
I have held certain cards close to my chest about offering a responsible discussion on race, and after branching out into as many estuaries as there are going back into our seas, I've given up. Fewer black friends than gay ones, yes, but they existed, a blind couple. The wife who thought I was going to suicide over my breakdown at the capable mind games in the hands of my former spastic supervisor, her husband, my neighbor Roger Moore from long ago, sexually attractive paraplegic baller, not many more, leading into the question of why Dr. Ben Carson gained notoriety: because Americans who pay attention to network newscasts which assume a mature audience needn't be coddled like cutting edge medicine, because conjoined twins are still enough of an anomaly to hold our attention, because John Hopkins denotes prestige and Ted Koppel's God complex, and Carson was a minority neurosurgeon in this stratosphere, and yet something cut across the com links and the studio lighting in his emotive force about the Bjani sisters, a viewer could not forget the stress and anguish of "bathroom by committee," and it is that intense emotional investment by which one understands how Carson evolved into the dark horse surprise as 1 in 15.
Do I believe he will succeed Obama? No. Am I aware of the contradiction of respecting his forthrightness juxtaposed against my intolerance? Yes, and I do not intend to resolve it here; in much the same vein that liberal critics plaster Losing Isiah for tasting like tree bark, any critical observations genuinely threaten to veer off the asphalt. People like me give offense, and receive tin ears. We don't even know what having a frank discussion means anymore, except what we internalize when we're in it. Memory seeps like putty after a time, and I seem to recall Richard Corliss making grist about Jessica Lange twenty years ago, but that could not have been possible. The film still was the sociological fodder in its moment, and is, on a certain level, ludicrous. Halle might have been prepping for Cat Woman, and white adoption of black children often leads to depression and mental health disorders.
The film made an imprint, not over its quality, but over its construct and what it straddled, and then gets crucified by superior progressives like Kurchak and lambasted by those like spastic on a rightward drift, who has seen black parents engaged in aggravated assault against their children-- not to excuse my dead mother and her men, but there is still a difference.
Let me switch gears momentarily: I had a traumatic experience in email borne out of desperation and fear and told a former supervisor I thought I had fallen in love with her. On her end she was, or so I speculate, trying to save her marriage by sportscasting to me a little too much. Fifteen years later, I am debating letting a possible occlusion kill me and she wrote herself a demotional grant of some sort and still has a salary. I've put myself on trial, picked pieces apart, and I'll never be entirely repaired, even though I was in a bad space and can't put the onus entirely on her behavior-- but what it did was absolutely shut down LBGT tolerance. I will never knowingly associate with homosexuals again, not after what I put myself through.
I could, however, sit down with Dr. Carson. The gulf would be there, but both he and I know institutional paradigms to the bean, and I would not assign blame at his door for what happened to me within the community of his ethnicity. This does not mean I'd apologize for the very dark nature of my posts; it does mean I could engage, unless I err that he'd utilize the normal mechanism of recrimination.
I have held certain cards close to my chest about offering a responsible discussion on race, and after branching out into as many estuaries as there are going back into our seas, I've given up. Fewer black friends than gay ones, yes, but they existed, a blind couple. The wife who thought I was going to suicide over my breakdown at the capable mind games in the hands of my former spastic supervisor, her husband, my neighbor Roger Moore from long ago, sexually attractive paraplegic baller, not many more, leading into the question of why Dr. Ben Carson gained notoriety: because Americans who pay attention to network newscasts which assume a mature audience needn't be coddled like cutting edge medicine, because conjoined twins are still enough of an anomaly to hold our attention, because John Hopkins denotes prestige and Ted Koppel's God complex, and Carson was a minority neurosurgeon in this stratosphere, and yet something cut across the com links and the studio lighting in his emotive force about the Bjani sisters, a viewer could not forget the stress and anguish of "bathroom by committee," and it is that intense emotional investment by which one understands how Carson evolved into the dark horse surprise as 1 in 15.
Do I believe he will succeed Obama? No. Am I aware of the contradiction of respecting his forthrightness juxtaposed against my intolerance? Yes, and I do not intend to resolve it here; in much the same vein that liberal critics plaster Losing Isiah for tasting like tree bark, any critical observations genuinely threaten to veer off the asphalt. People like me give offense, and receive tin ears. We don't even know what having a frank discussion means anymore, except what we internalize when we're in it. Memory seeps like putty after a time, and I seem to recall Richard Corliss making grist about Jessica Lange twenty years ago, but that could not have been possible. The film still was the sociological fodder in its moment, and is, on a certain level, ludicrous. Halle might have been prepping for Cat Woman, and white adoption of black children often leads to depression and mental health disorders.
The film made an imprint, not over its quality, but over its construct and what it straddled, and then gets crucified by superior progressives like Kurchak and lambasted by those like spastic on a rightward drift, who has seen black parents engaged in aggravated assault against their children-- not to excuse my dead mother and her men, but there is still a difference.
Let me switch gears momentarily: I had a traumatic experience in email borne out of desperation and fear and told a former supervisor I thought I had fallen in love with her. On her end she was, or so I speculate, trying to save her marriage by sportscasting to me a little too much. Fifteen years later, I am debating letting a possible occlusion kill me and she wrote herself a demotional grant of some sort and still has a salary. I've put myself on trial, picked pieces apart, and I'll never be entirely repaired, even though I was in a bad space and can't put the onus entirely on her behavior-- but what it did was absolutely shut down LBGT tolerance. I will never knowingly associate with homosexuals again, not after what I put myself through.
I could, however, sit down with Dr. Carson. The gulf would be there, but both he and I know institutional paradigms to the bean, and I would not assign blame at his door for what happened to me within the community of his ethnicity. This does not mean I'd apologize for the very dark nature of my posts; it does mean I could engage, unless I err that he'd utilize the normal mechanism of recrimination.
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