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.

Brothers and Sisters

Hanno continuato inventandosi una mia contrapposizione con Beppe Grillo che è inesistente ed è quanto di più lontano dalla verità ci possa essere .-- David Casaleggio

Yes, it would be delightful to get out of my own head once in awhile, take a cessation from electronic gadgets, the grid, satellite signals, shed my contorted muscular skeletal distress for a lithe ability to jog in spandex with a breeze toning down my furious theorizing, driven by my own sense of disembodiment with all I've lost since my great personal rupture -- difficult for me to remember the exact date, but near to Thanksgiving 1999. I cannot really call my actions a legitimate suicide attempt, rolling in to the kitchen, grabbing a flimsy supermart steak knife, breaking down in inane laughter, florid tears. I should have been tougher, thus I tell myself, and I did fight for some semblance of recovery, but as I've detailed many times, so many hands were extended, mostly in impotence, much like Yabberz and Niume, more contemporaneously. AccessLife breaking apart was my most unfortunate circumstance. I liked them, wanted to take Linda's advice, work for them full time, in the burgeoning dynamic of digital birth pangs, and I am trapped in Presby, in addition, the epicenter of so many applied scars. People have suggested I write the fucking novel about life under Presby's management, but I'd doubt it sell. Who'd want to read a life of terror and then the duress of guardian threats always surrounding me because I defy minorities in learned hatred and paranoia? I follow Beppe patiently, in attesa di vedere, but can he govern? The government in Roma can be likened to City Council, or more analogous yet to American public housing "authorities"-- most of you perhaps think I'm lucky to have so many protections against eviction despite an invalid's squalor. "I can smell," Luca Zingaretti rebukes his sidekick, during the Montalbano paint by numbers nod towards the wasted space of spastic servitude of ableism. Our odors create new victims, as Dubus wrote in one of his tactful essays about life in wheelchairs and turbulent colons. I presume, if my life in Philadelphia became a game of The Man in The Iron Mask, with my naivete  coasting me through until I realized the enormity of my lack of expanse, my shackles, that life in Tuscany would have been more banded still, life on a balcony, watching the remnants of the mafia settle their scores. This post was supposed to be a critique of Sanders and his radical left pipe dreams. He is not responsible for Hodgkinson's actions, though I will also assert Trump brazenly opened this door during the general campaign. What if a supporter had put a bead on Hillary? I voted for him anyway, and maybe even because he incited and we winked at it-- but Sanders is responsible for a militant, dangerous conviction. He is not a classical Marxist, but just take a look at Venezuela across the isthmus. Is this the chaos we're bringing to civilized society for the next ten, fifteen years?
Sadly, I am not strong enough: I am never going to quite "get better" from opening up to my former Jewish supervisor Linda, apparently handling her newer frailties with a healthier and still self confident humor. Face to face, what we did to each other in virtual space would never have happened, but I cannot reinvent myself, and getting fucked over by disability activist collusion creates the same impetus for dissidents who used to be heralded in the anti-Soviet era. We've lost so many definitions, but cripple isn't one of them, no matter we we say.