Model Metastasis

As I come online, look at The Freeman on American mental attitudes, consider Petula Dvorak's district byline a catastrophe, I may be in error about what my American viewers understand about the federal entitlement system, how pervasive it is, and how corrupt, whatever someone like Witter sustained. Unlike Dvorak's profile of hard bitten determination of a wronged beneficiary, most recipients getting SSDI, or SSI cheat. I am one exception, took my hits, and now I'm the bitch who needs to get piked by minorities who treat me like a rabid animal. I was going to write a lengthy post about this, and perhaps I still will, about classification, and gaming the system, all stemming from the fact Marie pissed me off. She doesn't know it and didn't mean it, but her "handy man" is a buzzard on SSI who cheats under the table, cleaning for cash. His sister is an aide on the system, and now, I want nothing to do with either. Your FICA taxes fund this shit hole of fraud, and looking the other way. It is doomed, and we're dooming ourselves with it, this welfare state, beneath the surface. It speaks to why I embrace Toomey, despite his disconnect, despite that his staff, in my limited contact with them, probably envision me much like Witter's service providers before she found an attorney willing to listen.
Billy Varenas is my favorite cousin, and in fact, is probably my one family member I like most, but his mother's long kiss of death to cancer, and his uncle's long kiss of death to infections and developmental ailments represent an astronomical burden, as does my stepmother. They take from aging people like me who still cling to restoring gainful activity, and it points to why I take such a dismal view of the human animal, of the mental health consumer model, in particular, and the utter fucking travesty at the bottom, the entitlement dependency so entrenched any rollback will result in cataclysms which would make the 08 crisis look like a mild market correction. I too made my living off this. Some of you know that. Grants to try to curtail the welfare burden of the mentally ill we now incentivize to cripple themselves as much as I defy the limits people want to impose on my quadriplegia, and I'm still fucking full of myself to think I can revolt, roll out of section 202 housing, and survive it?
I sent Moss a despondent contact submittal, forced to miss my appointment this afternoon. The sixteen year old post surgical patient I was in their beds, missing out on normal teenage high school preoccupations, that poor girl never got very far. I have no idea why I'm bothering. I should just throw my fucking keys in the office and get an accessible bus ride out of state, find a sewer and wedge my ass in it.

Rocks Certainly Give the Illusion of Stark, Brutal Surfaces

I did post yesterday that I was going to take a break, but I've returned to say that the system has pushed me to the point of criminal insanity. I reverted back to the recovery center of my adolescent youth, and amazingly, Moss still has me on file, living at my old Diamond Park address, and the best anyone can do for me, in pain, and at crisis point, is give me an appointment  over 45 days away with an orthopedic doctor who will probably look at me, think "Inglis House" and say something circumspect.

I could, of course, try my legs again in the bathroom, but again, narcotic strength withdrawal tied to narcotic strength arthritis pain, in this bloody awful Jazzy, is pushing it, even as my rectum has gone berserk. Everyone says try again with an attendant, which in translation means "put up with nigger behavior," and it is an impossible situation, forced to continue to engage the assholes who can declare victory, as I'm pretty much now a mind in a carcass-- I think, to the extent that Mr Radio Personality Stiles understands me, his advice that my defiance can "withstand anything" only comes up to a point, as the majority of humans in the US don't live by extraordinary medical regime. I had to live everything I have written about on this blog, with a pathology dwarfed only by Tunisians in Nice, and now I have no freedom whatsoever. It is going to take me days to knock any number of bitches around like bowling pins before the dust settles, you did not hear Joan's reaction, the receptionist, "Don't do that! Let them help you!"

They've never helped me, whether I've treated them with intimidating belligerence or not. I'm coming to the end of what I can cope with, however much I know I'm still alive for the sake of my work. The moral issues surrounding our virtual imprints keep growing, but no one wants, nor knows what to do with me, the despairing destructor. I am just a really dark voice amid thousands and thousands of pedestrians, even as one has to wonder about Google's obligations. I'm near the end, and this is all that's left, a cripple who wanted to be normal and get a Jesus Christ superstar of her own. I quelled whatever paranoia I initially experienced at the discovery I lost broadcast access to Bounce and GetTV. I know it is one of these poverty things and not a ready news item, but I am puzzled as to what happened, why I lost these two stations.

Decent Breakfast

The plot twists in this Vares episode were as obvious as any equivalent American procedural. It was the actors who were unsettling: the wounded doctor in gauze shaking like a coward while his patient with stymied suicidal impulses kills his wife, and the Finnish Godfather, whatever he should be called. It is perturbing that Eastern Europeans look like a society under post traumatic stress, never mind the narrative. The men look blasted by famine, the women malnourished,, weary and gaunt if attractive, pallid and pasty like stale dumplings if homily and obese. This is Vladimir Putin's claim toward a resurgent Russian dominance?,

This is what the U.S. has to look forward to while progressives keep surging relentlessly? In all this time I've been raising my voice, I've raised it because the system invested in me up to a point after my life long paces in a strenuous institutional model that make Angstrom's reopening of the gulag, this time for corruption rather than dictatorship, seem like a weekend holiday. I do not need to keep revisiting what I've told you about, trying to be a competitive employee in power chairs on buses, Septa's Paratransit curtailment using a bidding contract with this venerable institution to do it. I was a patient at Moss briefly, hoping they could undo some of Shriner's aggressive surgical damage to my feet, but the doctors were concerned about the already significant loss to my educational calendar, so all bets rested on my astute and clever acumen, and we've seen how that has fared in my greater Delaware Valley journey.
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Such a bleak assessment of the human condition. Finland, of all places. The Swedes? They lie just to cash in on crime drama television, but what Majek dredges up to imitate hard boiled noir feels like an authentic disparity indeed. The loss of all hope crushes the spirit, and I've taken this blow (childhood institutionalization) by blow, (family mental illness and death of siblings) by blow (domestic abuse) by blow (city governance corruption) and my foreign viewers must be amazed that I'm a disabled American who is still vested in the exceptionalism of the United States. Philadelphia has its own subjugation tactics in relation to mental heath and chronic conditions. It is a wonder I just don't fold up the damn tent. I've never had a vacation, not of my own making. Padre took me to the Poconos as a kid and it was a disaster. I had stress incontinence without having the classification for it back then, my sister Stephanie screamed when our father left the room, as she often did back then, my dead brother Nicky stole the waitresses tips, and now I'm telling my HUD contracted landlord with their hypocritical Protestant exploitation ethics that they are going to compensate me for years of duress. How deep does the damn sinkhole go.