The Pooch, with a twist

Are we willing to wash the feet of our neighbors?--holy Thursday


I tweeted that I was lying back down at three am, and did, but got up again immediately, embarrassed that I was caught by such a powerful stressor that I barely had time to pivot. It is not that I do not care about my intestinal battles; my esteem is tied into a good transfer, but I flaunt incontinence as a rebuff, the consequence of my survival. I am trying to challenge you all about this. My official statement to the bull bitches downstairs asserted I would vacate the premises tomorrow but given my quadriplegia, would need time to extract my possessions. Once I roll out, I am not entirely certain I am getting back in. I cannot afford it but may need a motel for a night, and thus far, bathed my feet, dialed the usual network of eliminations, all I could, for this morning. I read Ross's opine on Hefner's overstayed decline, and I am not sure where my recently acquired shrugs of depreciation come from, but was Playboy that big a deal? And my father's girlie mags of three decades back made the Trumpism of today possible? Ross is doing what we all do with this curious tool of the sign, the hieroglyphs we all recognize according to the geography of linguistic development, but the Harvard veneer gives it too fine a twist.

Active shooter in Las Vegas was at Mandalay Bay. Unsure about other resorts yet. My son and I both work at Luxor and Excalibur. Thankfully neither of us working now. Friend just saw tank and military vehicles heading to area. Pray for our city, please. #PrayForLasVegas

— M A Nöthem (@mikandynothem) October 2, 2017

Nothern's straight forward outcry in the face of our repetitive cataclysms is my preferred arrhythmia, and no, I do not have a serial killer collection, but it was mere coincidence, in real time, while the Vegas massacre was happening, that I was watching footage of beautiful Norway caught in Breivik's grip, and the backstory is puzzling. If he displayed psychopathy at three years of age, why was he left with mother? And if the EU is so restrictive with firearms, how could Breivik acquire them? His attack on his own countrymen makes no sense, neo-Nazi or not, as I am probably not long for the world, without any friends, sustainable supports. This has a great deal to do with what section 202 eroded in my life. I have nothing, no contacts, not so much as an old college buddy. Social media, twitter, at least, may give me contours, a certain familiar pattern. Nothing else.

Rainy Day Parade

"He was an anarchist, like all artists."-- Georges Simenon, adapted

You Before Me appears to be a bright and vivacious vehicle, witty with repartee, an icing on the cake of an impossible romantic fantasy, and there is nothing wrong with it, these idealized fairy tales. They triumph, like many an inspirational disability film before it. The studio system wants us to believe such exotic adaptations work, like King Kong and the blond Valkyrie, a forbidden love which has to be destroyed, or create an unequal level of sacrifice. In the litany of dirty laundry secrets, true quadriplegics drool for fully functional ambulatory mates, and even though I was never going to give you this biographical etude, mostly out of embarrassment, when I was 28 I met a 43 year old man who was as near a spitting image of the Professor Jerry McGuire--

will she shut the fuck up when the man finally dies, or what?

and the Spitting Image and I went on a date, pathetic lonely souls, one with ferrets, and I let my Jewish student dentist David Briller talk me out of the Spitting Image, mainly because I was panicking about fucking Ferret Man-- although it might have done some good, or maybe he would have done me a favor and beat me to death before I had to absorb so much more trauma. I cannot judge. I snipped the snip in a hasty telephone call, felt bad, and when I told a blind girlfriend about the ferrets, "he's lonely," she mused, but as a long lasting relationship, I know without knowing, it would have been doomed, and turned the Jewish David Briller into oral nuclear erotica instead. Yes really. My problem being I never met a disabled man my equal.

Crip ambulatory relationships exist, but there is often a significant level of pathology involved, on one side or the other, usually women willing to go without orgasm, since for some it is overrated, but there is no real marriage which ever bridges the gap, which is why Trump's mocking of Serge Kovaleski did us a favor, exposing the true sentiment the majority feel, when it isn't outright disdain. I wanted to iterate this trajectory out of the way before returning to Bonjour Tristesse as an important cross over link. Just trust me on that.