Range Assertion

"Get involved," but if you don't agree with independent living center paradigms you'll have to sue me-- Thomas Earle

If anyone is undecided about Stewart's range, count spastic in for doubt, as I am not entirely certain what range signifies, as one could reasonably ask why Jean Luc Picard couldn't have been British, with French relations, My favorite episode of Next Generation is Family, and I'm apparently not the only viewer who felt its strength, for it is in part a teleplay about handling disappointed expectations, adversity, violation, learning to live with it, even if sometimes we cannot, which is the lesson of Black Snake Moan, embedded in Ricci and Timberlake's characters. "Family," resolves itself, since Stewart still cared about his job, but Picard's depth of feeling is saved for the first Borg movie. As dor Stewart's diabolical tyrants, crippled or not, they remain one dimensional. For poignancy, it is his small ensemble part in Lady Jane Grey, where just for a moment, he displays the magnanimity of the doomed. Is Stewart Macbeth?

The Thane is the most haunting, of all the tragedies, Macbeth seems the most psychologically corroded by overreach, akin to yours truly and the ambulatory world, but I just don't see Stewart so tortured by culpability. I concede I don't know if the play available to view.

Tom Earle is an unlikely adversary, the type of boy-man women coddle with food and St. Christopher medals. He is perfectly happy playing tag with his walking stick with baby fat toddlers. I'll admit I am harassing his voice mail, daily. I've said what the fuck forcefully and recounted numerous follies by his staff, the people who work at these places are inept to the point that my own skills have corroded in psychic pain. Brian Coleman was Earle's second to last housing counselor before the center lost it's budget, and in the world of the way things work in Black Cities USA, my rental manager Trudy Richardson followed brother Coleman of Maryland around, never completed any repairs. The same Coleman who said "Liberty can help with the move," during the renovations, and then told me, the erstwhile former consultant, "Liberty doesn't offer that service." My assigned coordinator never opened her fucking mouth, and nothing ever changes with this paradigm.

He is gone, but I hate the little dodo with a vengeance, injured as badly as I was that year, but as ugly dykes are wont to say, these centers are all the disabled have. When we're ousted, even if homily but not persuadable to lesbianism,what then?

Sherwood Forest

Patrick Stewart makes the resolution of class conflict something of a utopian uptick in Next Generation. "Humanity solved its economic problems," he tells one of the series varied and populous humanoid inhabitants, swept under the rug for the kids, in order to glide over real world pain and make it easy, like Philadelphia's nonchalant and urbane progressives, but 31 million Medicaid recipients in the US is not exactly something to rejoice over. Single payer systems, be they federalized benefits, Medicare, VA benefits, criss crossed under the imperiled ACA, is not only bankrupting the US, it is destroying American initiative, and every member of my family, barring my father, thinks Pennsylvania's social service system is a candy dispenser, while my landlord is using a rear guard action against me, a blunt force trauma that is akin to warding me off like a zoological aberration, because I am attempting to curtail costs by declining what is an abusive system by default, and they'll win, because I'm too tired, Presbyterian's management is deliberately exacerbating my social anxiety, my sense of vulnerability, to lock me into a paradigm which will only add to duress, as opposed to gratitude. Even behaviors from paraprofessionals, or idiots like Karina, which cannot be classified as abuse, still lead to bad outcomes. I've detailed as much in past posts, 

So I took council with my father, paid the room mate finder the not exorbitant fee they asked, left my link on Craigslist, and good luck with that. The public policy guy I spoke to after Sims charming town hall bit, I told him I was so unhappy where I was that just giving my notice would make me happy, and it would, in the vein of Alan Greenspan's "irrational exuberance," and I myself acknowledged the desire wasn't rational. "No, but it is an argument," the young man said, and he was correct. I'm being treated like a prisoner by a Protestant corporate entity whose very negligence contributed in significant part to my stress disorder. Oh, Trudy and Debra and custodial staff will say what Miss Eddy did in terms of her conduct was "wrong," and beneath the surface, the tenants who remain and survived the intra-building renovations can count their blessings, but the building, the property, supersede the value and the dignity of the lives they house. The company once had an on-call tenant housekeeper whose position was eliminated with her retirement, hence the burden of securing reliable assistance falls to the tenant, and even when I purchased Tim's labor, or bought another company, nothing they did changed much, and a CNA isn't going to really care. They deal with nursing home eligible bodies day in and day out, changing diapers and bedpans, and like police officers, need emotional armor.

Eventually, this is all going to come crashing down on the generations ahead of me, and if I am in pain and want to stop having my body constrained in brutal institutional fashion, I do not see this as unreasonable. Disability activists may, but the only choice I have is centralized regiments or decentralized regiments with the same "N.H.I.," factor, to ferret out a Cold Case catch phrase. I'd be delighted to stay on with robotic intervention as opposed to the human kind. A programmed device doesn't have opportunistic needs to exploit, doesn't make judgments over hygiene or poverty. I am sure Japanese intel will be right over to donate an I, Robot to alleviate my justified fear of more of the same.

Paradigm failures like mine cost far too much money.

lo scannacristiani

"What about my needs?"-- a raspy Patrick Stewart

Rick Berman and Brent Spimer stay within the traditional confines of Trek didacticism with Nemesis, the NG film which seems rather lackluster. We have to teach the kiddies about insurgency, after all, so lets have the ever conspiratorial female in the guise of Senator Tarl'uara just wipe out the entire Romulan Senate for an overt sexual attraction to Shinzon, but upon rejection say oh sorry, I'll develop a conscience now and fight him to save the Federation. This is Trek, with all its sleights of hand, some to be forgiven in stronger scripts with better analogies. We get it. Picard/Shinzon. Data/B4. There but for the grace of god, and al-Baghdadi might now be slitting my throat with a scimitar for a less peevish feminine replacement-- but the gaps are nonetheless irritating. If I am a Romulan aborting an elaborate espionage, why not just give my humanoid clone boy a lethal injection? Why is the doppleganger bent on destroying earth? The Borg needs bodies and so the Borg conquer, but Shinzon is supposed to be representative of a rebellious Napoleon, one who wastes his dying breath seeking revenge on a benign republic (us) who had nothing to do with his creation or the hell of the environment to which he was consigned. How many of you pick apart these scripts for loose ends when not contemplating the use of a woofie to have your way with male or female victim of your choice?

I had a one sided dialogue with Richard Morgan, yet another liberal homosexual bent on world dominion, about his sodomy driven rapist, which he has now fabulously published on the digital front page of The Washington Post. I am not envious of the byline, as such. If I ever get in Wapo I have to vanish from its community for a time, and the trope of disability and sexual abuse is too well known. No one cares about the battles I waged with a Jewish woman of my own condition either, except for sewing my posts together for a book about the chimera of activism. I wrote Morgan because his rape story is symptomatic of our narcissism, and what I'd convey to him further is this: he insisted in his column that he did not want to file charges against his rapist, but is he looking at the larger picture? I almost killed myself because I let a former supervisor toy with me for her own amusement. I did nothing about it to stand up for less cruel and chronically inept centers, except managing to get the woman demoted over the threat of a battle which, if it comes, is going to exhaust me for little more than welcoming the new mafia out of the old. We're cripples first, then people. So what if Richard, through his silence, aborting his responsibility to others, discovers later that his rape date does drive someone to suicide, humiliating them more than Morgan could stand with his count of 17 penetrations? He was courageous to put this out in public to counter George Will, but is he thinking of others, people who may not even be in the formerly encoded language of in the life? I am driving at a pattern here of what's wrong with the entire progressive worldview: me first, this emergence is more important than the collective civic good.

I've never been drugged into sexual complicity by either sex; it isn't necessary, as I'm basically defenseless, but we don't get anywhere always ducking our heads.

Gene's Buffet

"Macbeth falls for his horoscope." -- Kenneth Branagh, indefatigable

The writer Dorothea Stillman had an urban legend about Gene Roddenberry stopping her car to ask directions to a party, reinforcing his image as a horse's ass who always needed to hypersexualize babettes to shore up  insecure virility, causing me to stop and think how many of us have Famous Contact tales, myself included, and I'd trade everything at this moment, including Shakespearean English professors who rejected my father's studio apartment while igniting my emotional investment, for the fuck of the century with Stewart in his prime (I promised myself no slut and drool buffoonery in writing this post, but alas). Patrick Stewart must have been the absolute lay in his day. I envy the real wife, whatever the reason for the dissolution of her marriage to his once magnetic masculinity, good god.

But the man falters in Nemesis. The strongest post Trek films I've seen, before Abrams did prequels, are Undiscovered Country and the dark Picard post recovery in his battle with the borg queen. The rest are a bit thin, and Stewart himself seems wooden up against his fanatic alter-ego. Data's death blowing up the radiation ship contradicts other suggestions about his future life off the Enterprise-- and yet, Next Generation has a wondrous magnitude about it, one that countermands cauldrons. What angers me so much about Josie's meddling into my fresh water date fishing is I feel it was calculated.

"Woo he's got a thing for you!" She emailed this to me after reading one of Cecil's posts on my dead letter Yahoo Group, and then almost immediately afterward lashed out at him, and she knew beforehand how much pain I was in about my career, what had been done to me: Yes, she published me me in a PA state chapbook which she did not edit, and is a piece of shit, despite my essay about Matrix and fieldwork; yes, she expressed remorse, and briefly teamed with me on New Mobility, and to make up for what she did, broke a meal with me, but it is difficult for me not to get rejected by ambulatory men, even if the Argentine would have went there on his own. She interfered with my prospective pleasure, and I relish the prospect of setting eyes on her in the future. She will need the host of angels Jesus could have sought from the Father. I'll make her MS symptoms seem like a picnic.

I know: If I want another another shot, then dust off my knee pads, but how many walking men would give me a chance, being decent to boot? 

Auto Struct Alpha

"I wasn't rude enough to let them know what I was thinking."  -- Patrick Stoner, passionate Sherman detractor

Careful attention was paid. How Stewart's voice rose across the table from the intrepid interviewer whose mannerisms and verbal stilettos where formed in the states of American feudalism, but who knew when to hold back with the classically trained presence before him. "Why did he do it?" Patrick's voice rose an octave, not losing control but invested, trying to sort out the enigmatic nature of Shakespeare's darkest protagonist. Macbeth is less John F Kennedy getting his magisterial head blown off like a ripe melon, more Eliot Spitzer using his prosecutorial techniques to rationalize the perfect legitimacy of his needs to exhort power through ejaculation. Any literary mind can relate to Patrick's outcry. Why in the name of god does a good lieutenant destroy the sanctity of his place of honor in the realm and over reach, triggering an apocalyptic bloodbath? Beneath this is the unspoken frustration in the mind of a man who knows no matter how well trained he is, his fame rests on his inexplicable role as a Frenchman with an English accent in a children's science fiction series that turns grown men and women into loons, hence his modulated dialectical mentorship and rivalry with Ian Holm, who can play a synthetic android and escape being fenced in by a figure like Jean Luc Picard.

Stewart owes a great deal to Rick Berman's send up of European finesse, despite the entrapment, but the hints of frustration remain for public distillation. In his minor roles of ruthless villainy, one could envision Stewart actually inhabiting the Union's terrorist general, the one who raped the Shenandoah Valley. William T Sherman's destruction of the South was necessary. His mind was brilliant, critical, calculating, compartmentalizing native tribesmen into nuisance thugs. His brutality paved the way for this modern world where identity is paramount and genocidal in the same breath, and true value is in the efficiency profit margin.

We can't all be matinee icons.