Higher Extremities

The medieval picture of heaven and hell hasn't been replaced  with anything more realistic.--Madeleine L'Engle, 1988, ushering in A Grief Observed

Treasure Coast Newspapers had a small scoop in disseminating Paul Ryan’s exit speech to wire services like Reuter’s and The Associated Press, but it was diminutive and low impact in terms of any breaking news story, and was rather reflective of attrition of established Republican ideology, to the extent that Ryan’s departure was a harbinger of any sort, and it was, for the core tenets of fiscal conservative sensibility. Ryan took the political temperature, told the truth about the swerving fissures under Donald Trump’s feet, and then walked it back, under pressure from whom, unknown. One might reasonably surmise the Senate Majority Leader used a careful selection of words, and the 54^th Speaker was reigned in, unlike the new empress from New York, who is seeming impossible to restrain. But when a somewhat simple-minded polemicist like Posoblec asked his followers what Ryan achieved after his 20 odd years in the House, this is disingenuous. Legislating is a difficult process even under one party rule: the Obama Trinity actually got the ACA into law and created a healthcare crisis in an ideologically aligned city like Philadelphia within five years. Insurance carriers hemorrhaged, and this represented a beginning once unfathomable. Beltway policy and execution put an already vulnerable quadriplegic in jeopardy.

Ryan and the Freedom Caucus had the more difficult task of restricting federal outreach. Sequestration proved nearly undoable, recalling Obamacare proved nearly impossible, and yet Ryan is still the boy wonder who has remained rhetorically elegant, consistent, and mathematically accurate. Entitlements will always outpace capital, they are punitive in stricture, and entirely unsuitable for quality of life, and the Rust Belt outcry prevailed. Trumpian populism lanced Ryan’s fiscal faith in business models, and Ryan, like Scott Walker, saw the writing on the wall. Yet people who live in Philadelphia row homes aren’t financially secure, let alone those who are subsidized in public housing. This may not be the case for every individual, but compliance modules and red tape have been the tragedy of this blogger’s life, and what did she want, precisely? The freedom a secure career might have offered, the esteem of home ownership, a husband. All this is a fairy tale now, bootlegged by the minority collective, lungs wheezing as readily as the PA GOP is losing. Lamb beat Saccone by a very narrow margin, D. Raja was asleep at the wheel, felled by lack of campaign contributions, and young Turks no longer emulate Ryan's exercise regime. Would it help to reflect back in time to when you did?

Segnatto Esatto

Who are you and what makes you so important?-- Twitter user frog contessa, whom I answered tersely

I have to confess, despite the fact that social media is increasingly passe, even for me, the nativity of plebeians like the above contessa still has the capacity to throw one's ego off the mount. I am important simply because I tweet back to Speaker Ryan?
 

Three years ago, we began a great journey to set our nation on a better path. Now, my season of service is coming to a close. Tune in live soon for my Farewell Address as Speaker of the House: https://t.co/RrNzrxPmYU

— Paul Ryan (@SpeakerRyan) December 19, 2018

As a disabled, disenfranchised American, I am entitled to my ambivalent sympathies for the 54th Speaker of the House. He wasn't always mercilessly excoriated in the press by those of Canadian Jewish ancestry, like David Frum, but when the deputy prime minister of Italy ferrets out and follows your account, it is best to run your research fast and furiously and pay appropriate homage to the man in his native tongue. I knew Matteo was right wing, like Beppe, who isn't as right wing as English media would have the five star movement in the homeland appear, but when it comes to the political power Salvini holds, the spastic dowager dropped the ball, and aspirates:

 

"Se uccide i cristiani è nostro fratello". Queste le parole di odio del 20enne somalo arrestato per terrorismo internazionale. E voleva mettere "bombe in tutte le Chiese d'Italia". GALERA ed ESPULSIONE, via dal nostro Paese questa gente. VIA! https://t.co/8hCp35z8WV

— Matteo Salvini (@matteosalvinimi) December 18, 2018

Augh!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A stiletto through the heart! 

Matteo, questa donna rotta vuole morire e baciare i ciottoli a Roma per favore! I cannot very well excoriate the man for follow and drop behavior which I'd otherwise normally deplore. When I calm down and renew my grammar studies with vigor I will *speak* to him, but yes, the Deputy Prime Minister of my homeland, the blood of Roma in my veins, followed me, for three days! Who isn't the Empress of Italy under these transcendent hues of a cathedral's stained glass?

A Moabite in Judah

"I think it started when Burr shot Hamilton."-- Dr. Randy Barnett, Georgetown University

What I wanted to discuss Tuesday morning, with a certain degree of blandness in my demise, is the destruction of Paul Ryan's legacy. Jack Posobiec, local Trumpian jackass whom I followed briefly to see what formula he was using that I wasn't, in order to support himself, blockhead who treats his followers like eighth grade civic students, collapsing the lack of virtual dimension on social media with the invocation to raise your hand (and where, Jack, are people supposed to raise their hands in the automated continuity of cloud computing based storage?) Damn stupid fuck, Posobiec. I attend three universities and get out-shined by a Protean buzz head like this fellow, who observed earlier in the week, "Ryan has been in the legislature 20 years, can you name his accomplishments?" That was a stinging rebuke to a tax reformist, and I think, not entirely fair, not even by the standards of Chait's summary for Intelligencer. When I was still on Niume's failed public blogging platform, I too jumped on the bandwagon, badly wanting the ACA repealed. It has made my access to reasonable standard of care that much more difficult, and this was the one thing I had hoped the GOP could achieve. While it's trues that Trump was light on policy details, Ryan was an experienced legislature who committed a stunning ideological failure. This diminished his prominence, and that was the end of that. But instead, let's switch gears
to Twitter's detractors, once again delivered by Dr. Barnett and his delightfully cribbed humor. I happen to enjoy the way Barnett delivers his bon mots thank you, and he was kind enough to tweet beck to me about the demise of the filibuster, which I believe is an overlooked issue in contemporary legislative battles. I happen to agree with Reynolds, particularly in light of the fact that I mistook Sergio Siano for a Korean lesbian and got into a brawl with a British faggot named Farlene, or some such spelling, and half the international disabled community. I am laughing to the point of burning tears in my eyes. 
My Samsung Galaxy is larger than my old Apple, but if I do not open the actual thumbnail pictures of account holders, I cannot see them all that clearly in miniature. I knew the retweet came from a follower in Singapore, and leapt to the wrong conclusions. On my computer screen, Sergio is clearly a male who didn't want to be embroiled in a date rape. However, if you examine his thread, he claims he was accused of being gay, does gay things, and isn't homophobic. He insists on it more than once. While the old fashioned term "gay panic" actually points to the possibility of a psychotic break, people need to cease and desist on the issue of homoerotic fear. It is perfectly natural to be afraid of letting go of that kind of inhibition. I told Sergio, as I have written here, that I was molested by an insatiable black woman from the inner city. It was one of the most difficult episodes in my life, and this is why gays and lesbians get killed. I comprehend violent reactions against such prevaricating tactics of exploitation. Gender fluidity is going to take us quite some time to process, to hit on equitable solutions for all, including insecure heterosexuals. Speaking of which, I have not read Douthat's wasp piece yet, but he is defending caste poise, dispensed to the masses. Why was Ruth, as King David's great-grandmother, so important within the Torah? Think about it for a while. There are a number of lessons in Semitic apocrypha. 

Bowel Charts With Debbie Reynolds

"Tammy, Tammy, Tammy's in love."-- Debbie Reynolds, before the Fisher shiv

The answer to my sexually stressed question of Tuesday morning is a probable no. We reigned it in, and as we are a bond, after a fashion, I am leaving him his space to the degree I can beyond his responsibilities, although he still uses the terminology of personal relationships. I doubt it is to mislead, just his way of being a happy minstrel doing his black machismo parody, and I am feeling let down because I’m chasing skank which doesn’t want to be fetched, or so I believe, I, who believes where abstinence is necessary then it’s possible, my own chuckle as scathing as a blade. That has certainly been put to the test, and Christ knows what effect my discovery of electricity is having on him, remembering whatever crest I feel now, I want to recover, he wants to get me there, at least one thing in common within our appropriation tolerance, our hearts absorbing too much without enough armor. I’m not angry with the game, for I lowered my guard, as always, and any man would feel sorry over admissions which lead to cactus fields. I’m simply too old to feel horny all the time over a decent welfare health care provider, and this is another monkey wrench. I keep moving too slowly to return to a prior point of self-reliance, and that to rectify it I may have to stay up in the chair to do business in the morning before he clocks in, which might slow his time, make him watch television further away. There is nothing wrong with “a little fun,” in the lingo of his sisters, but what goes for sustained erections in men is comparable to what happens when women arouse vaginally, not so easy to stand down in an endless pair of Depends, and the music serving as my balm is that of Reynolds. Andrew Sullivan has his definition of true conservativism, one which I vaguely remember. Mine might include the moral decision to put a stop to this by replacing him, but then I lose the better part of the bargain, given all these hard and incessant details about lesbian predation, thieves, and other niceties peppering my posts, and as you can see, as my cousin counsels me like chick talk would, better friend to me than my actual sister, yes, he’s softened me, the reducible nigger enlarged upon. If I actually attempt to tongue, and he responds, that is a change, a risk. I’m not ready for a full throttle, and know that would be a change too much, and it succumbs, of course, to what I’d swore to myself would never be, assuming he wouldn’t forcibly grip my wrists, preventing me. There is that. I don’t have Governor Greitens' physical strength to actually coercive a man twice my size to enter and satisfy me, with the building twittering that the dowager’s flushed face means some weight has been lifted. Although Greitens' problems aren't helping Republicans, whose loss of Ryan is an admission of tactical failure, I think we need to start viewing these scandals through a different lens, regardless of whether or not coercion is proven. (Why wasn't it rape?)  I have to think, on my own terms, about what true conservativism means, and Woods' public tweets may help me without the need of contact, wishing I knew what it was like to be the one pursued. It's too late for that.

Enter The Dragon's Dry Heat

letters are written, never meaning to send-- The Moody Blues

Under normal circumstances, a black man’s hands are too puffy; the dowager prefers an Italian’s better delineated masculine definition over that of a former factory, retail worker, and my caretaker’s hands look the part of a socialist labor poster. All fine and dandy, his rough fingertips, scarred fingernails which tint like fish scales etched in keratin. It is what he’s doing to me with them which leaves me unable to sleep. I already wrote Monday after midnight that I was too old to feel constantly jacked up, and in his logic, doing just that, jacking me up, will re-energize me, making me taut will break the blues, and I am not sure how long either of us can sustain getting a rise out of each other. Again, I’d berate myself for letting the script etch itself in my face, it is my normal maneuver, off or online, but, at the moment, I’m a little beyond self-castigation, out of reach for a cold shower, sort of. I know how to do it even in this machine, but the time involved means I have very little of it so that he wouldn’t find me in a compromising position by the time he clocks back in, and that’s too much brinkmanship. My primary goal here is to recover as much function as I can before and after the new power chair. He is doing that better than anyone else on this suddenly careening train wreck. I don’t think he desires me, but he’s enjoying himself making me spark, and whatever I posted about winding this down has gone out the window in complete lunacy with a man who doesn’t understand the divisions between conservative and liberal with a quadriplegic gone racist long ago. I probably always was one even before the city; perhaps this is the lightning bolt, the charge in breaking my own rules, knowing I am not going to change inside despite gratitude for his care. I imagine you’re glad your not inside my head, while he and I trade endearments and I expose myself in past stories he considers it his mission to heal, but this is in my past too, being the libertine who ends up paying some pretty shiny pennies, much as Paul Ryan paid with diminished legacy over the AHCA. Ryanism, which I once respected under John Boehner, has been vanquished, like a spayed cat on a hot tin roof. Are he and I going to sleep with each other? At this point it’s in divine hands, and to those we cede miraculous instances, and this is his power over me, while he's sleeping after a glass of wine.

Kindling Off the Plate

What I want, which I do not have, insofar as I’m aware, is for a prominent conservative to look at disability, trim away the Orwellian pork rinds, and come up with something less draconian than what Harrisburg has done with Maximus, and I want it despite the aphorism that stipulates doing it yourself. People generally pay attention to recognized personalities, and not to me, unless I am blatantly illegal, and when I’ve pushed that envelope, I have paid on a personal level, let alone social media drubbings and my oscillations of up and down. The Speaker has *said* something charitable on occasion, and I gave him the savant-cute hug, prior to his failure on healthcare, for his highlights. There is James Woods too, expending his industry capital as an ambassador. This is a good thing, and brought my attention to him, which prior to Twitter had been casual. Praise is deposited where due, but Woods is an actor keeping his profile relevant, not an analyst who can influence policy. It doesn’t have to be a Briton like Niall Ferguson or Andrew Sullivan,  (obviously outraged beyond consolation in my link) but someone like them would be useful.

I have taken my potshots at Andrew, very unfairly, as he is not the “deep state” behind the militancy of disability activism, hoping to goad him into castigating me. Despite the fact that Dr. Ferguson was equally cursory in his own way, and despite the fact that I was once many many years ago merely another spectator scrolling The Dish, it rankled me that a man with such a mind sent me a damn screen shot of my Amtrak building. It is a landmark around center city, but what’s that? Should I have responded with a photo of anti-virals? If I was on equal footing as a disabled female journalist, Sullivan might say you cannot alter the fact I have AIDS, right, so what do you want?

Not being patronized would be a start, as opposed to being challenged. I am also the type of person to get involved and interject myself in socially inappropriate fashion, much like the fictional Dino Ortolani hearing the plea, and smothering a dying AIDS patient prior to his own savage murder. Mercy killings are harder on the actor than the recipient, but have their place.

My solutions are only a partial stab in the muck:

1.       Women need to curb high risk obstetric births. If an infant is not viable without acrobatics, allow it to die. I agree with male authority that women with children and without have gone too far.

2.      If the above assertion is to be dismissed, families with such children need better planning, as any parent can die unexpectedly or otherwise.

3.      Look for areas where technology can reduce the dependence on caretakers.

4.      Architects can solve many of these problems without that much inconvenience to ambulatory majorities.

5.      Institutional innovation is rather long in the tooth. This needs to be addressed.

Epistolary Address on the Margins: Paul Ryan

"It's more like a slow train wreck."-- Lanhee J. Chen, expectations disappointed

I tweeted a question weeks ago, Mr. Speaker, to your twitter account, about Boehner's warning on repeal and replace. Not being a citizen of Wisconsin in your district, I did not expect a response, but knew you were headed for trouble with your replacement bill, and I do blame you, even if Trump's public face is disingenuous on the matter. No one cares about my opinions. This is partially my fault. If Blogger had actually suspended me two years ago, I might have made it a cause celebre with Breitbart. If I had cleaned up my act, at least on this account, I might have linked it as a resume highlight, but did not quite go to either extreme, except for a recent severe depression over the prospect, not yet actually in process, of summer homelessness, which caused a precipitous drop in my followers, and probably has Dr. Floch shaking his head, a younger and more attractive head than I thought, about the difficulties and demands I place upon myself, but I am a radical, don't believe in making medical paradigms a way of life, and if Medicare costs eat up 20% GNP even before Obamacare, add the VA medical budget to that, Medicaid, it really isn't possible to continue, and I tend to disagree with Timothy Taylor about the cost of the sickest patients: I have a grandmother in her mid 90's in a home, no more than a functional corpse. I do not know how much this is costing her surviving daughter, ten years my senior; it is wrong, and I'd withhold nutrition and hydration. Ditto for my father's brother. He is extremely sick with heart disease and viral infections, and his sister, who has basically served as a self trained hospice nurse since her husband's lung cancer, isn't far behind. I disagree with my Church here, to some extent, and when quality of remaining life is marginal, withhold treatment. It is nothing I haven't written before, but it is what I believe, given that the medical treatment I get is shoddy, with students, or residents who wanted me on oxygen, or an inhaler, failing to take other factors into account, like allergies, and I haven't seen a doctor since my Craigslist hire. Where is my line? I do not know, maybe in my meringues.

Yours was a sorry performance Friday evening, and just as I, you're old enough to remember Tip O'Neill, the last Speaker who had any real corralling power. Earmarks too, which may need to be restored in the House rules. I had hoped to live long enough to see you in the Presidency, a rational corporate conservative, but you ran this game drive like Mickey Mouse. I do own some knowledge about how bills are sponsored and written, and know how hard it is, but you've had national prominence even prior to being Romney's running mate. You should have learned to control the chamber by now. Let's be less headstrong in the future. I have to lie down; pushing too hard.

Heaven's Mirage with Faustian Indentation

The poor basically receive good health care. --David Ward, with egregious presumption

Niume imploded my expectations in one fell swoop. I was all set to monetize and jump in, expecting my own little niche, and hit a brick wall in a cascade of what the fuck utterances. They have no hyperlink code, just a You Tube link, or Vimeo, and I am not huge on generating my own graphics. My nerves have been sufficiently unsettled, and my account sign up is probably doomed. I say wait a little, we'll see, but I built up all that wariness to enter preschool, a bit of fluff, for nothing. The Ryanism summarized by McDuffee in 2012 coincides with the interplay I saw between the Speaker and Judy Woodruff last evening, but liberals are apparently fain to see Paul Ryan as the Rational Monolith, standing as the bulwark of last resort against the Donald, who, in reality, is Lucifer's vessel, without seeming to sufficiently recall, even though Dickerson said it on PBS, that after John Boehner's fractious departure, Ryan put out a press release, stipulating, "I am not running for Speaker," and there was, in the House, a bit of a Freedom Party bromide, and then Ryan was the conciliatory consensus choice. He did stand up to Trump during the election, and the center left is being unreasonable in its expectation that Ryan will fall on his sword because old New York bull is behaving like a bull. I did vote for Trump, and my damaged mind believes it is able to read into him, and my invective is worse than his: If I described, in detail, whose neck I wanted to break, using my footpedal as a garrote of hatred, the poor happy playful employees who keep Blogger healthy would have a problem, and the dowager understands that getting too specific in her intent challenges law, regardless of whether or not she has the strength to overtake certain persons frightened of her, and have her moment of Hannibal liberation. I am a diabolical mind of smoking vengeance. Trump is an reactionary protectionist asshole, and I cannot respect him, nor his solutions. If the Speaker, or Senator Toomey, for that matter, chose to upbraid me that for such a smart invalid you know better, what would I do? I'd look Toomey straight in the eye and say, then be my avenger, punish them, give me justice, then hire me to to lay progressive America to waste.

I understand Ryan, his sense that inclusion solves the isolating friction of identity politics, but he cannot undo the damage of southeastern state incompetence that created and fosters aggression. There is no Right Hand of Time, to append a Thomas Lux title, to put me back to a vigorous 35 of twenty years ago, as my twitter numbers jump during episodes of inactivity, sag when my militancy shines. It is depressing, impossible to take seriously, or vicariously live within my timeline for too long, which is why, if, when I'm ready, I press twitter's staff about Craig, it is making access to the micro blog more important than it is. Discussing the twitter ban list on twitter is more of a provocation than a quadriplegic angry enough to critically injure expendable, fairly vacuous, African American oppressors. Back to work.

Prelude to a Double Edge

"She said Americans were too PC to search a man in a wheelchair."-- Stephen Schnetzer

Carrie Fisher's timely medical crisis not only points to a certain coldness in your narrator. It has an interesting parallel to her own mother's death, which may have involved psycho-tropic interaction. The same sort of fatal interaction killed a woman of similar condition who used to live here, briefly my client. She also had cerebral palsy, was 24, and made my problems with anxiety seem pedestrian by contrast. If the door rattled, she was frightened, Cheryl Ward, and she died, probably much like my mother, because practitioners don't know what they are doing. The fabled ambulatory practice at Jefferson,which spastic regrets, equally admitted as much, hence my relative impatience with arrogant asses like Krugman when they pontificate on the percentile at which the US is already in the stranglehold of socialized medicine. The last time spastic listened to anything Paul had to say, the figure he used, lumping the VA and Medicare together, was 60%. I cannot argue with economists on their damn metrics; if we threw them in a jar and let them kill each other, much as has been suggested of poets, we'd all be better off. Ryan has to speak this way, of course, as one day he may become emperor of the last empire, smoldering like a charred forest fire, because policy sometimes runs afoul of individual variance. Joanne Cristinizani was neither as compliant nor as healthy, though less mentally ill, less affluent, than the actress--but the parallel between their cases illustrates physicians over reliance on medication, as opposed to behavior modification. Fisher had a rather optimistic fealty to medical model mitigation of her delusions; the problem with that is cocktails build up tolerance, the body changes, the script ceases to have the same potent effect. She also liked ECT. but might not electroconvulsive therapy, however tame it is, contemporaneously, in comparison to what we saw Nicholson act out in his Cuckoo cult classic, make the aging body more vulnerable?
I am a skeptic of western medical models, as they never did me any favors, but I do not want this skepticism to be misleading. I have seen some really tragically fucked up mental health clients in my day, and they would be eating feces without anti-psychotics, much like drug addicts in Portland Oregon correctional detention centers, but I am poking holes in our complacency towards pharmaceutical miracles, especially when physicians are tone deaf to succinct individual circumstance. The cookie cutter syndrome. I am not the first journalist to highlight it.

Addiction is a predisposition of our complex mammalian biology, but under this large umbrella, the cookie cutter syndrome leaves a certain minority of patients with addictive propensities swinging in the wind; if we stopped putting labels on it (no, it is not a disease, but can destroy brain activity that presupposes empathy and the like) and decriminalized narcotics, we'd solve a lot of problems, shrink incorporating prisons, which would be a good thing.
Note to twitter: I am going to cease following accounts that block me due to this blog, especially when I've done naught to proud union plumbers to deserve it. I push lines. I admit that, and I cannot forgive the disabled community of my generation for hanging me out to dry, and I hate Riverside, hate it, so a Democrat who believes in unions, leaping first, asking questions later, blocks me because of what? Intensity? Blocking is a forming of scolding. I don't do it often. All he and others ha to do was unfollow. I feel like I'm being punished for being inclusive, when I normally wouldn't, and this will remain an issue, although I just gave "in" to the latest six accounts.
I hate what Riverside has done to me despite the episodic violence of my other building. In 94, when my father dumped me here, cursing, I was 31 years old, I think. That is a long time to be ostracized and afraid of vicious seniors. My career was destroyed, and the shit I've gone through would make Hustler rich if they had the nerve for a graphic memoir. I'm trapped, and I'm rolling out of here in a battered power chair this summer come hell or high water, and if Google wants to suspend me, fine, but I'm hanging by a thread, and so intend to push. My entire damn life in this city has been a frayed twine since I got here. It is the holiday, and I haven't seen most of my family sine 05. Poppa stopped by with his ineffectual dismay in 07. All I have to show for everything is eleven dollars in the bank. Blocking me for bad tude when I'm not trolling users is disingenuous, and it irritates me especially when I hold abandonment by newcomers in abeyance.
Don't read me. You don't have to, but I refuse to be a pariah of leftist do gooders, capiscimi? My candle burns lower, but fiercer for it.

The Rise of Wisconsin

Knowledge is the only instrument of production whose value never diminishes. Kevin Spacey as Mel Profitt


Damn alcoholic floozy

I guess that is one potential source down the drain, after so many years. For those of you not following my drift, Joan Tarshis and I split up on twitter. Why? because I dared to opine about one of her links, then she critiqued my tweet grammar. Normally I'd follow suit, and take her off my feed, but-- let me be sore for a little while. What I've held back in previous posts, however, is that Miss Tarshis is bordering on Alzheimer's territory, and yes, I know this through email conversations.

I am not absolving Bill Cosby, merely pointing out that a preponderance of accusation is legally difficult to prosecute when some of his accusers are liberal flakes to begin with. To dole out my scant praise, when I offer it, Ponnuru delineates nicely the potential conflicts between Ryanism and Trumpian jagged edges, and, at same point, I am going to address a serious post to the Speaker, at least before Trump removes whatever safeguards that prevent section 202 landlord from evicting me. I may have to go through several tenets of liberalism to get where I'm going when I write the Speaker my open post, but we'll all labor through my (equally) aging tendrils together, shall we? One of the few things Ponnuru wrote which intrigues me is the small facet: Stephen Bannon wants to destroy the third most Constitutionally powerful elected official in the country. Why?

Age old national press corp burlesque.

Dissolved in Water

A work in progress?-- Trudy Richardson, being diffident while Karina was being obstinate in 2014

You may laugh: I cannot find my fiction file with my hard drafts, and I have no idea where "Jawbone" is sitting. I remember the story, and as I've previously indicated, I have the first seven pages, but for all its weaknesses, which I wanted to revise, it was one of my favorite fictions. And I'm furious, with ambulatory persons not respecting that as a writer I horde articles and facts and drafts. Karina didn't respect it, nor my father's dead mother, nor any African American attendant (hissed). One of my younger aides, who works for a dentist, if social media is any indicator-- I-- ah, it came back, Lakisha Doe. I fired Kisha twice, not before before mother's mother took her to lunch-- but she bought me a huge heavy plastic storage bin. It may be there. It may be under the desk. I threw out the entire Cigna Medicare Part D prescription plan from welfare. I threw out half of the United States Postal Service, which Speaker Ryan may want to close, and my poor female, the one getting the short end of the stick, in my peevish old age, as yes, I am old, I mean this in a variety of ways, is all excited, lively, playing with wheelchair parts. Mom, what is going on?
My accumulations kimmy, things that mattered to me, have to be dictated by the government as forbidden, or discarded, and it just isn't enough, brain damage, a life of recoiled pain, people who walk have to dictate which markers even indicate that a quadriplegic once aspired and existed. The little girl is on my thigh, needy, alone, no babies to attend, as her litter was destroyed, and no more Vinnie to quarrel with; he was destroyed. She is a good girl, but I am no longer the good mother, I'm now too poor for that, a world away from the six thousand I still had when I fought my conscience, paid her adoption fees, donated to the shelter in Joey's name. I have to rest, work from memory but basically now rewriting, but I will assert this. Do not tell me not to hate. Writing, above all else, is the only thing I ever had transcending all else. Trudy can have the police break my wrists dragging me out of the building, but I swear to Christ, I'll take her job with me if I have to before anyone ever railroads my life again while I still breathe, while I yet cognate.