Shtako, Defiantly

"Stop complaining."

If the videos posted to social media on the subject have a modicum of authenticity, there are those on the right who allege that Moore’s loss to Doug Jones was a conspiracy; they ought to be applying that disbelief in the voting to examining why he was allowed to secure the nomination in the first place. The Troy Messenger cites Shirley Reddoch as saying that Moore’s run off victory against Strange sent “a clear statement”. Yeah, a clear statement that Trumpian methodology has sent Republicans into freefall. Even the fact that New York’s mogul in chief supported Moore is a contradiction in terms. President Trump proclaimed often enough during the primaries that he was a businessman. In that light, going against rational conservative objections to support Moore, such as those voiced by Toomey, made the president look like a mouth piece for an authoritarian regime in trouble, as opposed to a shrewd political strategist. George Wallace, to whom Moore has been compared, might have been the inflammatory bigot of his day, but when he could still walk, he stepped aside rather than be arrested by the military who insured that Brown v. Board of Education was enforced, proving that he was a realist unwilling to sacrifice himself for what he purportedly believed. Wallace has even been vindicated in part, if you examine urban school districts for any great length, given that economics have re-segregated pubic schools. The accusations of molestation were not dispositive, but they rode on an irrational wave of hysteria which bodes ill for the republic. Moore has a right to be as dogmatic as he wishes, but separation of church and state is an abiding principle of American pluralism, and has no place in the federal legislature. It signifies how much Catholic temperance has failed to reign in the fervor of American evangelical factionalism in the US, despite Niall's admiration of our "work ethic'" in apparent abeyance at the moment.

The Trump presidency: tragedy or comedy? https://t.co/TdUbGvkXP0 pic.twitter.com/Z8v32GGVLu

— Niall Ferguson (@nfergus) December 17, 2017

The left has essentially lost its mind, and the right seems hell bent on swallowing its own tail, which leaves the dowager, in her suffering under the wondrous rationing of the welfare state, and her faulty consumer decisions, severely disconcerted. I want conservatives to succeed, to roll back the drawbridge, even as my options grow ever more tenuous, and the toll of bad mechanics weakens me as I enter my seventh year past 50. My well being and my health are in jeopardy, and the fact that I have Medicare and Medicaid amounts to negligible quality control, ever steadily forcing me into an acute crisis, not mitigating it, after everything I’ve been through, the wheelchair vendor has left me in a situation which amounts to daily torture, imprisoned on a consumer hospital bed on which I can barely move, and I am still with the right, even if the state GOP is ignorant of how incapacitated I am, how negligent my care is, white professionals and black unskilled labor alike just rushing in and out of a section 202 which I technically evacuated ten weeks ago. It is this very cruelty, which is the business of poverty, which leaves me unrepentant, despite the fact that personalities like Niall Ferguson can only acknowledge the brutal truth of unremitting indigence. Yeah, it has gotten better: sixty years ago or more, before Judy Garland offed herself, I might have been in a rubber room with tards, perhaps beaten to death for my temper rather than threatened with disruption by Blogger for being a militant. I’m an upgrade, from no voice at all to Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, with all the requisite lack of forgiveness, for failure, embedded in stark negativity, while transplanted Britons frolic in amazement at the farce of the west wing before them. Niall himself has been pacified into a degree of disingenuousness. Whatever his former diffidence about the homosexual psyche, in its refreshing honesty, he is of course friends with a petulant AIDS stricken apostolic queer like Andy. Birds of a feather, imperial voices with paternalistic eyes watching over its troubled Infante Terrible, however roiled my country is at present, bawling in colic.

The Consequence of Bad Grooming Result in Hair Chaos

“We've got a 40-year-old allegation that is unprovable, probably,” Toomey said.

I have not weighed in on the Roy Moore candidacy, and don’t particularly care to, as I know nothing of the man in his own voice, and I am not into the MAGA fetish. I voted for Donald, but it was a vote cast on the basis of reaction against the Clintons, perhaps due to hilarity as well. I looked for ways to defend him, initially, and take responsibility for that, in my annoyance with Wapo, but as my survival has come up against a landslide of falling rocks annulling me into paralysis, I have become disaffected, not that my circumstances are the GOP’s fault. But I weary of this fake news tabloid mindset of the president, to echo Ed Rogers, and think the administration has been in place long enough now to sober up and execute, as my subversive amusement wans, and my defiance has to pit itself against diaper rash. Moore's rise in the spotlight, though he is well known in his state, is perhaps attributable to the cultural backlash I warned against when I gave my readers, incredulous or confused as they might be, personal details about the gay and lesbian predominance in groups like ADAPT and Not Dead Yet.

In point of fact, to summon up my antagonist, once again, I only saw Jimmi Shrode earlier this year, near to the onset of autumn, and he did not seem well. The cuddly ugly queen phase, when he would wear green eyeshadow and black nail polish, seems to have been discarded. He was walking with a pronounced limp, a cane, thinned out, as if he was evading belligerents such as I have been, and I wondered if he had been in an altercation, despite the fact I’ve long been out of orbit. Roy Moore’s extremism when it comes to homosexuals may seem commensurate with the dowager’s darker inclinations, but his collective condemnation is against the whole: my personal experiences have taught me that toleration is a double-edged sword.

I have read the media alarmists who feel the man’s doctrinal fidelity is an indicator of mental affect, to put it mildly.  Senator Toomey has expressed sympathy with those who allege molestation, and feels Moore should have stepped down, a position which has probably aligned him with Casey in a bipartisan gesture toward comity, but blood in the water is manifest in a myriad of casualties. I never imagined Lizza would be among them, not that I can recollect what his contributions were under Marty that earned my respect. We need to put the brakes on this misconduct hysteria, and I say that as someone irrevocably damaged. I am heartened that Lizza is saying wait a minute. If he had a prior consensual relationship, there may be a red herring in these polluted currents.

I have followers who may be considered devout, but Roy is less rational conservative, more literalist. These fissures in the body politic have come and gone before with the Christian Coalition, but this controversy is inopportune, again, distracting us from functioning.

Drums Along The Mohawk

"But we won." --Henry Fonda

I begin to take a dim view of IT technicians as a whole. They should be able to assist me better than they do, whether it’s Geek Squad or PhillyTechGuy or the vendor Tom Cook who did not do what he said he was going to do. These men can walk, they have automobiles. I never stiffed them, and it is always the same game of chicken: I still view myself as a failed scholar. They see a bull dyke in rags, I suppose, one that shares the same urgency as Constance Sumner, but in a different context. I need something else for these last months with my cognitive ability still intact, and if I cannot get it, then mocha bug bran women like building manager Trudy Richardson will have a self-fulfilling prophecy. “We don’t know each other,” she says. Fuck that. She is a nigger fascist as sure as I’m road rage ready to die in authority’s restraints, but if black arrogance has been particular, illegally cruel, on the other end of the spectrum, Caucasians aren’t really giving me appropriate levels of support. Cook has to make a living, but so do I, and I’m in a bit of a bind, one which he claims he can unravel, but he should have done this the first time. I cannot do everything by myself, and though I don’t expect social media to fall over itself coming to my aid, my viewers aren’t of much use either. I mean, I have taken my share of adversity, still forced to live with fringe homosexuals who think 60 style protests is a panacea for institutional medical care, and I’ve taken my share, getting gob smacked like Jody Foster in the insidious opening to The Silence of the Lambs, but I haven’t been devastated by natural disaster (though governmental incompetency may be a sufficient substitute) and should take heart, and work around this obstacle. Except it is my life’s work, and I am still trying to compete in the mainstream, and ta ta, one laptop death takes a fucking month out of my life, when I should be in bed. But my biological rhythms liven between midnight and five am, so I write as if I was still pulling an all nighter for exams. This is my way of being as skeptical of the right as I am of the left. What good is it if no one hears the narrative? 

I cannot claim to have a personal relationship with libertarians. Locally, John you used my name in print with feigned offense, he knows me best, but there is friction between us, as my Roman malevolence truly did widen his eyes, the not cool aging invalid who would delight in guerrilla warfare. If I had the ability to command, there is my solace, in the fanaticism of destruction. In lieu of Apocalypse Now, my father opens his checkbook, but this is tantamount to giving the Ebola virus an aspirin, and I do not see Richard Spencer letting my Machiavellian intellect usurp the niche of his ethnographic conceits, but, absent that personal relationship, tracking men like the muted Tony Stiles and politicos like Austin Petersen interests me. I knew of Austin by name long before social media, and I said to myself, researching him, years ago, so this is a radical, then subsequently discovered this is not the case. Austin isn’t a radical, but my blood lust, that is radical. I am very hard in certain aspects, and agree with Austin’s healthcare privilege view because he is right. All you have to do is observe. Claiming healthcare “rights” obliterates the quality of care issue, and with all medical resources limited as they are, Jimmy Carter’s cancer treatments and McCain’s poor prognosis glioma take away from others. There may be no direct link to my quality of care chain, but nonetheless, it is still a triage of association. Men of stature in 80^th and 90^th decades limit preventative resources for others with more optimal survival, and I may take a swipe at hard policy posts as time allows. That I vaguely recollect Roy Moore's removal from the Alabama bench at all is a mystery.