Applicable Meaning

"After nearly sixteen years since 9/11, Americans are weary of war without victory." --Donald Trump, dissembling in chief

One of my list files on twitter, which the administrators briefly interfered with, until they were assured the dowager wasn't going to engage in mortal combat with Ciccariello-Maher, a visiting professor at Drexel who should be stripped of his doctorate, not for his speech but for foolhardiness, is Adversaries, and a former NASA astronaut like Mark Kelly doesn't quite belong there, in a queasy tinge, but I am not quite sure what to do with him. If I had an equivalent political partner who was shot in the head, one who will spend the rest of her life in special needs, I too might develop mission fervor with a political action committee. One thing both NRA loyalists and libertarians should acknowledge is that guns are dangerous, as do other mortals, including Senator Toomey, and I appreciate his courage to stand with the Sandy Hook families, as no right is inalienable. I am not even sure I believe in human rights, but that contention is too broad, at least for this morning. It is equally true that I have distaste for Kelly's Responsible Solutions PAC, and blocked them. The rhetoric is holier than thou, and no one has a perfect pitch on perspective. Ciccariello-Maher survived his senseless provocation-- and yes, his tweets backfired because all they did was arouse, and that doesn't help. I might not either, but at least I have my context, and rather serious grievances behind that context, but I am not sure what makes Maher's raconteur tendencies any different than Durden's. I tweeted, and stand by, the sense that Carlson was slightly too self-righteous. Bigoted as I may be, I live in a black city, and being black in Philadelphia, in 3 out of 4 instances, translates into agrarian limitations obvious to anyone in the professional class. Let me state, emphatically, that I am not Durden's ally, and she isn't about to sympathize with my excoriating attacks on black arrogance. I'm posting, merely, that she paid a heavy price for that interview, which was really nothing more than her advocacy for blacks speaking for themselves. The disabled do this all the time. No one calls savants racists for self-congregating. It isn't like she was advocating a black militia movement.

Storey's tweets, on the other hand, were indicative of something else. Between the lines, he was weary of teaching, and shot his barbs into a real time event which has caused loss of life, and he might have held back, written a satirical opinion. The Republican Party isn't a monster simply because of Trump's alt.right revolt, and as Phillips source says, people don't do things like that, in the middle of a tragedy, in real time feed. Yet Palin's case against the Times was dismissed. I have not studied this. I don't have the time to back track every factual point, read the briefs, but from what established media has presented, in its examination, persuaded me Governor Palin had a case. I agreed with Wemple that there may have been an actual malice standard. Rakoff's ruling catches me by surprise.

Early on between 10 and 12, I voiced some criticism of Palin on twitter. The Atlantic's profile of her governorship spiraled into a damaged show horse nominee the media virtually pillaged, perhaps deservedly. Recently, I swung my battleship, and I'm following her, probably going to write a post, send it to her site, or a contact submittal, and see what happens. Maybe nothing, but Palin's sensibility as an independent wife and mother resonate more sympathetically, after my tribulations. My point, however, is, the First Amendment is, in essence, meaningless, at least, if we examine these examples.

Spaghetti Spin Offs

This thing needs to be destroyed.-- John Huston's Cronkrite as bastard

I unloaded some of my ever bridled fury at Niume's official twitter account Friday evening, for those of you paying attention to the needy outlets embedded in developmental damage, and of course it wasn't fair of me, for those of us old enough to remember what life was like writing penny articles before the bloated carcass otherwise known as the Department of Defense bequeathed us with the Internet, barely relevant as the noun is at present. Indulging my neurotic tendencies in the blogosphere may still be a writing exercise, but most of us no longer get paid, unless we're predicting stock market crashes, unraveling diverse financial instruments. Andrew Sullivan, late of the Daily Dish, whose sole dialogue with me, before I became a nasty Richard Spencer empath, was to send me a screen shot of my Amtrak building, was a master of the web log format, briefly became the go to institutional voice, similar to how Cato darlings emerge out of policy analysis onto the documentary video, spend their currency but maintain their admirers (Niall Ferguson?), and he still failed. I never succeeded, merely lit a precursor spark of nihilist rage, keeping illegal details against real persons mainly to myself, sometimes with heavy insinuation, survived Google's threat of suspension, which reminds me, the collective voice of the playful Silicon Ewe, on whom the fate of the world depends, sent me an email about resetting AdSense, which may be interpreted as permission to use despite my mafiaoso tendencies to derive satisfaction out of being a hate crime, but I haven't yet expended three or four gigabytes trying to unravel and regain access to my 3 dollars and change. Add in Niume's suspended revenue, that makes four, and I am, pretty much, into my last cognitive quality years, while James Bennet gets to play a tort pissant against everyone's favorite Alaskan female. Not that I haven't made errors, like misspelling a lawyers name, having for pay topics fall apart,  but poor, sympathetic James, who tweeted to me not to feel "guilty," made a game changing falsity. Who am I kidding? Whatever their political differences, Tim Gilmer and Charles Krauthammer are men with their respective province who broke their backs, able to emulate the memory of the ambulatory world they lost. Savants, spastics, such as I, merely conceptualize what we never were. Some of us actually can walk. Gimpy, pigeon toed, but none of us are important, and I've long blown my Inquirer capital. Twitter, thus far, allows my outages to glide, even if Niume's model illustrates what we cannot resolve: everyone can blog, but follower economics? Tenuous at best. My intellectual ally, Mark Antro, has an uphill battle, if Niume's failure to actually improve revenue generation is any indicator. Less collaboration, more accreditation, might work better, in collective venues. I am not sure, or uncertain, and I did not ventilate on Virily because they will be lucky if I post once in an eclipse. I should stop doing this altogether if I need revenue, in other words. 
Struggling with my memory, I may have read portions of The Man in the High Castle. I certainly read plenty of poor Dick, spared my wrath, much like Ben Gleib, whom I may have reduced unintentionally. I was attempting to be funny, and may change my mind and bring him back, despite my lack of context for his on camera role. I can say a few things about the series: the title theme song is ingenious. Only recently recognized Ridley Scott. Some actors are known qualities, and the stark brutality comforts me. Take that anyway you like. I will move the plunger along, but not this morning. I had a grave attack, one that tells me if I have to flee the Presbyterians, I had better ratchet up. My only relatively droll news is I got the battery to behave.