I am counting on your support.-- every political email transmission in the country
Some of the international members of the disabled community have found my accounts through social media and attempted to offer support, but let me explain something: No matter how many documentaries on public television Hockenberry appears in, what is rarely discussed is the incalculable damage the disabled community does to itself. I cannot access legal assistance for my trauma in part because that very assistance is tied to Liberty Resources. Thomas Earle, the legally blind variation of the sissy caricature created by the studio system, had not applied to be the center's director when I was the pawn eliminated in the Queen's opening, but he was shocked when I met with him about it, and did he act in any capacity to help me heal from what was the duress of a criminally toxic social shaming? No. No one associated with independent living in Philadelphia has lifted a finger for me, and this is what prominent figures like Hockenberry never touch. The mechanics of his sexual performance? Those can be discussed, under the lid of the magic pill debate. He uses injections; this is common knowledge in the culture, and this is what the Limda Dezenski of 18 years ago would assert: I was asking questions, so she wasn't trying to hurt me by going off on her orgasms in her marital bed. She was trying to help me assert myself. I have already discussed this, but haven't really conveyed the humiliation I suffered under her subordinates. Louis DiNapoli. There is a name. He was an observer, and saw that Linda was betraying me that day at the picnic. Dozens of people watched Linda do her thing, at my expense, and Louis, who was the center's account controller, made things rather ugly, taunting me with epithets, which is why he saw the writing on the wall, and resigned. He beat the great recession. And with all that's been said, been done, where am I supposed to go? I have absolutely no resources to get myself away, for the sake of my health, none: I have to watch an incomplete transsexual unravel, dying on his criminal activities which hurt many other vulnerable players. Steve Gold? He's a patronizing Jewish pig who runs the disabled in action branch in one of the center's side offices, and stopped Presby from bleeding me dry for their dining service in 2005, which, since the building renovations in 07, have been nearly eliminated. Stick a prayer in the Temple Wall for Philadelphia Jewish lawyers. For those of you across the pond, or up north, in my favorite commonwealth, perhaps you have different systems, a reconciliation process, not here.
If I end up taking my life, it isn't because I want to play finger games with my former supervisor's vagina. Of late, I found my way back to my memories of the 24 year old who wanted to get it on, and she had no inclination for cherries. It is simply some experiences are too much to carry, after so much time. I need to vacate my landlord that badly, over the realization that true desegregation is impossible for certain classes, and cruelty from within is worse than any gamesmanship from celebrity moguls. It isn't that I don't appreciate your outreach, but if you really want to help me, I need representation, one skilled enough to get me admissions of liability, as well as a new place to live. Fixed doesn't shrink away from the debate, but it also doesn't go far enough. It is too difficult to accept that a life long sterile environment in senior living is the best I can do, the brunt of pecking order mockery.
If I am going to groom to go trolling for Pat Toomey this week, I have to make it an early morning, and now believe it was the Australian disabled man who blocked me. I warned him. He made me a job offer in message, probably felt badly about it, or his proposal didn't go through.
Coalbed methane developed from a safety hazard in coal mines to an unconventional gas reservoir in the last quarter of the 20th century.-- John Seidle in his preface on reservoir engineering.
Sigourney Weaver, like Ben Kingsley, has a versatile hard edge of definition I have often dismissed over the course of her career, though of course Gorillas In the Mist is a volatile film and is meant to be, leaving us little love for the poachers we do not execute for poaching. I saw video of hunters wasting an American mountain lion once and I would have wasted the bastards and told the courts to kiss my ass, not that this is an uncommon sentiment. Passions have to go somewhere. I did not dismiss Sigourney in the alien franchise. She made a preposterous take on evolutionary theory work, and I may not be dying quite yet. It may be gas build up when I do not eat and my stool doesn't move in position for a couple of days, again, not an uncommon problem, but with my small stature staying lucid is difficult without extra sleep, and then I have to destress until fecal waste decides to move, and then Joanne, wondering what the fuck happened to her life, sort of returns, her past never her past. I am trying to get a letter from Steve Gold, a Jewish lawyer who believes he has the right to judge what a disabled woman spends on cigarettes, and I put in three telephone calls to Disabled In Action, Liberty's political arm, prior to Thanksgiving 2014, and then found myself forced to control my desire to vomit and telephoned the center, twice, and had to threaten Information and Referral with a police contact before Connie dialed my number, and in attempting to call her back I got Linda Dezenski's voicemail and blew up in it; for a manager who left, that seems rather strange.
Again, I put it to you, the center was created for quadriplegics like me. I did my job, served their ideology faithfully, and when Linda turned on me, it was like being set upon by hooligans in middle school, in addition to the personal trauma she caused me-- then Liberty's case management staff disparaged me, repeatedly saying they would or did transfer my file after I was swindled and molested by two agency attendants, and the one thing that unites Senator Toomey and a squishy liberal homosexual legislator like Brian Sims is pity. Will anyone act? I doubt it, but I have to spend all my time on this nearly obscene absurdity because I am an expendable human being, because I did not bobble head myself right back up and file with the Philadelphia Human Relations Commission and receive a pittance of a settlement, and I'm hanging by a thread with an equally corrupt Protestant corporation who's life's blood is the low income elderly as an expendable class of person. A law firm on Logan Square dialed my number, and their receptionist will not bother to tell me what type of civil litigation the firm engages in. She hung up on me when I tried to find out. Futurists, who sound like theologians when discussing the trans-optimist advance of A.I., delude themselves with the notion of singular superiority.
Efficiency models don't say much about the price of human dignity when being damaged makes you useless at the age of 36. I cracked a molar on a pork rind, and since the day I emailed Linda about it, at 36, I haven't been able to afford the dental insurance for a damaged occlusion that would cost a fortune to repair. Linda's extension is 227. For Michael Nutter, this is as close as I get to becoming a deranged spree killer, the nanny state mayor of a provincial backwater who scolded the parents of Danieal Kelly over the media airwaves. Everyone's emotional armor relinquishes, but only at funerals, when we toss dirt on the coffin with pus faces. Only the truly bereaved live their grief, all for a damn piece of paper from a Jewish attorney who judges you with the appropriate apologia for your poverty. This is my clinical expertise in the mouth of Weaver's scarred forensic therapist.
