It was not so long ago that Americans such as I witnessed a Russia, if not in the second act of the Bolshevik Revolution, was at the least doubled over by a herniated disk, courtesy of glasnost. It is sufficient, in this context, to weigh the President-Elect's remarks about Putin as not entirely inaccurate. The former KGB clerk is a wily fox, getting bit on his ass by Erdogan's colorful bipolar method of governance. It impresses me immeasurably that Mevlut Mert martyred himself for a lost cause, for believing in Obama's "red line" that, oh, wait a minute, the Land of Oz was but a poor girl's ennui on the plains of Kansas, and the Ottoman's poor imitation of a secular empire in an equally corroded Islamic mindset needs a dose of political lithium, evidently. I am running up my last few MB, since I have no funds to roll to the ATT outlet where I could work, mind, but have no money now to haggle over wireless upgrades on my old PC's, and since I am running them, don't have a great deal of time, but both Putin and Erdogan are so clever they are out maneuvering themselves. I know the Turkish foreign service did a double take. I know Iran and the Russian Federation are having a slurpee over the beatitudes woven into the price of Syrian stability, but don't ever forget what constitutes true heroism. Regardless of what I do about my personal situation in the next few months, I'm out of time: safe bathroom transfers are the stubborn persistence of bio-kinetic memory, and if I refuse to obey re-certification, I am essentially giving the ambulatory world what it wants: my enslavement so serfs can earn low wage groceries, but like Mevlut, some principles are worth cutting it short, going down on your own two feet. That is rebellion that never forgets, the kind that changes world order. Stand up to the state. This young man did something that could change history faster than 20 truck wild terrorists.
History may be doomed to repeat, but never in an exact correlation to the heyday of Marxist theory at its worst.
Showing posts with label syria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label syria. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Sister Trolling
Medium keeps its contributors informed about page views, and I suppose, because I was posting off the cuff, my comment on the Ask Ethan post about black hole theory correction picked up over a hundred views. I took some physics at Temple University and nearly flunked out, but this doesn't mean I despise the study of space. Most of it is counter intuitive even for the mathematical minds which grasp it, but what I meant, without entirely understanding extraordinary mass condensation, is: If we presuppose universes repeat themselves due to impaction, consciousness doesn't seem to repeat with it. I do not feel loss of identity when my cellular waste builds in my colon and discharges. We do not remember the squeal of pigs being electrocuted for their succulent flesh once we ingest pork, so information is in fact lost on a biological level. Information is lost on a cultural level as well, and we'll never learn as much as we need to to defeat destructive capacities of entropy. We're apes. Smart apes, the most dangerous species yet encountered, but apes, slightly better engineered, and while the equations may have been proven through induction, language itself imposes its own limitations.
Whatever the viability of theories on black holes and strings, motion and matter does not think about itself in those terms. Holes, strings. Simple implements of mammal amusements. Are physicists going to argue that energy is a living element? Stars are a chemical process, partial oxidation, partial hydrogen bomb. They aren't conscious, they aren't minds with directional intent. We'll never comprehend why particles and waves exist, why they create chemicals, nor why chemicals under the right conditions ingest themselves and reproduce, nor even define thinking. Thoughts have no mass. They evolved with the basic plankton brain, but do not exist. The only evidence we have for thought are the images of brain activity, but brain activity is not itself evidence of directional imperative. For that we have DVD teleplays.
Beneath opens with an interesting premise, seems to have a touch of after.life to it, which I admire intellectually, and then decelerates into a creature elimination film whose denouement shrivels on the vine. What is mildly intriguing about the script is survival guilt conjoined to the moral lesson of medical model brutality, not something burn victims with chronic irritation need to view when they feel their life slipping away, toying with the fact that familial bonds are the best humans can do, but with denial being necessary. Beneath the surface, sisters hate each other, whatever tender moments between them. My sister and I have a multitude of stakes within our defense mechanisms: shared abuse, a sister who should never have lived.
The disabled community makes excuses for those with minimal awareness, but I am going to be cruel. People like my sister Michelle should be put down. She lived 22 years in hell, even if she did not know it. Toward the end she struggled with constant lung fluid, and my parents did the right thing, but were wrong to let her live at all, and I'm making this assertion with my mother's sister free to read my link. I love my aunt, mind, but Disability In Arts is in part a last will and testament by a woman in a precarious position who allowed her life to be destroyed by intensely disappointed emotional investments in people and indoctrinations, a woman more than likely to be defeated by the metastasis of dubious African American competency, which has infested Western standards beyond repair, although it is true the citizens of Rome waited Hannibal out, and whatever the tactics of the general on his elephant, went on to rule the world. The European Union should fly the Syrian refugees to Russia.
If Putin is supporting Alawite ruthlessness with material, then let the leader of the Russian Federation handle the consequences.
Whatever the viability of theories on black holes and strings, motion and matter does not think about itself in those terms. Holes, strings. Simple implements of mammal amusements. Are physicists going to argue that energy is a living element? Stars are a chemical process, partial oxidation, partial hydrogen bomb. They aren't conscious, they aren't minds with directional intent. We'll never comprehend why particles and waves exist, why they create chemicals, nor why chemicals under the right conditions ingest themselves and reproduce, nor even define thinking. Thoughts have no mass. They evolved with the basic plankton brain, but do not exist. The only evidence we have for thought are the images of brain activity, but brain activity is not itself evidence of directional imperative. For that we have DVD teleplays.
Beneath opens with an interesting premise, seems to have a touch of after.life to it, which I admire intellectually, and then decelerates into a creature elimination film whose denouement shrivels on the vine. What is mildly intriguing about the script is survival guilt conjoined to the moral lesson of medical model brutality, not something burn victims with chronic irritation need to view when they feel their life slipping away, toying with the fact that familial bonds are the best humans can do, but with denial being necessary. Beneath the surface, sisters hate each other, whatever tender moments between them. My sister and I have a multitude of stakes within our defense mechanisms: shared abuse, a sister who should never have lived.
The disabled community makes excuses for those with minimal awareness, but I am going to be cruel. People like my sister Michelle should be put down. She lived 22 years in hell, even if she did not know it. Toward the end she struggled with constant lung fluid, and my parents did the right thing, but were wrong to let her live at all, and I'm making this assertion with my mother's sister free to read my link. I love my aunt, mind, but Disability In Arts is in part a last will and testament by a woman in a precarious position who allowed her life to be destroyed by intensely disappointed emotional investments in people and indoctrinations, a woman more than likely to be defeated by the metastasis of dubious African American competency, which has infested Western standards beyond repair, although it is true the citizens of Rome waited Hannibal out, and whatever the tactics of the general on his elephant, went on to rule the world. The European Union should fly the Syrian refugees to Russia.
If Putin is supporting Alawite ruthlessness with material, then let the leader of the Russian Federation handle the consequences.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Taps
High features, naturally strong and powerfully expressive, had been burnt almost into Negro blackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun," Sir Walter Scott, Ivanhoe
The more we learn. It was an accidental circumstance that a Jewish public housing tenant, who is in a comparatively soiled outhouse more lowly than the gorilla below me, reconnected me to mental illness empowerment intake; my anger was triggered because I asked the aforementioned tenant for more information, and should know by now that ethnic Communists undergo lobotomies in terms of gate-keeping skills. My spirit, my very essence, needs a change, and the reason America is in jeremiad is because the social safety net is destroying our ability to take the initiative, and my starvation for fresh space is turning into a pathology, and it need not.
This is not about mood swings. I have client confidentiality I need to maintain-- Christ-- but I knew well enough how pedestrian Edward is-- never again. Never. You may hold me accountable. No more overtures to public housing residents. That the president has lost all credibility with me is not nearly as disconcerting, but represents a national disheartening. I would prefer to leave the country, seriously. I can more readily doom myself under European case management than rot in the city of my birth, watching my digital clocks tick. Given the time I should be resting, but I am trying to contract typhoid like John Malkovich, who also does blindness in his first major supporting role. Actors never get it right, even the top billed like Malkovich whose face is now in protean death mask stage, sightlessness. Not Cameron Diaz in Garcia's vignettes.
Things You Can Tell is very good, merges into itself and its inclusionary frictions, yet I balk at saying it is a great film meshing disability, urban loons drawn familiar, to our recognition. I have dealt with Garcia as auteur before-- but the film doesn't fit on the mantelpiece properly in terms of really challenging viewers. This is how I am dealing with it now. With Garcia, it is about the magical realism of the father. The style is a shield, because we know we're looking for nuances of interpretation. These days we're all magical realists, our wars fought to be cached on YouTube. Living the science fiction we read as affixed adolescents, our government at the bidding of a Charlie Rose scoop. Yet despots fascinate us. Admit it. We create narratives around them, held by megalomania, giddy when it is fractured by hubris. Mussolini hung like a dead and bloated mule carcass. Czar Nicholas out of tune and executed in countless variations of Doctor Zhivago; all of Russian literature is Doctor Zhivago, the American induced mortal illness of Hugo Chavez, or Elizabeth's beheading of Mary Queen of Scotts via Glenda Jackson.
The blind rarely have a fixed eyeball. Their countenance usually has the appearance of a pronounced brow ridge.
Some affection for Isabelle Allende. The aide who received the stories of Eva Luna recognized me this morning. She was a single mother child herself years ago. Blows to the solar plexus aren't helpful. Deep breaths. I thought Edward Berkowitz cared enough about my concerns to be discriminating, and taking a few minutes to categorize the situation behind these private lectures he disseminated with Zen-like laissez-faire would have shielded me from a past with very negative consequences. Perhaps some of you understand how leaving a job is like a divorce. He worries my use of detail compromises online safety, but my emotional vulnerability never crossed his mind; he and I know each other and have the ability to ascertain each other's reality, unlike forum moderators. Existential hopelessness.
The more we learn. It was an accidental circumstance that a Jewish public housing tenant, who is in a comparatively soiled outhouse more lowly than the gorilla below me, reconnected me to mental illness empowerment intake; my anger was triggered because I asked the aforementioned tenant for more information, and should know by now that ethnic Communists undergo lobotomies in terms of gate-keeping skills. My spirit, my very essence, needs a change, and the reason America is in jeremiad is because the social safety net is destroying our ability to take the initiative, and my starvation for fresh space is turning into a pathology, and it need not.
This is not about mood swings. I have client confidentiality I need to maintain-- Christ-- but I knew well enough how pedestrian Edward is-- never again. Never. You may hold me accountable. No more overtures to public housing residents. That the president has lost all credibility with me is not nearly as disconcerting, but represents a national disheartening. I would prefer to leave the country, seriously. I can more readily doom myself under European case management than rot in the city of my birth, watching my digital clocks tick. Given the time I should be resting, but I am trying to contract typhoid like John Malkovich, who also does blindness in his first major supporting role. Actors never get it right, even the top billed like Malkovich whose face is now in protean death mask stage, sightlessness. Not Cameron Diaz in Garcia's vignettes.
Things You Can Tell is very good, merges into itself and its inclusionary frictions, yet I balk at saying it is a great film meshing disability, urban loons drawn familiar, to our recognition. I have dealt with Garcia as auteur before-- but the film doesn't fit on the mantelpiece properly in terms of really challenging viewers. This is how I am dealing with it now. With Garcia, it is about the magical realism of the father. The style is a shield, because we know we're looking for nuances of interpretation. These days we're all magical realists, our wars fought to be cached on YouTube. Living the science fiction we read as affixed adolescents, our government at the bidding of a Charlie Rose scoop. Yet despots fascinate us. Admit it. We create narratives around them, held by megalomania, giddy when it is fractured by hubris. Mussolini hung like a dead and bloated mule carcass. Czar Nicholas out of tune and executed in countless variations of Doctor Zhivago; all of Russian literature is Doctor Zhivago, the American induced mortal illness of Hugo Chavez, or Elizabeth's beheading of Mary Queen of Scotts via Glenda Jackson.
The blind rarely have a fixed eyeball. Their countenance usually has the appearance of a pronounced brow ridge.
Some affection for Isabelle Allende. The aide who received the stories of Eva Luna recognized me this morning. She was a single mother child herself years ago. Blows to the solar plexus aren't helpful. Deep breaths. I thought Edward Berkowitz cared enough about my concerns to be discriminating, and taking a few minutes to categorize the situation behind these private lectures he disseminated with Zen-like laissez-faire would have shielded me from a past with very negative consequences. Perhaps some of you understand how leaving a job is like a divorce. He worries my use of detail compromises online safety, but my emotional vulnerability never crossed his mind; he and I know each other and have the ability to ascertain each other's reality, unlike forum moderators. Existential hopelessness.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
American Buffalo, Chit
"Turn on your television set." -- My mother.
9/11 was both a real and surreal horror. Engaged in an unsuccessful fling with a married therapist with spina bifida at the time, he was free therapy who did not heal me, and he had a farm not many miles from the flight 93 crash. Our dialogue ceased because we were not going to have sex, but not in the immediate aftermath of the great event. I had also lived in NYC and been to the Twin Towers. Disconnected and in shockwaves of outrage at the same time, I wanted a response. Overkill. If it had been me in charge I would have wiped out the Saudi royal family, turned Afghanistan into the Fukushima wasteland. The Bush family had more vested interests, and granted, between the Bush wars and the establishment of the Obama administration, American prowess killed many Islamic radicals, but the people in power did a lousy job.
We've had the response, and thirteen years later, we are going to play war games in Damascus to curb Hezbollah's temptation to acquire chemical agents? Why not let Turkey's Erdogan echo the imperial Ottoman Empire and be our proxy? He would put boots on the ground in Syria; I am not a policy analyst, but I read them choc through my ear inflammation, and I really do not see that a missile strike against Bashar is going to do any good; he is a despot as much by default as anything. What is a missile strike going to achieve in a sectarian schism that is creating gimps and paralytics by the minute? The BBC had some surreal footage of the capital, and I saw a man limping, supporting himself on cuff crutches. Google has everything now, even our dead, the ghosts of our memories.
My mother and I did not have a healthy relationship; we set each other off, especially toward the end. My sister killed her by relying on her to support the grandchildren. I killed her because she made me miserable and I broke my engagement to the imbecile one floor below me who is a bedridden industry for the Pennsylvania threadbare social safety net. Never get involved with public housing tenants if you wind up going into public housing, never. Do not have sex, simulated sex, and don't get too friendly. Keep an appropriate distance, and work with me to eliminate the Department of Housing and Urban Development. We'll remain a superpower that much longer.
9/11 was both a real and surreal horror. Engaged in an unsuccessful fling with a married therapist with spina bifida at the time, he was free therapy who did not heal me, and he had a farm not many miles from the flight 93 crash. Our dialogue ceased because we were not going to have sex, but not in the immediate aftermath of the great event. I had also lived in NYC and been to the Twin Towers. Disconnected and in shockwaves of outrage at the same time, I wanted a response. Overkill. If it had been me in charge I would have wiped out the Saudi royal family, turned Afghanistan into the Fukushima wasteland. The Bush family had more vested interests, and granted, between the Bush wars and the establishment of the Obama administration, American prowess killed many Islamic radicals, but the people in power did a lousy job.
We've had the response, and thirteen years later, we are going to play war games in Damascus to curb Hezbollah's temptation to acquire chemical agents? Why not let Turkey's Erdogan echo the imperial Ottoman Empire and be our proxy? He would put boots on the ground in Syria; I am not a policy analyst, but I read them choc through my ear inflammation, and I really do not see that a missile strike against Bashar is going to do any good; he is a despot as much by default as anything. What is a missile strike going to achieve in a sectarian schism that is creating gimps and paralytics by the minute? The BBC had some surreal footage of the capital, and I saw a man limping, supporting himself on cuff crutches. Google has everything now, even our dead, the ghosts of our memories.
My mother and I did not have a healthy relationship; we set each other off, especially toward the end. My sister killed her by relying on her to support the grandchildren. I killed her because she made me miserable and I broke my engagement to the imbecile one floor below me who is a bedridden industry for the Pennsylvania threadbare social safety net. Never get involved with public housing tenants if you wind up going into public housing, never. Do not have sex, simulated sex, and don't get too friendly. Keep an appropriate distance, and work with me to eliminate the Department of Housing and Urban Development. We'll remain a superpower that much longer.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Houyhnhnms
...there will be found the future warriors of the faith who will march out one day, burning and slaying in Christ's name, against a heathen Europe sunk in corruption, to see at last, amid the smoking ruins of Rome, a black Pope will sit on the throne of Peter.--Hermann Broch, The Sleepwalkers, p.29
Two pitches in one month, wow, aren't things looking just grand? The failure of my hearing loss article came about because I looked at deafness and chronic conditions as distinct, and then became rapidly confused, and beyond that I am still running a ticker tape, revising the pitch. Tried to behave with the editor as these losses are costly, and I am sulky about that, and have been sulky most of the week as it is the holiday and I'd like to get out and have no plans. Sticky and grumpy and for you, no doubt, your shower is routine. For me it is a damn death dance and I cannot do it today. Dana Byrd wrote me a short personal note on my membership renewal request, thanking me for participating in the Ulysses group last year, as if it was somehow commendable that spastic Italian trolls rubbed shoulders at the intersection of Dublin and Jerusalem. When I last saw her she was impeccable. Member appreciation night. Tight blond bun, blemished slightly by acne, she seemed preoccupied with her own worries, perhaps that her employment wasn't up to scale? Or a lover's rift, and despite the fact that I am on the edge, the brink of true madness, maintaining my membership matters. Next week it shall be renewed, because I believe in the preservation of what we were.
I can barely remember the pleasurable heat of a man's penis inside me. More than likely I will never again have the opportunity for willing and consensual pleasure, and I am angry about that too. But let me qualify: I am mad that Obama essentially changed nothing; I am mad that the tea party essentially changed nothing and in addition, they seem to think behaving like morons is a virtue. I am an American, regardless of my lust for Tuscan soil, but I am tired and have been beaten down by the disabled community in this city, no less, by a landlord that now walks on egg shells with me, by my declining strength, and for the Europeans and others who have viewed my posts, forget the myth of American exceptionalism. It works only for a minority, and of that minority, fewer sustain success through the course of a lifetime. Corporations can be compassionate to loyal cripples, of course, and I blow a kiss to old Ma Bell, but more than likely I will not be blogging after 2014, whether on Google's platform or another. My debt default will hound me to my grave, and no one cares about independent living center collusion, nor what it did to me; this is peanuts in the scales of corruption, and I am sure the feds will get right on it when I get to them; my health and ability will never be the same, however, and in a counter narrative I could just surrender and heed Veronica, find a care facility and then wait in pain because I am still strong willed, not ready to die.
Can't you just live your life?
The risks involved in taking a leap of faith once again at my age are different than yours, and I'd be alone in taking them. I have very little new manuscripts to submit, and I have to start culling these posts for transformation. I hope that odor is a gasoline discharge wafting in, rather than something in the studio. None of the powers laid a finger on China over Tiananmen but the Alawites need to be scolded into the next century's persecuted minority. I cannot imagine the loyalists around the Assads could not calculate the risks of a mass carnage. I did not know Hafez was guilty of the similar atrocities when I used to read Time's coverage of his rule. I thought in black and white terms. Good guys and bad, but I can envision dying by a police taser, if disease doesn't get me first.
Two pitches in one month, wow, aren't things looking just grand? The failure of my hearing loss article came about because I looked at deafness and chronic conditions as distinct, and then became rapidly confused, and beyond that I am still running a ticker tape, revising the pitch. Tried to behave with the editor as these losses are costly, and I am sulky about that, and have been sulky most of the week as it is the holiday and I'd like to get out and have no plans. Sticky and grumpy and for you, no doubt, your shower is routine. For me it is a damn death dance and I cannot do it today. Dana Byrd wrote me a short personal note on my membership renewal request, thanking me for participating in the Ulysses group last year, as if it was somehow commendable that spastic Italian trolls rubbed shoulders at the intersection of Dublin and Jerusalem. When I last saw her she was impeccable. Member appreciation night. Tight blond bun, blemished slightly by acne, she seemed preoccupied with her own worries, perhaps that her employment wasn't up to scale? Or a lover's rift, and despite the fact that I am on the edge, the brink of true madness, maintaining my membership matters. Next week it shall be renewed, because I believe in the preservation of what we were.
I can barely remember the pleasurable heat of a man's penis inside me. More than likely I will never again have the opportunity for willing and consensual pleasure, and I am angry about that too. But let me qualify: I am mad that Obama essentially changed nothing; I am mad that the tea party essentially changed nothing and in addition, they seem to think behaving like morons is a virtue. I am an American, regardless of my lust for Tuscan soil, but I am tired and have been beaten down by the disabled community in this city, no less, by a landlord that now walks on egg shells with me, by my declining strength, and for the Europeans and others who have viewed my posts, forget the myth of American exceptionalism. It works only for a minority, and of that minority, fewer sustain success through the course of a lifetime. Corporations can be compassionate to loyal cripples, of course, and I blow a kiss to old Ma Bell, but more than likely I will not be blogging after 2014, whether on Google's platform or another. My debt default will hound me to my grave, and no one cares about independent living center collusion, nor what it did to me; this is peanuts in the scales of corruption, and I am sure the feds will get right on it when I get to them; my health and ability will never be the same, however, and in a counter narrative I could just surrender and heed Veronica, find a care facility and then wait in pain because I am still strong willed, not ready to die.
Can't you just live your life?
The risks involved in taking a leap of faith once again at my age are different than yours, and I'd be alone in taking them. I have very little new manuscripts to submit, and I have to start culling these posts for transformation. I hope that odor is a gasoline discharge wafting in, rather than something in the studio. None of the powers laid a finger on China over Tiananmen but the Alawites need to be scolded into the next century's persecuted minority. I cannot imagine the loyalists around the Assads could not calculate the risks of a mass carnage. I did not know Hafez was guilty of the similar atrocities when I used to read Time's coverage of his rule. I thought in black and white terms. Good guys and bad, but I can envision dying by a police taser, if disease doesn't get me first.
Chapter 17, Four Seasons in Damascus
What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire?-- James Joyce, Ulysses, pg 522
Balefully intrigued, I may look at Almost Human beyond the pilot, but it presupposes a successful reintegration of damaged individuals, and this strains credulity, regardless of how futuristic the techniques of law enforcement, and the expenses of production being such that we need preseason press conferences, though perhaps these have always existed since the creation of movie cameras. Despite this blog, and despite the fact that I hope to develop a few articles out of it, and know I am good enough to interview Jodie Foster, I am still studying however, and waiting for a respectful idea to percolate that is different but still publishable, despite all this, I loathe the industry most of the time, despite its significant intersection with literature. If we are not utterly lampooning on the side of Milton Berle and The Three Stooges, or depicting a hackneyed dime novel on the set, these days, we are rigorously imitating the collapse of the United States, and I can see Jay Carney playing himself in a film funded by the MPLA once the dust settles, and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia realigns itself with China for regional hegemony.
It is actually about regime change, and I am angry enough to be dangerous. What holds me in check is not physical helplessness, though that is an issue; it is the knowledge that if I wanted to engage in an insurrection I'd lose, and also the understanding that I could not do any better than all the other assholes in politics. If NBC cancels Hannibal I will take to the streets. I understand Syrians are suffering, but the US has been engaged in failed military action in the Islamic world for over a decade. John McCain keeps rationalizing like a caveman hinging on our military superiority. That superiority isn't going to hold or even last very long when the social safety net keeps spitting out shattered lives.
Balefully intrigued, I may look at Almost Human beyond the pilot, but it presupposes a successful reintegration of damaged individuals, and this strains credulity, regardless of how futuristic the techniques of law enforcement, and the expenses of production being such that we need preseason press conferences, though perhaps these have always existed since the creation of movie cameras. Despite this blog, and despite the fact that I hope to develop a few articles out of it, and know I am good enough to interview Jodie Foster, I am still studying however, and waiting for a respectful idea to percolate that is different but still publishable, despite all this, I loathe the industry most of the time, despite its significant intersection with literature. If we are not utterly lampooning on the side of Milton Berle and The Three Stooges, or depicting a hackneyed dime novel on the set, these days, we are rigorously imitating the collapse of the United States, and I can see Jay Carney playing himself in a film funded by the MPLA once the dust settles, and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia realigns itself with China for regional hegemony.
It is actually about regime change, and I am angry enough to be dangerous. What holds me in check is not physical helplessness, though that is an issue; it is the knowledge that if I wanted to engage in an insurrection I'd lose, and also the understanding that I could not do any better than all the other assholes in politics. If NBC cancels Hannibal I will take to the streets. I understand Syrians are suffering, but the US has been engaged in failed military action in the Islamic world for over a decade. John McCain keeps rationalizing like a caveman hinging on our military superiority. That superiority isn't going to hold or even last very long when the social safety net keeps spitting out shattered lives.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Arianna's Umbrella
The problem of Syria is analogous to the bilateral argument between atheists and theists. If the major powers do nothing, we face the prospect of a regional military conflict that will only grow in size and scope, and might threaten Israel. If the major powers act, or take sides in a proxy conflict, then we may wind up with the same playbook, and break the bank in the process. The use of chemical agents to exterminate life is an engagement of excessive torment on living bodies. Physical torture is one thing, but poisons are another, an overwrought condensed agony living things should not have to experience from human manufacture. Our planet is deadly enough on its own, and more to the point, Assad who trained to be an ophthalmologist, thinks he can get through this by utilizing Mithridatic tactics, and this not against an external enemy. Why does the Middle East remain in the mindset of eighth century jurisprudence?
On that question I submit greetings to Ms. Morin, who replaces Amy, who understandably had enough of my lack of beatitudes. Happiness is difficult to come by given one set of experiences over another, aside from my relief mechanisms in anarchy, but I have my own honor code. What I'd convey to JL Morin on far lighter terms than my above paragraph, is that I would be happy to engage in inglorious grunt work for the Huffington Post, if I understood how an aggregate works, which I only partially grasp. Fact checking is fine, and the like, since it is in the field I wish to remain with my lingering viability. We shall see.
I am risk adverse to this extent: If I snowball myself into full time work in another location and fail due to the fact that I am aging, I cannot just chuck it up to a loss and then scurry back to Philadelphia's public housing system. I have to be sure an employer can truly accommodate my limited functionality. I am still smart, to a varying degree, but need quadriplegic supports better than those received in the past, and negotiating this isn't easy. I have covered breaking news stories, and it is high octane, but obviously, going to Damascus would be absurd.
Reluctantly, I remain against a surgical intervention. What would it solve?
On that question I submit greetings to Ms. Morin, who replaces Amy, who understandably had enough of my lack of beatitudes. Happiness is difficult to come by given one set of experiences over another, aside from my relief mechanisms in anarchy, but I have my own honor code. What I'd convey to JL Morin on far lighter terms than my above paragraph, is that I would be happy to engage in inglorious grunt work for the Huffington Post, if I understood how an aggregate works, which I only partially grasp. Fact checking is fine, and the like, since it is in the field I wish to remain with my lingering viability. We shall see.
I am risk adverse to this extent: If I snowball myself into full time work in another location and fail due to the fact that I am aging, I cannot just chuck it up to a loss and then scurry back to Philadelphia's public housing system. I have to be sure an employer can truly accommodate my limited functionality. I am still smart, to a varying degree, but need quadriplegic supports better than those received in the past, and negotiating this isn't easy. I have covered breaking news stories, and it is high octane, but obviously, going to Damascus would be absurd.
Reluctantly, I remain against a surgical intervention. What would it solve?
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