Voyeurs to Spastic Climax

"I've been in worse places than your apartment."--the proprietor

It is not that I cannot work, I am recalcitrant about starting something new when I was in the middle of other things, but I suppose I can marshal my forces, weakened as they are, evaluate whether or not I need to interview Woods, and then form my questions. One thing I am not interested in, and this goes for O’Neal as well, whose publicist chose not to respond to my inquiry, though I intend to persist, is prurient “gotcha” profiles. O’Neal was too candid with Tavis Smiley in 2012. The interview was memorable, by media standards a successful expose, one in which Ryan may not have meant to reveal he was a bit bitchy, but it didn’t serve his legacy, and I prefer to learn more about craft, sans Al Pacino, who has taught his fans, fantasy fuck melt girl here included, about the art. If I do approach James, this is what I want, not his sex life, or his scorecard political bites. I want the work, some intangible insight into his magnetism, and if I’ve fallen in love just a little, from a distance, I can afford it. It may even smooth out my ability to finesse over and above letting the world know I’m owed for my own continuously browbeat ability: Dana got me on the toilet, and I am weak, but not quite that weak, and perhaps should sue Mike. The code, in disability culture, is wheelchair mechanics are supposed to get it, and I feel betrayed, because Mike’s sensibility is I’m supposed to know how to build my own chair. That is his job, even if his wife is sick, I don’t know how it assuages his personal life to drag me down the drain with him. What I do may not matter if what I do is too late, and he places demands on me I can’t meet, Trudy Richardson wants what’s best for me? How is pressure sores on a bad machine good for me, not even able to go to the bathroom without a thirty year old woman pole vaulting my body because I can’t help her on a scooter device which impedes me? And the answer to this is to have a rookie cop haul me off for psychiatric care? Penn Medicine bounced me back to Riverside in record speed, the police having washed their hands, and Trudy says “well you don’t have to be so aggressive.”

Yes I do. I would not have survived independent living collusion if I hadn’t been so aggressive, if I had not made an effort to put dirty laundry front and center, and then there’s Mike, like a damn body slam, toss the product and then reel the hook, so long, and good luck, an old man with a sick wife burying me along side him, this is why I believe violence needs to create upheaval. Trauma teaches the complacent a lesson.

Not Paddock’s way, no. McVeigh was closer, and he and Nichols posed a threat to the state. This is what disability activism needs, a leader smart enough to threaten the compliance models represented by the Richardson’s and the Nancy Lotz’s of the world. But whether it is cousins, or private hires, or state aides, housekeeping takes precedence over what small contentment I held to. “The apartment looks cleaner,” a false positive, signifying nothing, other than I am right, and have been right all along. I need to be sacrificed for the sake of sanitation, and if that’s the case, why not let me go to sleep? Because the Pope says all life is precious, to the last. If we really believe that, Presbyterian Homes and Liberty Resources would have admitted negligence long ago, but we deny, then reveal too much, and burrow, the damn human race. I claim the right to pave the way for a new age militancy, as good as my word, researching Krugman on trade, a militant that will follow in my wake, since I am not diabolical nor quite ruthless enough, not gouging out the eyes of my CO, like Alvarez, in his senseless, senseless cage. Tom Brady critically injured on the field? That would be a start. A call to arms!

Oklahoma City

Laid down like a good girl to rest my legs at 4:30 pm Tuesday with the Comtrex engine thrumming not more than a quarter mile from my back window. Reluctantly sat up at 7:30 to browbeat the Senate Majority Leader again over his discourtesy to Merrick Garland, like a rapid cur shredding opportunism, transferred, pissed urinal aperture nearly perfectly, debated my libertarian twitter intrigues and how far I'm willing to go, scowling. For a cripple evacuating herself with a snowball's chance in hell of evading the worst, I'm taking my own sweet fucking time, triply mad because I wanted to revive McVeigh and approached Brian Doherty about it and what do I discover on PBS this evening? Someone else revived McVeigh, and in the taffy of so many ideas being out there, I thought it was inconceivable that my pitch had mainstream traction, but this is a dirty rotten business. Am I mad at Brian? No, but I am not superhuman, and to pitch 250 times a month, eat, clean up my bowel, work my own projects, and expect lightning is not exactly the God complex memory of anal penetration. What Woodruff described wasn't my idea exactly. I have to go back and look, but some motherfucker beat me on giving Oklahoma a fresh eye, and you can all drop dead for all I fucking care. I've been amazing, to survive what I have over the last 18 years on top of earlier familial tragedy and systemic medical paradigms. Liberals love to point out that what my former Liberty family, and the cunt-sucking activists did to me can cause strokes, neighing like jackasses about inequality and sickness, and the trauma was almost too much, and here I am, swinging and getting sucker punched. I'd probably up my profile if I did give federal agents reason to create the dowager dossier, but my hit list is merely comprised of Commonwealth dregs not worth the pressure. An expendable godmother doesn't come with pre-packaged Lee Harvey Oswald mystique. Let's see now if she can transfer back to sleep, last pleasure in life hot coffee with soy flavored non-dairy. Despite terms of service, I'd shred Josie in public with blatant indifference, but I wilted her before, repeatedly, and missed my calling as the lesbian cower professional, much like felines specialize in snapping hyena spines.

Travesty Optimization

Applying the proportionality test to both negative and positive rights may undermine any margin of appreciation of the [sic] state authorities.  This gives rise to the problem of over-determination.-- Dual authors Klatt and Meeter, The Constitutional Structure of Proportionality, p 86

How one views the Lionel Tate case, almost twenty years old, depends on your filter. Dana Canedy doesn't bother to cast doubt on the "wrestling defense," because The New York Times couldn't fathom how the prosecutor filed for premeditation, while it is overtly challenged by Bill Kurtis three years later. And then, true to form for troubled African American men, Tate engages in recidivism. It tempts reactions along the lines of dangerous eugenic fallacies, but ethnicity is not a meaningless term, certainly not in the medical field, and in jurisprudence, experts eradicate bias through pretense. Caste, social station, are irrelevant behind the shield of our systems process. Never mind that, according to accepted norms, if you baby sit a six year old and leave her with your son twice her size and hear cries of distress, you get yourself out of bed and check. Kathleen Grossett-Tate was culpable in the death of Tiffany Eunick, but what do we wind up with? Traumatized liberal attorneys, a besmirched ADA, a judge who couldn't craft an appropriate punishment because his hands were tied by state guidelines, a single mother scarred for life by the loss of her little girl, a governor currently limping along in the primaries who attempted to split the difference in a glaringly ineffectual fashion, and the United States once again exposes its bongo justice, during the Clinton years, to foreign ridicule.

At the time this case became one in a series of sensational events the state of Florida just keeps on giving, I was a fledgling journalist. The lesbian ADAPT activist gave me a byline, and the rest is moot, given present earnings capacity. I did not really understand search, and came late to Google, which is why I intuit a vague familiarity, at best, with the trial.

Similarly, during the last days in the life of David Koresh, I was a work incentives advocate due to the wide latitude of a Pew Charitable Trust grant, and Waco was for all intents and purposes a prelude to Xbox, where we begin to lose the ability to differentiate collateral damage. I accepted the concern for the welfare of the children as paramount over and above a radical sect to command adherents as it pleased. Against the stress of case management, it was dramatic entertainment which might have been negotiated better, but hardly a trigger for sedition, sans McVeigh. What created him, what created ISIS, isn't going to fizzle due to drone technology, especially when one's former youthful enthusiasm evaporates because a female feline dashes out in the hallway, gnaws neighbor's trash after you spent the holiday morning chasing cat chow, screaming "Get the fuck in the studio," and Tim opens his door, helping you reign in a spayed foster rescue little bigger than a football. She puked outside Jim's door, the brother with end stage renal disease. I wanted a writing studio exactly like that of Andre Dubus, and instead, I am like a samurai gutting her intestines, familial aspirations imploded, after a middle class life more affluent than this.

My father doesn't want to see me; the sister put him up to it. I don't want him in my unit. He should go back to die at Myrtle Beach, and I envision my own demise in a deportation cell outside of Paris, dreaming of a much more inclusive global conflict than that Niall Ferguson or Jennifer Rubin might see ahead.

Oklahoma City

it strains belief to suppose that this appalling crime was the work of two men--any two men. I believe it came about because of foreign involvement. I also believe our government might have prevented the whole thing. --Stephen Jones, Others Unknown

To take a cue from a titular local, and change direction when the geopolitical tilt is in a certain head wind, I do believe that reverberations remain in the wake of McVeigh's and Nichols' attempt to schism federal cohesion, though I am altogether uncertain that federal agents involved in the back end of building the case against the co-conspirators would have sat on the knowledge of foreign handlers. As McVeigh's defense lawyer, Jones is still advocating for his doomed client, attempting to shift the burden. If there is a burden to shift, I think it is domestic, close-lipped, bound in the code of western frontier silence, and now is as good a time as any to imagine there are stones still to be upturned.

According to Hollywood's pro-forma logic in Arlington Road, which isn't new, as utilized the same device in the more placid Parallax View, sating Warren's liberal hard on, government commissions accept the patsies created for them by black ops. Jeff Bridges moves from point to point, believes he's uncovering a home grown coup devised by Tim Robbins, and instead becomes the fall guy shielding the shadow syndicate, and nothing works that smoothly. If it did, Chinese authorities wouldn't debase themselves through the use of brute force for the sake of central planning.

But what Jones and the studio system do tap into is our underlying knowledge of civil service competency. It doesn't exist, and as such, all governments go to great lengths to assure us otherwise, hence, there is our cover up, proof of how debilitating it is to make it appear that Hillary Clinton actually deserves her authority.

Catharsis Resolution

In the aftermath of the bombing, I wrote that I felt pity for Jadar Tsarnaev, and that still holds true despite my anger at Mueller's lack of proficiency. I pity Tamerlan's corpse even while home grown outrage flows in my veins, veins desirous of expatriation and powerless to effect this transition. (Ah, I blaspheme for this dream) I have always been one of those annoying tight asses. Never cheated, never swindled, and this city of my birth has done absolutely nothing but punish me for my efforts to be a straight arrow. My anger may be concentrated on Linda's utter lack of consideration for the games she plays with our limited lives, my former supervisor, but this state insurer is a criminal enterprise, and the suffering Keystone cost me in 2007 when they dropped me after I lost Medicaid cannot be undone. I anticipated cuts in benefits after my mother died and did not care, as I wanted to resume my career, but I did not foresee that Medicare would kill me in order to protect itself from the fact that I depend on durable, functioning power chairs. Krugman, or John the Baptist with a .222 scope rifle, likes to point out that 60% of US healthcare is already socialized medicine, but leaves it to Keifer to fight veterans administration medicine regulatory overload in typical Hollywood point guard fashion.

The punishment my body absorbed from state retraction and federal compliance protections cannot be undone. It may be biopsied, and may be treatable, and may even be partly related to the fact that I am a feline pin cushion, but it can not be undone without impairing me to a point of questionable helplessness, and then the mighty mice progressives wonder at my lack of civility when minority rubes surround me in my doorway with the threat of making me someone else's problem. This is how the Presbyterian protestant exploitation deploys itself in the name of good works?

Putting young Jadar to death solves nothing. American autonomous notions remain threatened, however illusory they may be in fact, regardless of whether or not young Tsarnaev's lethal injection, if it comes to that, emerges as a ludicrous telecast on Good Morning America, so what does the administration of justice ever truly achieve? Have McVeigh's victims been able to heal? Are they satisfied or does our home bred insurrectionist haunt them?

What we hope for, I think, is the retraction of the corruption, and if I can pass away knowing that I have curbed the worst excesses of this segregationist model, I will at least have some measure of peace, even as I search for a new support network. I could try becoming the Rosenbach loon, having finally written their name, but wouldn't that be a test of secular tolerance.

I opened up with the group a little at our last meet, now that closure is coming. They are not so bad. Don't faint. I'll retype it if you want me to reaffirm the majority bipedal species can actually be tolerable.