As if Captain Bly Hailed from Scranton

As a corollary aside to my meeting with Krawchuk, what rankles me about former AG Kathleen Kane goes beyond political dualism, to borrow the phrase from my short lived protégé Louise. I have read at the very least a dozen articles on the Kane saga and I cannot quite offer a cogent summary: it involved an adversarial relationship with Corbett, one of the worst one term governors in PA history, the fallout from the Sandusky scandal, the pornographic emails floating around the state capital of Harrisburg (I obviously have some experience there on the municipal level), Kane's investigative overreach, paranoia, which seems justified, a shaky press conference once she was indicted, her omission to the jury in relation to any vendettas she harbored with DA's. One could simply say she was out of her depth, don't over-analyze it, and yet, her downfall, and patently unfair prison term, seems to throb with my own mortal scars. The citizens elected her, but this counted for nothing once the legal machinery kicked into place to impeach, remove, put her on trial. Representative Brian Sims, the great gay "Philadelphia hope" who could not see me, not see me at all, may have been quoted in the press telling Kane "I love you!" for not defending Pennsylvania's defense of marriage act, but once the grease hit the pan, he didn't stand by her. Typical for these cases. I did not vote for the woman, but remain disturbed. The Commonwealth is still far too much the "old boy's network," and I still have a significant residual sympathy for her vanquished star. If President Obama could release the significantly disturbed Bradley Manning from federal prison, where he should have remained, Governor Wolf could and should commute Kane's sentence. She is a mother with children of her own, and we should be able to comprehend that the destruction of Joe Paterno's legacy, the scandal that rocked Penn State, should never happen again.

Like Stanwyck on Chamberlain

"Innocence must be proven, not proclaimed."-- Vincent Winterhalter

This is one of those mornings. Spastic needs to remember she used to be a closet centrist, and for the sake of whatever impoverished pride she has left in pursuit of aesthetic diligence, really going off like an actual militant will leave other angry individuals as hollow, if I force tragedy to strike, as the tape of Robert's death left me upon viewing it. His death was meaningless, as mine would be if I left authorities with no choice but to subdue me, and I do not entirely comprehend the grievances of the Oregon radicals. I read the reporting, as some of you still do, and know that the Department of the Interior controls well over half the state, but I don't really live in da Vinci code territory. Not quite. My rental agent is a pathological liar, but that goes for most of the Commonwealth I live in, west or east, as it does for the citizens in Flint, Michigan. Even California is virtually ungovernable, Jerry Brown is simply a favored son, and so he has the benefit of being tolerated. I even have no idea what the secret society symbolism in the Finicum article I cited means, despite the fact I can sound off like a conspiracy theorist with Liberty On The Rocks when it suits me, and then turn around and message Sheldon Novick that he should be a dean of his department, on the flimsy strength of the fact that his scholarship makes him the better author between the two of us. I don't really know Dr. Novick, anymore than I can pretend an allegiance to Tony Stiles. I am in fact rather skeptical of Tony's human trafficking tweets, because at the end of the day we all go into the deli slicer where our offal makes a good salami; I don't know Tony either, though there is a six degree of separation familiarity-- and Dr. Novick and I have watched my failed potential surge against the crags for years. For his sake, should I be ashamed of my anarchist excitement?

A moral dilemma of my own making, but without reservation, Sheldon Novick has a fine mind. He is wry, doesn't scream at my cats for various infractions, and I endorse his legacy despite the fact that I am as cool to the experiment that is the state of Israel as Jennifer Rubin is to Rand Paul as the libertarian heir apparent. 

As uncouth as I've been on Blogger in the destruction of my own moderation, I never imagined a day where a first generation ERA advocate would utter sexist remarks. Sanders is too liberal even for the interior angry radical my uncle Tom once accused me of being, but I'd never accuse the women who support him of doing so for the sake of their sexual satisfaction. Steinem managed to offend me, and I am merely a lowly short circuited failure, a troll who shoots herself in the foot. When I met my gay state representative, in a lowered voice I said I'm going to give you hell, and he took it with the normative tenor of depreciation, a homosexual dandy with a veneer, when turned off, exposes what any constituent is reluctant to see revealed: an emotional armor, a ruthlessness, perhaps due to the realization of how limited his role is, reading the beaten anguish in a face like mine. Everything he stands for makes me nauseous, everything, but for him this doesn't count. I rarely vote on state or city referendums, and don't pay property taxes. Unseating him with a conservative who could take his district is a bad Fantasia script. Pennsylvania hasn't had a budget for seven months, and so the difference between Corbett and Wolf comes down to this: Corbett blamed Joe Paterno, subsequently tanking his political career, and Wolf is a cosmopolitan wall flower, a figurine in whom we've lost the faith. I dream of how happy I might have been with my thighs clamped onto Jerome Robart. I'd have never let go, in my poor, broken, bitter little heart.

Actual & Titular, Juxtaposed

Here is my state representative honoring Cassie during the holiday season, and this was probably before she was dragged out of Governor Corbett's office. In fairness to the insular culture of Liberty Resources, I have no idea what the governor's methodology was in saying no wheelchairs allowed, at the time of the incident, but as the former attorney general seems to be governing my state on the shadow of fraudulent concerns, namely that his disadvantaged constituents want to conspire to commit fraud, and I am just as equally calling this woman what she is, a paper tiger full of her own inconsistencies, both she and Tom can continue their partisan love games while I sit on the sidelines, not because I do not care, but because both of them blow through smoke screens.