Vocal Cords of Alyssa Milano

"This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fighting among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the order of Knights Templars--" Sir Walter Scott, one of the first to utilize the innovation of life insurance.

I spent the evening desperately looking to make a digital pitch, failed in the effort, but resolved to hit Harper’s later this week with a traditional mailing despite living conditions to the tune of a dilapidated bunker. I misplaced my hardcopy file in this melee of public housing and destitution, but misplaced it on my own, despite my father’s ineffectual convergence with minority fatalism and Mainline Medical’s deplorable product fitting, I had the file, pulling out my accomplishments, still making an effort to get Negro medical management to see me as human, barking them down to fleeing from me in terror, but didn’t place said file back into place. It is a strange power to have, this spark of hatred in my eyes so ready and willing to die in the name of an insurgency I cannot even define, as every sort of organizing principle has governance behind it, whatever equitable distribution we believe in or not. Tanz Industries and Darius might have saved civilization on a thumbnail, (not the only one disgruntled with the CBS cancelation) but the Variety piece tells us nothing except ratings. No sourcing, just a straight news item, no names, no tug of war between the show’s producers and the executives at the Central Broadcasting System who made the cut. Salvation was a damn good series for what it was, utilizing real propulsion theory and applied engineering, so that even libertarians can hate corporate sometimes, and certainly do. We all hate rental agents within varying degrees, and make no mistake that section 202 owners are engaged in the business of gerontology, but it is not a market based contracture. It is a taxpayer subsidy for a broad range of spectrum disorders in the elderly 62 and above, and I rolled into it as a 31 year old career professional. Now look at me, luckily so caged, so free to leave. I can roll out on this fraternal Presbyterian dictatorship anytime I please, after years of subjugated terror. Threatening the governor of Pennsylvania means next to nothing to me in this context. I mean that literally, despite the fact that Wolf and Ridge and the ailing Rendell are status quo establishment politicians we all used to favor. Put Wolf, the executive, and Toomey, the stalwart Irishman, in the same room, and what do you have? Both are pro-business, one doesn’t like the Social Security dispensary on the backs of American workers, the other is never going to say that Medicaid is merely a transposition for the descendants of slaves. Both would condescend to me, “now now spastic, homicide is not a legitimate political outcome.” But that’s only a veneer, and all a care giver has to do is have a bad day, leave me lying on the single foam mattress, move the power chair away. It would be interesting to discover if I still had the collegiate strength to get up off the floor, to conquer bad wheelchair technology.

The Phalanx of Walk Aways in Corrugated Engines

How about moving us up from number 3 for state corruption to 10? Then I will start to smile.

— Thomas Lynn Hamaker (@LynnHamaker) January 16, 2019

The corruption embedded in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania surrounds me like the Earth's penumbra. I have lived it intuitively, know it intimately, and had I had the ability to intern under a rational conservative such as Kinberley Strassel, then perhaps I could delineate it for you within the parameters of her no nonsense approach, but I have to strike at it with an ice pick in more dilatory fashion, wondering how much of it can be traced back to King Charles settling his debts in his aristocratic restoration with a radical egalitarian like William Penn. Probably more than we'd like to think, even though The Society of Friends has dissipated from a radical stripping down of Christian worship into a body of zealots determined at all costs to eliminate caste of any kind. Whatever accusations the left wants to hurl at conservatives for race baiting, a la Willie Horton, guilt riddled Caucasians cannot face the reality of what they subject congenital disabled individuals to as embodied in the Elwyn expose. It would be political suicide for a pedestrian such as Tom Wolf to even hint that invalids suffer even more hardship at the hands of black intransigence than they otherwise would against white indifference, and as for me, who cares? I have burned my bridges into a de facto censure from the establishment, but that doesn't make my observations less accurate or otherwise anguished: you're the one who wanted to move to the city. This is my cousin Jessica's accusation, in code, that as a deluded collegiate I too suffered from this utopian fairytale. And due to it, my rage transposed itself into the destruction of civilization that we see in a crudely constructed parable like Surrogates. Cromwell's depiction of Lionel Canter isn't as remote a possibility as you'd like to think. Family cohesion is always superseded by the institution, by the myriad clinical classifications that don't matter to the unskilled menial tasks bequeathed to African care givers. It isn't slavery anymore, of course not. They receive a salary for these crippled bodies economic necessity forces them to tend, only to have their own resentments lead them into a prosecutorial scold. But then again, I am not the only one burdened by the shame this Commonwealth's face presents to the nation. The perspective this allegation of fraud exposes is unacceptable, precisely because we all collectively deny the truth.

Grace Achieved Through Brutal Contingency

The red-team approach makes sense in the military and in consumer and technology companies, where assumptions about enemy strategy or a competitor’s plans are rooted in unknowable human choices. --Governor Whitman

Early on in my libertarian flirtation, I challenged Austin Petersen in what I hoped was friendly jostling, and he followed me back, then cautioned me on a gaffe which I did not have to make. If I explain this it will come out a bit droll, but nevertheless: I thought I could recycle a political bone out of Bush v Gore, due to a factoid from a Christine Todd Whitman opinion piece that bugged me some odd eighteen years ago, the percentage she cited. Al Gore lost his home state of Tennessee by 6 points, and had he actually carried his home state, the electoral college and the popular vote would have aligned in 2k. It baffled me that the Vice President didn’t carry his base. A local told me they thought Austin was from Tennessee, and I tagged him in error, thinking out loud on Twitter, something none of us should ever do. I explained to him that my synapses were fumbling for a story. I now know he is in quest of Missouri voters. As I’ve warned, droll, and my gratitude that he put me on his feed would have led to a rapid deflection, as he chastised that a block would ensue for off topic tags. I confused him without meaning to do so, and have come to respect him since then. But he and I are nearly polar opposites. He has the promise of his ambition. I have the scars of the welfare state. He is a social liberal. I’m not, wavering as I am, high risk invalid, with a natural inclination to purse my lips in disapproval. This would contrast sharply with his political smile, and, not that I want to shock the left, but I can see what they see: libertarians are about the alchemy of turning flax into gold. Cryptocurrency busts and the Apple fetish in Steve Jobs lifetime has the glint and weakness of chrome to it, but the left also blinds itself to the brutal truths libertarians like Austin aren’t fearful to point out. Healthcare is no more a right than unicorns are part of the equestrian family. Paul Krugman’s brain would explode if he actually applied himself to Maximus and public housing, since he sees all this as not enough expenditure. Having lived and fought and broken myself on it most of my life, throwing money at it doesn’t oxidize bureaucracy with a healthy metabolism. Some ambitious lawyer needs to sue over Maximus's centralization. It is probably an anti-trust issue.

I cannot tackle the decomposing carcass this evening, but the Commonwealth is in serious trouble with its astringent Medicaid allocations. It was always bad, but hell apparently has a guest suite in the Wolf residence. Libertarians are weak on healthcare for good reason. In rationed form, it is an aggregate enforced by public policy, like everyone getting vaccinated, these days, even that has resistance.

Earlier tonight, Adam Kokesh pulled a Petersen, and put me in his feed. And that was also an astonishment. I follow him because establishment media players know the potential for anarchy generates page views, and if my tongue in cheek column about his Liberty On The Rocks invite ran as news in Google once, I can do that again, presuming the immigrants don't hand me a malpractice claim on a platter. If everyone in PA knows Maximus is rot, I had a professional tell me that, and that Liberty Resources is a bad joke, I don't see why they don't fix it. The Olmstead Act, in context, is meaningless. Trump did not compile this deadwood. I am not entirely on board with Trump's hostility to healthy eco-systems, but I also never was a rave EPA enthusiast either.

Despair, Numb toppings

My tone has only been moderated of late out of fatigue, but my caustic bite will invariably imperil me in short order. Attendant care coordination used to be part of my job, but whether Medicaid Waiver Services were centralized into Pennsylvania's Independent Living Enrollment under Corbett or Wolf,  Maximus is a centralized Marxist obscenity, and I have absolutely no idea how to survive it. The system is worse than any of the nigger stories I've told you, just the system, which is a hornet's nest of cheap immigrant labor. I hear my followers plummeting even as I write this, knowing we all grow frail and need support, but this intake system is a disaster. The broker I met yesterday said it covers the entire Commonwealth. Hundreds of residents have probably died, or lapsed into a coma, waiting for services to kick in.

I have no more reason to live, not after this round, recuperating and failing at the same time. None, and my body stresses may not leave me much choice, soon, whether I hope to save my published works or not. The grandmothers valiantly attempting to restore me cannot see my rapid before and after prolapse in on myself, so much so the little suicide plan in my head won't work to the extent I've regressed. It isn't that I want to die, I just know depending on blacks is tantamount to a fatality, and whites ain't gonna spare me. I know it already. I cannot be a good ideological libertarian being crushed by entitlements, and if I have more time than I believe, I am campaigning for euthanasia. I part company with all who think this marginalization maintains dignity, and when I do meet the case manager, I am going to end up pissing her, him, off.

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.