The British Left of The One-Armed Man

 "When they live like that, they die like that."-- Liev Schreiber, season one apologia

Theodore Johnson is elevated into the documentary examination of how parapsychology informs on his low-burn serial murders not for the murders themselves, but because of his successful manipulation of Britain’s criminal justice system in relation to them. It is difficult to gage at this juncture whether the eleven years he received for the murder of his first wife Yvonne wasn’t an equitable balance against the loss of life, as there is no reason why a husband cannot be abused in the face of domestic discord with suicidal ideation. In this criminal defendant’s case it’s borderline as to whether mitigating circumstances applied, but to all accounts, Theodore served his full term for manslaughter before he once again married a second Yvonne, produced a daughter, and then strangled her mother. He got out on early release again because of the daughter, with a less than scrutinized stipulation that he was not to engage in relations with the opposite sex from the wagging paternalism of Europe and the United Kingdom’s belief in rehabilitation. Canada and Britain both seem to have excessively brutal murders from their emigrant populations, whether they’re Indian, Asian, Iranian (at least two of these were particularly savage), or as in this case, Jamaican. Retired DCI Colin Sutton, with traditional Anglo-Saxon shrewdness, may delineate the investigation and mechanisms for British and American audiences alike, but he and other documentary analysts, including psychologist Linda Papadopoulos, fail to ever mention geographical displacement or immigration policy. Why not? Is this somehow a liberal taboo, particularly as it relates to the European forge in the creation of Jamaica today? Although film critics assert that Marlon Brando’s neo-imperialist movie Burn is hot to trot about the domino effect regarding incursions into Vietnam, it reads far more closely about British guilt over hanging Paul Bogle for killing civilized Caucasians, and of course, no judge today is that self-conscious as it relates to clemency for indigenous individuals in this age of technocratic supremacy, but the case that being too lenient with the descendants of human trafficking is as harsh as being too authoritarian can be made, and it cost Angela Best her life, because apparently, the only humans who still know how to draw lines in the sand are Nigerian extremists, but let’s not forget Johnson himself; it’s theorized that his last suicide attempt, throwing himself in front of a train, was germane, setting himself up as the nebulous figure which drove David Janssen and his pursuer through every episode of The Fugitive, but this is one amputee not slated for the release of the disabled on compassionate grounds.

The Denny Missive

Dear Councilman Dennis O'Brien,

I am not quite sure why you followed me on twitter despite my risqué, sometimes virulent voice on Blogger as spastic_dowager, a virulence which had, or has, dulled my civic humanity, if I ever had it to begin with. I was a virulent child as well, in and out of Home of the Merciful Savior, run by the notorious Dr. Chance; I had episodes with my mother in Shriner's too, never a passive spastic, which perhaps I should not admit to, with everything going on at the moment, but I am writing you an edited version of a sequence of events I sent to Mason Lane, Brian Sims Chief of Staff, and perhaps all I'll get from you, as well, is silent chagrin I'll never get to see. I do not know what Sims and staff did with the information, but I do know my former supervisor Linda Dezenski left Liberty Resources, the IL center on 714 Market Street, and I also know Riverside Presbyterian has escalated pressure on me beyond what I'm willing to endure, and I'm giving notice soon, in some ways a form of my own epitaph, but I am writing you as I'd speak, a defiant woman who got a dose for defying her father and reversing urban flight. I've been punished for that.

In 86 to 88 I moved into Diamond Park, on Page St, making the worst mistake of my life. I was exposed to endemic minority violence, a knifing due to drugs, abuse, beatings, vandalism in various creative forms of destruction, child abuse: a schizophrenic grandmother fractured her daughter's face, and I drove into my unit screaming for the police. In 93 it was my turn. Aggravated assault, relative of a tenant, Brandon Phillips, knocked on my door. I thought I was dead, I really did, but he got frightened, and like most petty addicts not quite wasted of conscience, my desperate screams for life ran him off. Presbyterian Homes was negligent. There was no security at the building. No sign in sheet. I wanted to sue, and allowed then manager Terri Way to talk me out of it, because I'm a dunce, and thought the chic black girl was my friend. With great resistance, I followed her to Riverside in 94. I felt I had no choice, and living here, in its own way, has been toxic ever since, especially since Ellen Hovey retired. Under one manager, Schwab, I was attacked by the seniors, and Steve Gold, a disability lawyer, mediated me out of that. 

I left case management in 96, and did not realize I effectively destroyed my career. Liberty assured me for 4 years that I could return to their employ, and they did what they always do, set me up, humiliated me, and because Linda and I got too personal, and I was under pressure, I broke down. You cannot help me with this part of it, so I'll skim, but her board members live here, the consumers I came up with do as well, and it's toxic for me.

I was abused by a number of paraprofessionals, two from Unlimited Staffing, and with great difficulty got Liberty to report molestation and robbery to the state in 06. You cannot recommend a lawyer, I know, you are a politician, and probably think that Riverside's current staff putting the screws in me is their prerogative, but I am begging you to get them off my back, please, simply due to the fact that they are a cut rate company using pluralism as an excuse. The constant unannounced harassment at my door is disrupting my ability to achieve my own goals, please. If my citizenship means nothing because I'm disabled and don't want to comply without getting justice in return, what's the point? I do not want a minority aide. End of story. I spent down assets I no longer have on cleanings. Let Ken Cantrell and the owners he shields move to evict if they wish, but I will not accept constant ominous missives under my door and constant visits. As a Christian company, they could show some humility and admit some liability against my well being. I will call your office next week. My evacuation needs support. Thanks for following me. 

Bard Access

Reality check: For those individuals who have to medicalize my pain along standard fault lines, Amazon sent me this deal for Philadelphia Shakespearean Theatre, and I was mildly enthralled about the prospect of seeing Titus Andronicus, more interested in the flaws of problem plays than the dramaturgical signification of classical tragedy,  I  even made a mental note to pitch a review to City Paper, but their box office doesn't offer power chair access. I am not placing blame, it is a small company, but you might be more cautious in the future about putting labels on me.

In the absence of presence, I am not claiming to be a picturesque version of emotional stability. I am certainly not that, but do not engage in the major symptoms traditionally associated with mania. My only self-medicating includes nicotine, caffeine as a stimulant, needed against the symptomology of indolence, and salmon oil, which I've taken regularly for nearly a year. I don't drink, and though I can cry, those tears are associated with stressors, like loss of salary, my bank constantly offering me a line of credit and turning me down.

My half brother got ugly with me for this reason: I asked him repeatedly if he contacted the independent living center near his house, and had to raise my voice just to get him to respond, and then all of the sudden I am as sick as our mother was because I need a change of environment. Between my family, public housing, and disability culture, I will no doubt be joining Whitney Houston on her ferry ride of dependence eventually. [rolls eyes]