Fallen Woman: Corollary

I thought of another interlocking subtext, one which I have skirted around, and highlight here, briefly: As different as the fifties and the eighties were from each other, the establishment media takes the prerogative upon itself to assume that an actor's opinion about real events has some sort of validity for the public. Susan Hayward's assessment of Barbara Graham's innocence or lack thereof was solicited, just as, after the attempted assassination of Reagan, I do not think it much of an exaggeration to say that Jodie Foster was virtually assaulted by the press. I remember all this vividly, ignorant at the time of Taxi Driver's full impact. I have stated my sympathy for my talented contemporary, but I think there is something deeper going on here, perhaps a Puritan indictment of theatricality?

La Vongola

This was Joyce before he was Joyce, Lance Walhert, Ulysses instructor.

Susan Hayward certainly fits the part she was to play as Barbara Graham, and I Want to Live! represents a superb movie conflagration, with the Mann Act representing a continuous growth, from the Jazz Age of Fitzgerald, encapsulated by Warren Beatty, with varying degrees of success (cf The Fortune with Stockard Channing), carrying us through the Depression with a more hale Spencer Tracy escaping certain darkness, to the regulation of womens' make up and attire during the war years, well examined in feminist studies, and perhaps relevant even today, with Nicholas Kristof's ever omnipresent guilt tripping our suffering against the animal tripping third world. I list his wife's documentary to raise the interrogative possibility of helping these girls with a McCarthyesque law that everyone feels, intuitively, as sinister, but might be used to decrease trafficking? I am also a little sore with the almighty liberal, as he followed me on twitter using his other account on my other account for less than two days, and brother man, my admissions of bigotry does not mean I do not have relevant arguments, and perhaps not one to be dismissed so readily. You are a big enough brand that the boost helped my esteem. He can tackle vultures stalking starving children in the Sudan, but a struggling disability journalist dying on her own lung fluids and her own abuse from the left, ah, Nicholas won't absorb that, merci vous! I think he is still on my list, but I have not checked recently. Do I care?

How authentic Hayward's Graham is remains open to question. If Barbara was arrested in the process of coitus interruptus with her gang, this is somewhat less than sympathetic, but Hayward seems merely to imprint her own brassy attributes onto her parts. Again, having a telegenic command is an intangible, difficult to penetrate, but it can obscure the truth and the nature of complicity, even if it represents an ongoing conversation with a more brutal narrative, like Monster.

Joyce started this process of interlocking roots, along with his dialectical rival. The effort I took, getting up, getting to the class, gnashing my teeth, getting what I expected in a young post graduate and a cluster of ethnic plebeians, deferring to him with awe, knocked me out, took me all day, not that I claim to be more erudite, but I could have done this study without an analytical boy wonder who seemingly handled me with diffidence. I am really really ill, more so than I have realized in quite some time, living on light roast hot coffee, toast, a constantly upgraded temperature, and an inflammation that expectorants no longer ease, entirely. One use of phrasing where Lance and I would disagree is what Joyce achieved, if I heard the man correctly. Ulysses does not push realism to its limits, so much as linguistic intricacy, which makes being versed in the work of James seem like prep school.

It begins with Dubliners, which indicts authority and progressive modalities alike, exposing the limits of imperialism, the tunnel vision of ethnic unity under which we're all bound, suffocating in it, the brutality of caste, whether it leads to the loss of control in a hot toddy, or inhaling your own asphyxiation in cyanide, with all its complex and complimentary flavors

Fangs Pristine

"And what about children?"-- Charlie Rose, grinning and bearing

Charlie's question to the intrepid and often glib Andrew, last time I watched these two successful media personalities engage, can be considered both hostile and inclusive, or either one or the other, hostile along one line of interpretation, that an HIV positive Briton and his partner should be considered viable parents, immune from state concern for the health of children, or inclusive because Charlie himself is Europeanized, often too facile not to leave doubt in the wake of his interrogations.

Why am I unfair to Mr. Sullivan when he tried an empathetic response? He is not Josie Byzek, or Erik, or Jimmi, who has an innate social fear of me now. The unkindness comes from my innate sense that like the homosexuals I knew, Andrew is a hypocrite, and there must be some folly with his sexual practices that infected him with AIDS. Where is the conservation in that? Secondly, condescending pity earns my umbrage, applied equally across the board. Egalitarian treatment for gay monogamy may be a persuasive argument for progressive logic, but it papers over significant triggers. Pedestrian repressions are going to implode in their faces, and there will be the usual questions about how could this happen?

Here is his screen shot:

Amtrak lights

Scorepad

Now that liberals are frustrated, cooler heads might remember that Obama was not always on point during the 08 primaries, and Dick Polman once laid in on Obama during the primaries with Clinton, in his appearance on Charlie Rose. I am an agnostic either way. If Romney squeaks by, things get harder for me, not easier, towards the end of his first term. Should the President prevail, then I am stuck with the status quo, minority entitlement indignation. I also think the embattled boy wonder did not do all that badly, to the extent I seriously paid any attention. I happen to agree with David Brooks on his critique of the 47% that disability entitlement creates a culture of dependency, and I'd add to that, entrapment, but what I'd argue with conservative think tanks is why they do not invest money in technical flexibility so that those of us who still have cognitive ability and capacity can engage. American Paratransit systems, transportation infrastructure, is deplorable, for one, outside of the DC metro in the federal district. If the right would give me answers, as opposed to pity, I'd be in their column, and Niall, some of your shine has diminished, as I prefer independence to partisanship, and the last time I looked, you're British, and we fought a revolution to get what is now the Commonwealth out of our internal affairs? (OMG, does this mean he doesn't turn spastic on anymore?) My jury is in sequester on that.

Soloist Rational Phobias

And who, she sometimes secretly asked herself, wasn't stupid?
__Henry James, The Wings of the Dove, kindle location 1476-79

I am debating not watching the presidential debate this evening; nothing Romney could say would reconcile me to him as a scion of a cult which has a dark, unpleasant history, and yet, naming Joseph Smith for what he is hurts the feelings of the true believers, and Barack is not going to do anything I have not seen him do, faltering or not, since his days as upstart. Neither man has a real vision for the country which mitigates my disillusion with American liberty. It does not exist for me, and is slowly ceasing to exist for anyone else.

Again, writers such as David Mitchell were ahead of the curve, and the power is shifting away from national sovereignty to corporate governance. It may not be Google or Amazon, and it certainly will not be Facebook, but I agree with Mitchell's vision that we will cede ourselves to a few global monopolies before we collapse, whether due to an EMP disaster, or coprophagia, my personal favorite, which I see in our last days as a matter of course. Solely as a matter of logic then, I should support gay rights as I once used to. My revulsion changes nothing, and the Obama generation reflects a new reality, and if a rollback is not going to happen, why do I see homophobia as valid? There is no real plausible issue with oral erotic stimulation, or sodomy versus traditional intercourse, not as an abstract matter.

Homosexuality on a conceptually level playing field, is evil for reasons that have nothing to do with conservative religious tenants, because sexual liberalism can create a blinding self indulgence, and the risk of trauma, too prevalent. As an iteration, and continuous retreading, I have not yet compiled my data to really weigh in on the problematic issues surrounding sexual orientation, and I have been in the blogosphere, with my voice hindered due to lack of resources, and a frustration with computer literacy, for two years now, but we'll get there, as long as I can maintain access. I was, after all, traumatized to the point of serious doubt, if not conversion, and the issue is complex, regardless of my recoil. My goal? It may not matter, as my lung function is in significant decline, but I will get through my main points first, on a case by case basis, as my remaining vigor allows.

More Rainy Glimpses

I was going to frump off, retire with my kindle, weigh making a facetious comment about incorporating a partnership with @PhillyEBooks (waves), but then caught a small, oscillating surge, and decided to have my dining coffee with you. This is my last cup of coffee for the evening, trying to listen to Jeffrey Brown and remember what I want to write at the same time, but I just shut the news off. Listening to ourselves talk on television can fray sensory input as badly as surfing does sometimes. The one thing we all do well, the literate, the less so, the gang banger, Islamic terrorist and or their supporters who utilize rhetoric to radicalize, is talk. Listening is another matter, as is controlling our own narrative. Everyone wants to tell me what to do. Lesbians who I tried to engage with social equality want to tell me who I can, and cannot date, and then slide the therapy tray through the slot in my jail cell; the Presbyterians want to regulate my housekeeping and go back to interpersonal conflicts with attendants. Some people in this building, like my ex, like Erik, are nearly married to the minorities who just barely keep them out of nursing homes, and this is the situation I will find myself in once again very soon, which compels my urgency for a fresh environment. My father's sister too, has earned her rights as a matriarchal dictator, and we spent the afternoon arguing loudly about why I cannot collect my mother's payroll taxes into her Social Security. I can't, this used to be my job, and the qualifying systems are different for the benefits that SSA administers. A slightly known secret is that Italians can hate each other the most, and you may picture me raising my hand in affirmation.

Richie, if you happen to surf by my account on blogger, I love you and your mother and remember what you told me some years ago about leaving her alone. Well, you may consider this my come-uppance. Tua madre is driving me crazy.

When I wrote the first glimpse earlier, in September, I wanted to do something I rarely do in blogging, and talk about my writing, and I wanted to combine this in a more elegant fashion with listening to Jeremy Irons-- Tavis too, as I was interested to note the gravelly interviewer say he hated his voice, and then I lost the thread of what I wanted to do because I was actually defecating dangerously, and thought I was on the verge of a cardiac event. For an unemployed poet-journalist, whose lack of structure creates the boredom and illusion of endless time, battling the urgency of my vulnerability, my actual work suffers egregiously, including the medical article which is a distorted refraction in the cloud of my aging neurons. I did something stupid, or daring, depending on which way you look at it, and purchased a course on Ulysses, and I rather hate Irish literature, although my entire adult life has been built around Jerry, this unfortunate fellow is spastic's interpersonal mythology, and sometimes I hate myself over it. I used to dream that he and John would come to get me, rescue me, resolve things, and in a miracle of biology I would slap John Tassoni violently across his face, like a Joan Crawford, in my own soap opera, and Jerry would say something cutting, sardonic, relieving the tension.

Google crushed this little psychological comfort of mine. I'd flee either man now, literally. I never saw myself on the inside of status culture, like Rowling, but I also did not see myself as a lifelong and doomed ward of the state. We'll pick up on my work another day.

Abrams' Mulligan

I stopped watching Lost because Americans are not quite so interactively advanced, just yet, for that kind of entertainment. In catching the last few episodes, since it was an off air event, I could not help laughing at ABC's running captions, trying to fill all of us in on the story, and yes, I get it: no one is to blame, human civilization is incomprehensible no matter how many scholars plug orifices, and yet, we all still want our metaphysics, spoon fed. I am watching Revolution because, unlike Patrick Stewart OBE, I have not paid for cable since 1997, which is why the gay community thinks I am a straight jacket poster child. Or is that black case management ineptitude? Am I a real racist, really? Come on! We'll talk about it.

Note to Literature Fool : You scored today babe, love ya for Laszlo.

Two hours until revenge of the Others, no garage sublets there for power chair spastics; have to rest pressure sore or I die.