Blooper Pitch

"I am licensed to carry," my former weekend attendant of biracial extraction

Succumbing to able bodied rationalism, if we can call it that, I allowed the harried healthcare professionals to order a home hoya, so the home boy doesn't break his back, my hope of full recovery ever narrowing. How long he actually stays on with me is an open question, as he tells me stories about his family killing each other in Germantown, and I showed him my account but told him not to read it given my gleeful use of slurs when I am in the mood. On the downside, I am taking a chance, as he upped my FB friends by one-- so we can add a two minority count-- former co-worker Cheryl and Shawn the zodiac believer. Unfortunately, in my recent post respectfully pushing back against Nick, I was correct. "What's liberalism?" Shawn the hip cat asked, illustrating the upside. If he disregards my prohibition and reads my links, he'll never comprehend the full imprecation of my hostility. Then again, I could not sync for 24 months because I did not comprehend iPhone had to pop up on the wireless network. Does this even things out? Do I solicit your pity? Will I engage death by cop and earn a student march thereby?

As anticipated, reading the English subtitles for Zone Blanche on my wider laptop is far more comprehensible, and I reviewed the pilot (again), ecstatic that French writers don't play me for a fool. Brahaim's Major Weiss solves her murder, kidnapping, murder (brother, widow, best friend) around the elongated subplots in the more inexplicable back stories, with just the mere suggestion of more sinister and foreboding aspects yet left to be unraveled. Methinks the writers are asking is the evil which emanates from baser human motives a magnifier of evolutionary brutality, or do natural events not particularly favorable to survival make it easier for the shrinkage of compassion? If so, the episodes have far better balance than any American counterpart. I like Brahaim, frail but tenacious, the maimed warrior in pursuit of her objective; I like the allergic prosecutor and the finesse of his comic relief, yet capable of breaking a suspect. We have some worthwhile motifs to examine as I savor S1, keeping my fingers crossed that the entrails don't spill out with an obvious stench, plotting the points in my head to distance myself from Mr. Mocha when I need to work. I have been a long time picking up the pieces while he watches The Young and the Restless. I do not do soap half as well as domestic terrorism, much like Emmanuel himself. So handsome, so Kennedy, in the romance of Paris I'll never taste.

Permanent Lacunae

This is one of Trump's most underappreciated political achievements of the year: consolidation of power over a party to which he had scant personal or institutional ties. -- Matthew Yglesias, Vox

The reason I do not remember Titus Welliver as the "man in black" on Lost is because the dowager allowed her following of the show to lapse in the second season, which can be taken as a veiled critique of a complex mystery which made too many demands on its viewers, not that I am denying the show was a radical innovation; thinking about it over the last couple days, I was surprised by how much I had forgotten about it, the real time back stories and their tie ins to the unexplained occurrences. Excluding my ignorance over how good or bad Abrams work was on the lost youth of Star Trek. I ten to believe JJ cannibalized his own capital due to overreach. His writers deployed some of Lost's tactics in Revolution, and it felt anemic, and Once Upon A Time downgraded itself to a fourth grade series of correspondences. I've posted before that Lost's escapism from the impairments of biological reality was a coping mechanism pertinent, if not entirely beneficial, to the diseased and the lame, however quaint or charming you'd like to make it, while Jennifer Rubin claims Trump is destroying democracy and my friend Nick wonders, almost simultaneously, if Trump is killing the libertarian movement. Personally, I think Zuckerberg has destroyed history, freedom of thought, and that this lands on Facebook's desk, so Mark should be jailed, tried for crimes against humanity, and his dwindling assets, 30 billion in losses at last count, should be distributed to poor stricken scholars on the comparative basis of measuring IQ against limited resources.

Years ago, I promised you I would put a Lost reviewing on my to-do list, and I apologize that it has only made it to a watch list which might as well be the fountain of youth. It isn't simply a matter of paying Prime for what I once got for free. I balk at going back into the puzzle, because I know there were threads left unanswered, and tend to believe Abrams success is a reflection of a post traumatic terrorism flux  from which we cannot break free. I also told you, years ago, that I started a novel in 1989 strikingly similar to the idea of Lost, real world characters vanishing to an island plagued by never ending insurgency. I shortened the title to Don Paydola, a bit wonky. Gretchen Laskas read part of it and claimed I was a writer's writer, the parts of it I actually typed to hard drive still temporarily locked into an office 7 .wps extension. I overreached with the ambition of that concept too. We'll see if I ever finish it, and stop worrying about my resentment that a Jewish television producer got quixotic. I really don't understand why we exaggerate the forces at play. Everyone drops an egg because Facebook harnesses a sixth of the global population, while on an individual basis, none of us take it that seriously. Trump is a vulgar carnival barker, but he tapped into the little guy. The left thinks this is a suicide pact, and the right is rife with factionalism, but we'll live. John Bolton is a known element. 

In the Retrograde

Since I am, in whatever enfeebled manner, discussing politics, hanging on the implied assurances of Nick Gillespie's data, I do not take issue with Reason’s editor at large laying blame on Hillary’s 2017 campaign as being poorly managed, but having the former first lady from Arkansas take a mea culpa for having won the coasts and lost the center doesn’t solve our national ailments. Nick conveniently glosses over Hillary’s implicit appeal to national ethos in West Virginia in 2007. Both she and President Clinton were widely criticized for how they handled their opposition to Obama’s candidacy, but Nick seems to imply that if she was the wrong candidate against her former boss, she should have been the right one against Donald Trump. He never mentions Bernie Sanders, Anthony Weiner’s frolic with girls in middle school, the email server. These were self-inflicted wounds which could have easily been avoided had the Democratic Party a viable alternate to the Clinton brand. I can’t speak for those in Maga, for those who believe Trump will deliver to his base, but I didn’t want either candidate. I’ve written more than once why I made the choice I did, and part company with more rational conservatives like James Woods, who has made his own brand count on policy, when it comes to the border wall. I remain opposed, despite my recent experience with bona fide immigrants tending to my care. I don’t think these barriers work. All you have to do is examine Israel’s border with Syria, then ask yourself if this is what Zionists envisioned as the war years drew to a close. I also don’t like protectionism and the tariffs against China, and my life in the Commonwealth is the hell it’s always been, not to mention that prior to my drastic mechanical failures, I fought like a dog applying for jobs on Linked In, only to have recruiters vanish into   thin air after they approached me with letters of interest. It’s cruel and not fair that I can’t even get people like Jody Condi to so much as talk to me after all the hardships I’ve been through since fall, given my age and what I’m up against, and I am not even in the top tiers of the administration where generals and executives crash to the ground in rampant deforestation. My caretaker has been torturing himself all week about leaving Jewish Employment Vocational Services (JEVS), which has had its hand in the attendant care till for years, for a custodial job in the school system where he has been strung along since the Superbowl. I thought he was leaving, and now I wonder if my regret at his impending departure was an undue influence on his decision to stay. He said he was sick of submitting his prints to the FBI. Sign of the times—but it’s not Trump destroying democracy. His primary supporters did that by making him the frontrunner. That result is the GOP’s fault, which traditionally has an heir apparent, something the left could have done without in the waning dusk of Obama’s second term. I’ve made some progress with this black man who cares too much not to abandon me, like an overgrown little boy, the eight days I took to pass a large bowel movement not a particularly benevolent sign. Even if March For Our Lives wins some concessions on gun regulation, I still think Nick is barking up the wrong tree. It’s past the point for the Clintons to heal divisions and restore the center left, in my minuscule importance as one of the 177,000 who placed the country on this trajectory. This aide taught me how to sync via my hotspot, something Andreas from ATT couldn’t do for all his concerted efforts. I’m grateful, despite the iPhone unreliability. Guilt on my conscience is another matter.

Timber

The Michael Bennett indictment is interesting for several reasons: it involves the evolution of negligence in criminal law, and Michael McCann delineates these issues with expertise for Sports Illustrated, a publication I peruse but sparingly, and intersects at the midpoint of competing progressive values. Identity politics versus identity politics, black male self-righteousness, the intimidation, either necessary or perceived, in black athleticism, the inclusion of the disabled in society, among other things. Where I side with the skeptics is the length of time involved for the investigation going forward. 411 days for the police to gather evidence and the DA to indict? The situation begins to feel more like a personal injury case to be settled in civil court. The poor bastard now managing my daily living, would be on the side of Eugene Gu, if he had enough sense to know what liberalism was, and while I am not quite with Acevedo, I cannot  quite discount the narrative of the investigators on the case.

Michael Bennett is being politically persecuted for taking the knee. These felony charges for pushing past someone are way over the top and make it seem like he is the Austin bomber. Oh wait, the Austin bomber was “smart and kind.” pic.twitter.com/zcH0FAi6ZR

— Eugene Gu, MD (@eugenegu) March 23, 2018

Eugene Gu's rather inflammatory comparison of Conditt with Bennett, a man whom one supposes Gu considers an American dissent, troubles me far more than the Texas cow chips flinging themselves about like buckshot. The preponderance of the evidence suggests Mark Conditt is the serial bomber who so recently terrorized Austin, but we need to remember this young man will never be tried, never convicted, and for a surgeon like Gu to even compare the Conditt's familial shock to Bennett's alleged poor conduct is an outrage. I am a self proclaimed racist and even I have significant questions about why the DA went forward. I am, however, a quadriplegic victim of urban corruption many many times over, and I feel like the district attorney is standing up for me, once removed. You want to see pity for Conditt's family as a double standard when looking at authority's speculative vindictiveness against Bennett? It really isn't that simple; it isn't the way statutory law works, and as a medical professional, Gu, a child of the radical Asian left, perhaps? is being irresponsible. He's a doctor, and should know something about inner emotional pain. After 9/11, the shocked Sunni's in the Middle East said "Run Osama, run!" Remember? I was slightly, ever so slightly tempted, to give the then anonymous bomber a lecture about not getting caught. I would have gotten into trouble, and because the situation made no sense, hung my fire. I'm glad, as this poor boy would have made me appear idiotic.

Family Feud Embellishment

Torture is not who we are as a people. America has always been that shining hope of liberty. People around the world look to America want freedom from torture NOT freedom to torture.

— Senator Rand Paul (@RandPaul) March 18, 2018

I am off to bed momentarily, anxious about my travel plans, partnered with a tall gargantuan of a lanky fellow named Shawn, both of us in a situation where we have to make it work, I do not have enough money for the taxi, nor enough change to take the buses back to the city, so I may literally be stranded when I get to Saint Kevin, if I get there, taking longer and longer to orient myself for even a pretense of work, the conventional wisdom in the media is the GOP is in trouble for the midterms due to Trumpian cannibalism of its core values, particularly after Conor's razor thin victory. The dowager leans toward a certain Puritanical cruelty lobbed at Murphy, which she is not exactly positive is a benefit for any district's constituents. I do not know how to evaluate Murphy's experience as a representative, but my argument, one which cuts across ideology, is that Americans seem to equate bad personal conduct with bad governance. This may be accurate when Trump's rhetoric corresponds to questionable policy positions, but I am not so sure who gets laid where matters when it comes to static public unions versus right to work. 

Twitter can also be a non-statistical weather vane, and that Rand is reigniting Abu Ghraib is a more pertinent sign of troubled waters, whether or not we're gearing for war with Iran, in lieu of a third world war pivoting on North Korea. Rand's adamant iteration is a fall back position, not entirely true, whether we look at DOD policy or domestic. Americans combine a certain degree of linear simplicity (thinking of Bosch), with an undercurrent of brutishness. I asked the Senator from Kentucky where this histrionic Bush era replay was coming from, didn't expect a response, but landed an interesting debate, even in the face of jet lag, given that our ideological militancy with Islamic factionalism has run its course. The hits France took from Allah's partisans was the lunge of a dying beast. Persia is a different cup of tea, and libertarians have to do better than wave the flag of an innate manifest destiny. That died with the invasion of a country which had nothing to do with 9/11, and Katrina. Good night, as we see what tomorrow brings in its enfeebled journey, if it even gets off the ground, still able to press myself, nevertheless, I'm never to be the same, ever again.

Tertiary Clusters

"I am a living ghost."-- Constantin Reliu

To be reduced to thinking wedging a ten dollar plastic feminine urinal around fancily sewn napkin paper with wadding is an accomplishment is already a significant spiral downward, and the dowager is up very late because her distressed colon will be the death of her, as an hour after the temporary Jevs attendant left, things went to town, even as I buy her food I cannot afford. Why? Given what you read, it must seem strange, but these people get slave wages, finally having my hair washed, and I have no other responsibilities. I may be hostile to urban black humility and low self-esteem, but these people have nothing, most of them, trash television, much the same way franchise authors and screen writers sell junk bonds on quantum theory. Third Contact does not fall into my category of “flawed but intriguing”. It is the worst tripe I’ve ever seen produced in Britain, and it goes as follows: a suicidal psychiatrist begins losing his patients to suicide, then discovers they pick some kind of alternate memory and a scientist sends them to this particular quantum field of happily ever after. The conflicts in the plot involve his disbelief, and then he joins them, in a garden with his wife, who in this world, sustained a trauma which is ambiguous, perhaps a miscarriage. Brian Greene consoles us on television, poking fun at himself with alternate universe theories, because the laws of nature tend to repeat themselves, but this is tantamount to asserting that the particle accelerator and Vatican canonical law are neck and neck in the same rat race, the same quest for immortality.

I have referred to this before on Blogger, but the sole happy moment in my life was when John Tassoni snuck up on me in the dormitory hall with his freezing hands wrapping me in a bear hug, his intent being merely to startle me, add me into his cache of flirtations because the little boy inside the boxer wants to be loved. He had no idea I had fallen in love with him, not then, not there, and had I kept my stupid mouth shut, perhaps I would have never found myself on Race Street with a load of shit in my pubic hair. I do not believe, for the tenth of a second that the God particle may exist, that in an alternate universe he and I married and made an intellect tag team while I’m the radiant mother of his children. For all the complexities of the technology and the functional equations, the human super monkey always needs a venue for hope springs eternal, while my sister, middle child princess, walls herself in her home of denial, never making more than pro forma gestures of sympathy, and I, the invalid of his issue, perhaps the fault of my mother’s turbulent body, ripping out of her birth canal, disgusted and as weary as he, commit to doing the whole funeral in hostile territory. Maybe it is the stress, the probiotic, but if I cannot regain some of the function I still had in September, I am done. My stepmother died a horrible death, trapped in a terrible, if not horrifying marriage, to a father I’ve loved so strongly because he’s incapable of being emotionally supportive. He throws money at the issue, I throw money at impoverished minorities with whom I want nothing to do, taking small victories in having vanquished the Muslim’s prostrate ass in my face, and now I have to go make a mess. Can’t lie in it; not going to get much sleep.

Drainage Slats, authorized version

As I dug up my mother, minus her best photographic image, after I started this blog, in 2010, slightly too languorous to link the sites together, this was her invidious late life college student nursing peer who turned around and married her friend's husband.

Don't date Nick, mother said, disputing my memory of her advice. She told me she did not tell Louise not to date my father, but you can weigh an eldest daughter's daggers against an ambivalent divorcee, and Louise turned around and dated Nick, their age disparity similar to mine and Frank's, with reverse polarity. Frank allowed himself to die as my punishment, aged 69, whereas my father married an insatiable vampire, gnarled and inflamed knuckles only adding to her unhappy materialist avarice.

Don't speak ill? O, younger sister and I could go much further...

But the irony remains that this woman saw me with "Bedlam" blinking out of her eyes, and I remained independent for as nearly long as she transformed herself into a nursing home mattress. High school psycho-dramatist Victoria knows absolutely nothing about the facade behind the grimace of her charge. It aiin't over yet.

"It's like the Hatfield's and McCoy's," Stephanie typed. I laughed in cliched confirmation.