All of my posting activity will cease, except as pursuant to my need to access my archives, or if the operating staff comes out of its persistent vegetative state with some new plan.
I have no idea how long it will take me to activate Blogger with Google's monetizing applications for the time I still have paid up for Ad Sense, but I will work on it through next week while moving my content. If any fluent software user can help me you have my expressed gratitude.
I have posted this url before, but, directing this post primarily at twitter, this is my url for what I have already cached over the winter, and I am flagged for adult content, even though my posts on GB are thus far more sedate than they are on LJ, given that I have not settled in.
To LJ staff and volunteers, this is a very poor play. I supported the site in good faith, whatever indignation my reactionary stance or detailed narrative has aroused.
To all those who friended me here, I thank you, but barring an extraordinary circumstance, this account will be closed by fall.
Everyone in the building still treats us as a couple; [exasperated sigh]
I knew I was right about Griffin & Phoenix. The 2006 teleplay is a remake of the 76 version with Falk and Clayburgh, of which I remember only a few minutes: Falk saying "I have a chest full of cancer," marveling; Clayburgh cutting up her credit cards. Mulroney and Peet do not inhabit the characters as realistically as my more favored and deceased veterans.
Does the modest tale bring anything to the table? Disease liberates. Disease frays social constraint, leading to vagrant irresponsibility. Cancer pisses us off; makes nurturing children problematic. I am still waiting for an American director to get this right, and know I made a post about the European actress who does, but I have to find it again.
- Current Mood: nostalgic
This is in part due to the latter day comic aspects of such blockbusters; it may be noted, however that the concluding dialogue between Newman and McQueen in The Towering Inferno, was used as a slap on the wrist in relation to 9/11, which is bookmarked as an event in the sense of Foucault's objections to historical discipline, and yet, did not create any major paradigm shift, as DeLillo illustrates in his fiction.
- Current Mood: amused
But I will say this: Few of you, outside of certain communities, have held my interest. You do not write well, and from the end of one computer, it becomes tedious. The difference between an author and a writer is something the Jamesians will be taking up in conference, but it is a matter of degree. Susanna Daniel may succeed along that trajectory, and become a typical funny bones midwesterner who would bore the living shit out of me, I do not know, but she is not quite an author yet. She is a novelist perhaps just reaching for stature, and scored a byline with Slate, something I have not yet managed. I am still a writer, in this sense, and not an author, but from what I see on LJ, Microsoft is not particularly concerned with the erudition of its client base.
You need to remember that even electric posts need to cater to an interest, and those will be my parting words to the English fluent; to the Russians, your behavior here is a good indicator of why your Soviet empire collapsed. Perhaps Slavic cultural norms have lost fluidity, and would be dying out but for modern technology, swallowed into Asian memes.
But writers also internally censor what they have not processed. I create the balance beam between Jerry and myself as something that would make able readers feel sorry that I was caught up in this dynamic, where you might exclaim, "how lonely she was!"
Not always. He and I had our tensions between us, and here is a summation for you on the irony of my adult life. The last time I actually spoke to the man was in 92 in my office, fishing for grad school recommendations. I had him on one end of the line reluctantly rebuffing me due to the length of time involved, and then saying we could meet in conference, while Linda was sitting to my right, waiting for me to get off the phone. I think she sat in the W or Indian style that I used to deploy before my surgery. I was swearing off one icon, a little pissed at him, muttering that he was conceited, while the spastic woman I had raised onto a dais was patiently waiting to discuss my goal planner.
Therein lies the shattered tragedy of a life that otherwise might have given back so much. Assigning blame to anyone wouldn't change the facts.
- Current Mood: nostalgic
- Current Mood: anxious
But this wasn't always the case; when I came back to Philadelphia I was *ripping myself away,* but still believed I could do good. And so I tried, molded into a bad case manager, and then at great cost, remolded myself into a freelancer with a plummeting income that skidded to zero by 2009. Marie says monetizing my blogging efforts gives me something to do. Marie doesn't want me to make waves by contacting my state senator and then the ACLU and any other party.
Let me ask you something though, about letting go. When I left Liberty Resources for the Institute, Liberty promised me technical support that never came, and which I needed. When I listened to Erik and Jimmi, and got on attendant care for ten years until I imploded out, I subjected myself to ten years of duress, in various forms, and only posted about some of it, and when I asked Liberty to honor what they told me, that I could always come back, well, I have been limping around on my entrails with few mobility options for the last 12 years, expended a very bad 24 months with Medicare over getting a new power chair that I can barely use, have had to cope with Presby's tactics, and out of all this, I am the villain troll?
What if I had killed myself when Linda was finished using me as a lotto ball, would the state have even bothered to investigate? Grisham's law students somehow manage to carry the flag of truth across the field. His books and movies are popular because the lead character refuses to yield, sometimes at the cost of personal happiness. I cannot do anything about the statue of limitations, I know that, but I have absorbed a great deal of punishment, and people are amazed at my lack of manners, after all these years of my abused trust, waiting for the next straight jacket.
- Current Mood: discontent
To be in love with the memory of a man who I could not have, while my psyche makes use of it for my own ends, still captures a truth, as if I sketched myself into a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, that is somehow authentic, even if I forbid myself the declarative sentence, and I forbid it because if I had the nerve to make such a fool of myself, I should have did that a long time ago, and I never dared; and yet, we all have dried rose petals stored away, in objects of memory.
David Ward wasn't a therapist, but a philosophy instructor; he respected me and I betrayed his trust but have not discussed him because my memory is out of favor, and he would chuckle at that, I'm sure, but it was he who first made me think about what was wrong with homosexuality; he did not take a position, just offered us two prepositions that I never tackled, because he was more interested in the fact that I was on fire about God's ontology.
Court tv was once educational, in its early days, and when the case came in Hawaii I was on the side of the progressives, and as a judicial matter, there is no reason why Andrew Sullivan's marriage to his partner should not be valid in the US, and I am sure the goofy Gnostic bastard is thrilled that the cripple he sent a screen shot to is affirming what Scotus will one day make the law of the land.
Having said that, glorifying homosexuality as normal, as spiritual, as healthy as making babies with male and female liaisons is bad, in biological evolutionary terms, just as disability empowerment leads down the same road. This is difficult stuff, so you have to bear with me or get politically huffy and storm off. I will take my reversal from the almighty ACLU a piece at a time, even though I may go to them at some point.
Now, the nature of transformative evil as an example is to study the point of view of Will Geer as Doc Thomas in Brother John, but I am taxing myself, and have much to do. We shall pick this up later, maybe after midnight Sunday, but I have to monetize Google. Whatever I am doing with this account, GB is becoming primary.
- Current Mood: dirty
The apocalyptic 1971 Brother John illustrates what I mean by transformative evil, to the delight of liberation theology proponents, if not the social conservatives who are lately elevating Santorum; I'll dig in on this next post.
I do not deny my episodes, and I have had them, and discussed some of those here, but the overwhelming stress of not being able to defeat my poverty is not necessarily an abnormality, even if my reaction to that is intense. With Linda it was abnormal, and I did go rushing in for a repair, one that was not entirely successful, but that was my fault. I have very little faith in psychiatrists, and if you shoved them and treating psychologists in a boat, they'd all kill each other, just as we poets and writers would, screwed into a jar with air holes in the lid.
But this leads me into the question of biological entropy creating transformative evil, and as I have written before, it is a very difficult issue to address, on both its scientific and metaphysical ends. As I head into my decline, however, I have reached a few conclusions, and disagree with progressives on the issue of equalizing homosexual pair bonding, and using jurisprudence to do it. Yes, I know the classical Greeks were fluid about such things, but this was in part do to the warrior culture of their age, and even in Helenistic society, same sex activity was tolerated, but with limitations placed on it.
The erosion of those limitations on sexual liberalism is a serious mistake, and both disability and homosexuality and its alter triggers leave the potential open toward transformative evil more so than heterosexual procreative unions. I know this is difficult, and I know Andrew Sullivan is not Erik, and does not practice Erik's level of prevarication, but I am willing to bet, that if I could look down in a hundred and fifty years, what is left of European legacy will regret its closets.
- Current Mood: crappy