It is a mild winter afternoon for a Christmas week Friday, small pleasure denied, spontaneous desire to join the joggers on the Schuykill River path. Neither chair is charged enough for my shimmy hour plus half dressing to go nowhere, lacking destination. The lack of spontaneity is the downer of mobility impairment, to on top of that have to deal with people like Debra Horne, a life long battle with vocational rehabilitation case management. VR is the repository of the most hated modality wheelchair users have to negotiate, and Jimmy Devane was nearly Debra Horne's replica during my very early post-high school years. I do not just hate her, with the woolly mammoth mindset for which PresbyHomes no doubt hired her. The antagonism, which puts it mildly, has a long memory.
Devane did receive the petite version of the 03 Hulk. Stricture, implosion, pretending that I am pushing back against Barro, not necessarily due to the pain and mechanics of anal sex. Most aspects of sexual activity have a certain incongruity, more often than not comic, like the urgency of Theron's ardor turned on to Ricci during the skating courtship; perhaps this was Jenkins' strategy, to display these hard women fondling moments as laughable, reductive as opposed to binding.
No Josh, I may not always do my best to penetrate collective projection in my criticism of various contra-indicators, but, just as an effeminate mimetic may be an evolutionary mechanism to curb aggression, the triggers that provoke hostility to it may equally be related to the perception of self-preservation. I'm sympathetic to Robertson only to the degree that progressives like yourself want to erase history, which conversely paves the way for worse extremes. I know.
Much of what I am posting with Blogger's adult flag banner cannot be written this way in any media, even aggregates, and though I am not paying a price now to own it, I may in the future-- the only caveat to that being I am too weak now, on average, to return to a 40, 45k salary, which is where I reasonably saw myself by now, with an IRA.
I am leaving my country one hell of a finger, opening those seams where the larvae wriggle, ghostly plump protein bodies. Happy New Year
No comments:
Post a Comment