Dark Confidence II: Social Services Revealed!

Quick, three dots review of some of the help I've gotten in New York City since landing here to escape my enemies' alarming bizarreness:

90 Lafayette's New York City Rescue Mission: Holy Hudson on the Half Moon! There was stuff going on at this bedehouse for the reprobate that would appall Miles Standish and a good many other 16th Century Indian killers. Zero out of five abbesses approve...

Schwartz Men's Assessment Shelter on Randall Island. Liveable, but the clients are not the only ones engaging in shady shenanigans. One night, there was a shortage of ratty blankets, but I laughed it off as, 'Okey-dokey, I guess IllI just cry all the way back to where I've got no land...' I did get to be a hero there, and save an overdosed man's life (but that I had to...) Vicious Calypso dragon lady Ms. B was particularly Trunchbullesque among staff. That said, points to the facility personnel and the friendly intake lobby NYPD sargeants for tipping me off to the arrival of notorious stalker Jesus Diaz...

Bellevue Psychiatric Emergency: good food, adequate head shrinks. Saw the good Corporal, my future husband (Syd's momser) there, and was so happy...

Praxis Housing Initiatives on 109th: Wonderful, until I got booted upon being accused of failing to cut up a chubby baby dyke, as though I'm that kind of evil straight chick from a Russ Meyer titty pic. Ms. C's 'caged heat' crap isn't washing as of this post, and I'm currently in talks with attorneys concerning the program's shitty treatment of me...

Dark Confidence

No place, really, for this stuff on the usually upbeat new blog, Out & About With Will:

1. I promised myself I would eschew blogging about my - am I making you call me manky? - rubbish bin finds... My check stretches only so far every month, then I must scavenge; a fascinating topic, but depressing. Then I saw the following, and thought something funny:

'Look, it's white trash!'

Clearly, life among certain over-the-top eliminationist shitheads in California has damaged me...

2. And speaking of Jesus Diaz, el vecino malo y el maricon moribundo; and his de facto lieutenant Rashell Laskiewicz: I recently entertained the paranoid delusion that she had stolen my sperm by working with an Oregonian I'd been having sex with in Hell's Kitchen - that she tried to use it to get pregnant.

Were that true, I would find out, I have no doubt. A judge might rule in my favor and order such a criminally conceived pregnancy terminated; and barring that, I would of course be awarded full custody of my child upon her being born, and a restraining order issued against Rashell, who has always been known as a monster, a thug, a dipshit, and an unfit mother to her legitimate children (who themselves were recently a hair's breadth from killing her anyway, but I digress...)

So I should be okay, right?

Whew.

(In Memory)

out & about

Flash Fiction: A Salute To Herbert per et fils

"....I think of Trish - 'not from Marin City,' fashion-before-function proselytizer Trish, gentile fine and pretty with shortish, chestnut red hair, who would shiver her nards off in the Olympia, Washington dusk. You see, it's, 'fashion before function,' not, 'style before function,' as that's not how the paradigm functions. Yet it does, and in a corollary of a sort, anything functional is inherently stylish (such is my belief system and never isn't, though those who would disabuse me live close among us.)

"Above, I intimated the reality of paradigms, gave an example of one, and implied a case for the distinction of a paradigm from a rule or an aphorism.... As well, distinguish a paradigm from a metaphor - the former is better. If only what is better than appropriate were universally applicable...."

"From Lecterns and Pulpits," Sister Gretchen Duenna Crowfeather of the Old Earth Bene Gesserit; acolyte instructor, docent and chaperone, Pueblo City, Wallach IX

Sister Gretchen looked from Steward Lucas Rice to Captain Leah Thomas, then back again. "I realize that there are restrictions due to fuel scarcity. I assure you, I weigh under. Yet my meager life savings are in a wrap, here."

Rice noted in the Ixian scanner where she pointed. Captain Thomas was quick: "I make no guarantees, but this life savings you mention could prove a boon. Parting with some now could purchase you short-term perks, and longer term honors should we achieve planetfall. It seems crass, such economic considerations in transit aboard a Guild lifeboat...."

 "All that matters are these girls' welfare, if course."

 "Of course!" replied both the Steward and the Captain.

 "Very well. The palladium and copper are yours. The gold, should you need it."

 Rice pondered this. "Unlikely we'll need the latter."

 "There's an Earth ounce of yttrium, as well."

 "We'll set that by, as it might come in handy," intoned Thomas. "We'd be pleased if you kept it on your person."

 "Such pleasure," muttered Gretchen, not without sympathetic bitterness and an air of Voice.

 "Mademoiselle," the Steward Rice inquired, "may I procure for you?"

 "Good! You may: a flute of prosecco for each of the survivors traveling with us, immediately!"

#DuneFanfic #FlashFiction #HerbertInspired

Shasta Carr Fire Makes Otherworldly Light In Colusa, Mendocino

Unretouched, raw from camera:

Sartorial Mayhem

It's June, so I'm a little late planning out one ensemble for Fall/Winter (I may be poor and mentally insufficient, but I try to do my best... Currently, I have a pair of Walmart George brand shorts with a coordinating Claiborne shirt in that particular sandy pink that I'm sure would make Anna Wintour scream love for 2018, but I digress...)

So I long for a taupe or charcoal jacket and slacks, to set off a silk turtleneck, and I love the way past acquisitions from Zara have fit, but I've heard tell that they mistreat garment workers in Turkey ... And now, this, which is old news yet fresh to me. (And the stripes had to be horizontal - couldn't they just have made Galliano a pair and been done with it?)

Ah well... No shame in buying H&M when it comes down to it...

!!!

And check out my new, three dot column/photo 📷 blog:

williamrobertway.blogspot.com

Interstate Meat Dist., Inc - MAJOR BREAK!

For quite a while I've been complaining about the Walmart meat from Interstate Meat Dist. in Clackamas, Oregon. Finally, from a comment on Facebook comes this:

"It actually is a filler...
My neighbor works there. He says they get fat-filler, from some other corporation.. To mix with the meat 🥩 (they won’t disclose where THAT comes from)...
they then mix the fat-filler with THEIR fat-filler... but they won’t say what’s in THAT..
So two fat fillers and mystery meat. "

So there!

Consumer Watch: Sell Your Gold

Sell Your Gold, though rated tops by NBC, turned out to be rather crooked. Mr. Levine - a Levine! Earnestly appalled, I am! - of Boca Raton, you should be ashamed... I got far less than I should have for some very fine gold in particular. I was perhaps supposed to haggle with them, and I should be grateful for the valuable lesson, but we are not in some dusty soukh, here...

Tearooming...

...Or, cottaging (remember the late George Michael's scandal?)

(Courtesy of Arnold Zwicky, about whose inclusion in my blogroll I've been terribly remiss...)

FYI

...My machine is http://208.184.161.143/...

...Just 'cos I've had weird issues with stalking and such; figure I may as well did myself (of course, I can only hope this post doesn't ruin my chances with that good-looking, creepy Marine I'm into...)

Formerly...

...Colusa Regional Medical Center.

AFAIK, there's still no radiology, ICU, or emergency...

Also, I don't see why it's nervy for a member of the Way family to be posting this - certain medical professionals made certain choices regarding my father, but we had no part in what happened to the previous administration and the health care center - there was no lawsuit, and we were never talked to by the CSMB...

(Back story: apparently, my father had been, like, the worst patient ever; in the Fall of 2015, a day before he was to be transferred to hospice care, he was subject to patient abandonment, left at the nearby casino's hotel...)

Avert

Among those who will not meet your gaze are two types: those who are trying to hide a lie (of course), and those who are trying to hide a love...

Mike

Miss u, m c t...

New Drag Name up for Grabs:

Try on Mystery Winchester! You could be three sheets and emcee... "Annie get your gun -- it's Mystery Winchester." "Lock and load, ladies and gentlemen, cos Mystery Winchester's up next!"

She could do "Janey's Got A Gun," or a really slow, creepy "Jeremy" (with a bloody lip sync a la Phatima...)

"If they run, they're Viet Cong; if they stand still, they're well trained Viet Cong"

Please bear with, as I figure out whether my current mental predicament is fueled mainly by my bipolar disorder, my recreational drug dabbling, or a furious sexual frustration - a n hysteria analog.

Once I've explained it, a more delightful state of being common grumbling about processing has it should ensue.

IN RE THE SKRIPAL CASE

A short, sweet primer for those of you just learning the importance of journalism and minding your civic duties (that is, knowing what the government is up to), or maybe just renewing your earnest concern after a spell of jadedness and cynicism (#TrumpLoeil, anyone?): Whenever you hear talk or read news (usually the latter) about diplomats being "expelled from the U.S." (almost always, a sitting president makes the announcement), it means that agencies such as the CIA (the "ma'ams" and "sirs" in suits as far as active duty personnel for example do jibber-jabber) have already flagged in a particular way key embassy personnel or persons of interest (foreign nationals, of course) associated with a given consulate, and want those people (seldom if ever mentioned by name, but mentioned as existing in the news - there are solid security reasons for this - trust and believe) removed from the U.S. ENTIRELY for their own physical safety*; these persons are often extremely valuable to the national security apparatus, among other more base concerns, and are often friends of the operatives whose day-to-day jobs include, let's face it, honestly making the world a better place.

So, the people being expelled aren't exactly being punished, nor is some pajandrum-lite, scolding statement being made by the POTUS. And for those of us used to how messy the ways our quotidian civilian existences run themselves, this is often a fine set-up for the men and women involved, most of whom believe in and strive for great things in this world, such as comity, fairness, and harmonious coexistence among the U.S. and other countries of the world!

(I do, above, put a high gloss on an actual world that is truly fraught sometimes, and there are bad hombres who can be rounded up and so "expelled" for our sake rather than theirs, but come on... Right? These are all pretty intelligent, professional, non-fruity people I'm writing about, so forget that  horrible LETHAL WEAPON II dude from the S. African embassy in Los Angeles... It's not that sort of Hollywood vibe, dig?)

*Yeah, I know, technically an embassy is foreign soil and these people have diplomatic immunity, but also (heh, Madamoiselle Thomas, when it comes to sad phrasing in colloquial English, but I digress...) the "better safe than sorry" rule so often employed by government doubtless will apply in these expulsion cases... Please bear with those who know us as their charges to keep on this tip, as they typically know their jobs and can be trusted, at the very least to be of the agencies employing them!

PS Yo, Leah, you're so fucking lame, you'd think it was called The Square, not THE PENTAGON! LOSER! (Whee! I could have picked on you in junior high! Think about all the trauma and process and therapy!)

The Deer Didn't Sign a Release, So They'll Threaten to Sue, I'm Sure...

Whom I Call By The Name "Arthur"

In 2009, I was in dire straights - homeless, and being mistreated by the unlikeliest (in terms of likelihood of existence) group of people. I was having a hard time at building 80 in General Hospital one appointment, and just then, I had a vision of one little man with a handheld machine that looked like a bullhorn; he was cavorting or tumbling, and then became three of himself...

In late Spring, early Summer last year, I saw the same man. I was looking out my kitchen window, and almost always, something catches my eye. Or somebody - drivers passing by, government-looking types raiding for boxes of paperwork, the lovely V. doing her weekly inspection, et alia. This was in May or June, perhaps, and I saw the juvenile delinquent/altar girl/Infanta Concepcion-get-a-mantilla-I-hear-voices-worse-than-Laura Branigan's Gloria... I remember, clear as day, she had a sullen little attitude and was driving their golf cart around; on the passenger side sat the little man: Caucasian (perhaps luso-brasiliano or Portuguese American by his aspect?), dark haired, afflicted with achondroplasia dwarfism... He seemed to be panicking, gesturing wildly. And surely, the ride looked perilous for him...

I don't know why I mention it. For years I've been treated less than understandably often times when I hear voices, react to people who aren't there, et cetera... I've faced hostility, anger, judgement, cruelty, intimidation from those who more or less would protest they themselves ARE there... But anyway...

I've always wanted to find this little man, because no matter how much of a scalliwag some might think him, I know I'd just want to eat him up like he was a candy bar, EL-OH-EL, as it were...

Whatever, I'm funny in lots of ways: the Sal Mineo/my-house-is-backwards-on-bottoms-land-and-I-wear-hankies-out-my-left-back-pocket funny, as well as odd...

Power Lines

Taken with Amazon Kindle Fire, edited in same suite....