March 18, 2019
A capriciously disseminated newsletter written by a hemp-inspired quadriplegic jester who, like King Lear, impotently screams ineffective vitriol at the raging antediluvian squalls of societal indifference that violently smash the planet and callously destroy the things I love. I cry, defeated by a redoubtable sea of troubles as my siblings, whose pursuits of happiness do not coincide with the status quo, are mowed down by ignorant privilege while comfortably content indifference ignores the anguished cries of people's suffering simply because they don't look the same.
— SSTJazzVocalist

#Wheelchairistocracy #GroovicusMaximus @frangeladuo

Welcome to QuadTalk. I am Rusty Taylor, a complete, level C-4 spinal cord injury who, for thirty-two years (and counting), has been unable to perform even the most rudimentary acts of daily living, and, as such, I am a victim of the nefarious for-profit healthcare system we, the citizens of the U.S.A., have callously ignored for too long. This will not be a media blitz of superfluity; I am a vitriolic antagonist against the status quo, so if you are naively looking for a feelgood story about a “poor li’l ol’ cripple boy” who done good against the odds, then I suggest you go find the Hallmark Channel and infuse your brain with enough endorphins to make you forget that separating children from their families is simply morally unconscionable or that a casual rapist majestically sits as Supreme Court judge. Otherwise, welcome...


This newsletter is inspired by my capricious Muse. Unfortunately, I alone am responsible for its content and dissemination. I have no proof-reader or editor nor do I have corporate sponsors to moderate my tone and style, so...

I alone am responsible for all the typos contained herein, and all I can do is promise to try not to make additional grievous errors. Please excuse an occasional rhetorical mistake. They are unintentional.

Disemboguement of Sympathy for My Hero
Well, things may be saliently changing for me fairly quickly now. I’ve been hinting at it for a while. Basically, my brother’s building a house, and a string of unfortunate incidents occurred (like his being hit by a car… literally, but things happen, right?). We need $7,000 to complete some plumbing, but I see no way of getting the money. We’ve exhausted all our options, which are, admittedly, limited, but we’ll pull through.

My brother is a warrior, a true warrior; he still suffers from his government’s commanding him to sacrifice his physical and mental health by shipping him to a goddamned oil-laden desert, which he did proudly but can’t get his own Uncle Sam to fix his goddamn leg. (He is still writhing in pain because the new alloyed knee-replacement he finally got the Army to pay for isn’t sturdy enough to support my brother’s frame, and there are incessant delays despite my brother’s seeking assistance from his state senator… he was a collegiate offensive lineman and a state-champion high school wrestler, yet the doctor installed a flimsy metallic patella that could only support an emaciated Tinker Bell with pneumonia, but things happen, right?

I, my brother, his wife, the youngest of their five boys, and my parents may all have to move in together to consolidate expenses, but, regardless, I will continue to write. It’s the only thing I can do. I have no desire to veg out in front of the tube to mindlessly absorb the ubiquitous kitsch that inundates mainstream and popular diversions from the fact that our government is on an ominous precipice of collapse yet simultaneously on the verge of a major social revolution that will usher in decades of peace after a considerable cleanup from the overt rejection of the status quo for the more politically motivated matriarchal influence of diverse inclusion that is our nation's destiny.

To save a bit of coinage, I’ve cut down on the number of times I’ve gone out to support jazz events, but things are going to get even more financially restrictive, so I may even have to give up singing at the weekly jazz jam at Eighth and Rail, which saddens me, but things happen, right?

On the bright side, the manager of the public library I proudly frequent (I don’t want to name-drop, but it’s the Harris County public library in Hamilton, Georgia) recently told me that she’s found some recording equipment, so I have a date this Thursday to see if I can make a few effective and creative recordings of my singing, so, hopefully, I can record some music for the few fans I have somehow positively influenced. That excites me. Plus, hopefully, I will be able to continue promoting the Folk/Jazz Fusion music that I share with my friend Tim McVay. I am no longer able to support the local jazz scene financially, but I can still provide live music when I am able. (Just this weekend, I missed listening to the Schwob Jazz Orchestra and saxophonist Chris Helms just to save a few coins, and they were free concerts… but things happen, right?)

It’s potentially exciting for me (I will be taken care of regardless), but it may kill my brother, who is my hero. Like my mother, my brother is a warrior. My father and I are both jesters, so there’s a nice balance. Yeah, things may get tight, and we’re bound to get on each other’s nerves, especially concerning my incessant need for assistance with the minutia of living, but we will also celebrate more riotously, and when we laugh, the Universe will reciprocate with intergalactic explosions of embryonic energy.

Peace Through Music

P.S. - Incidentally (and serendipitously), the Word of the Day is disembogue , which I used in the essay’s title… a gift from my Muse.

dis·em·bogue (d¹s”µm-b½g“) v. dis·em·bogued, dis·em·bogu·ing, dis·em·bogues. --intr. 1. To flow out or empty, as water from a channel: “the river whose dirty waters disembogue into the harbor” (John Updike). --tr. To discharge or pour forth (water, for example). [From Spanish desembogue , mouth of a river, from desembocar , to flow out : des- , reversal (from Latin dis- ; see DIS-) + embocar , to put into the mouth ( en- , in, from Latin in- ; see in- 2 + boca , mouth, from Latin bucca , cheek).] --dis”em·bogue“ment n.

It's A Quad Thing; You May Not Understand
My hospice CNA did not come to get me up this last Friday morning, which is, in this particular instance, a potentially inconvenient situation for which I am ambivalent. I slept until a little after noon, which seems to indicate that I needed the rest. I have been feeling down here lately, well... not down, exactly… maybe it’s guilt?

I realize, finally, that hospice isn’t mandated by anyone to assist my living. I reckon that I should have known from the beginning; their mission is to ease the pain of death for people who are experiencing the last few remaining paragraphs of the novel that is their lives, and I, personally, am experiencing my terrestrial manifestation’s denouement. I reckon I knew that... I reckon that I thought that I could charm the “help” into liking me... and, of course, when I reference the “help,” I am referring to the indentured servants of the hospice who are exploited by the organizational hierarchy that is the bane of the for-profit health care system our country currently employs.

Don’t get me wrong. The “help” does like me; in fact, I would say that they love me... not eros or familial love but agape. They really want me to not only live but to succeed in pursuing my happinesses... in following my Muse; although, there’s nothing they can do for me but empathize, which is what they do... it’s what their respective Muses expect from them... it’s a gift for which I am grateful.

Meanwhile, the “office,” i.e. the middle management, gets blamed by the “aristocrats,” i.e. the corporate hierarchy who, in turn, blame the “help” for her inability to maintain an impossible schedule, an odious modus operandi that has been extant since, at least, the Middle Ages, a system of exploitation that, like slavery, callously treats humanity as chattel to execute menial manual labor that the current youthful zeitgeist understands is the shrewd and manipulative influencing of an under-served faction of people who are easily desecrated.

Problem is, at least for the status quo, that the youth of the nation, the current spirit of our country’s newly found political interest, does not notice any advantage to the status quo. Unlike previous generations, the largess of the status quo no longer trickles down as far as it once did, back when it created a middle class of moderation... for a few more privileged citizens... while the population of the caste of untouchables or the “help” expands substantially.

My personal conflict with the health care system is a microcosm of our nation’s current political divide. Unfortunately, the “aristocracy” of our society is still trying, desperately, to hoard all the money by maintaining control of the government via business modeling, which, I always thought, is Fascism. Regardless, the hoarding of wealth by the Tea Party faction of the GOP is still waging... only impotently.

The illusory power of the Tea Party faction of the GOP is quickly waning even if the loyal Trumpeters for Trump are too ignorant to understand the usurper’s ultimate downfall. Fox Pravda gives them hope, but the real news is seeping through: the constant hate- and fear-mongering have drained emotions that have been over-stoked for years; the incessant braggadocio over specious superfluity; the constant lies; Nancy Pelosi’s kicking Trump’s ample ass, embarrassingly, in the White House; Trump’s proclivity to appoint incompetent people to high level administrative positions; and Trump’s own obvious ineptitude is draining his support quicker than an asp’s bite to the bosom of Cleopatra.

Fortunately, our nation, although divided and tattered, is still a Democracy. I have no way of knowing how our current conflict will end, but I know a lot of damage has been done because our government, probably from the beginning, even before “the shot heard around the world,” has given privileges to a few; sadly, the privileges of the few have increasingly dwindled into privileges for even fewer, and it has caused not only the outrageous chasm between penury and extravagance, but it has also greatly diminished the population of the middle class.

No wonder we, the people, have been so disenchanted with our government... with voting. Although...

During the last presidential election, the choices between those of us who were disenchanted with politics since Reagan had been 1) to maintain the status quo (acquiescence); 2) to vote for anything totally different (nihilism); or 3) to wait for something to energize major changes, a social revolution (desperation).

Keep in mind that I believe that the word smithy and blind poet Homer is the main hero of both The Iliad and The Odyssey... not the warriors Achilles or Odysseus or any weapon of mass destruction, but I digress...

We, the citizens of the United States of America, for whatever the varied reasons, voted for Trump. We were ready to accept any change as long as it was dramatic.

We voted for Trump.

In retrospect, we voted for the most unqualified man to have ever been considered to lead our nation, a man who appears to be morally indifferent but who surrounds himself with theocratic politicians who describe themselves as Christian Conservatives without detailing what faction of Christianity will ultimately wield supreme control of our nation’s political agenda. This appealed to the people who feel that their government should be modeled after their religious denomination’s dogma, which scares me as much as an Islamic theocracy scares Christian Conservatism... as if Sharia Law is less or more admirable than Hammurabi’s code.

So we voted for Trump.

The reasons for voting for Trump will be questions that future historians will ask just as I questioned the intentions of German citizens during WWII who ignored the overt impotence of Hitler as a human being. The fact remains... we, as a democratic nation, within the boundary of rules and regulations written within the Constitution, elected Donald James Trump as president.

We did it.

It wasn’t Russia. It wasn’t China, Korea, Brexit, Israel, the Phillipines, the Caravan, the Ebola virus; it was the indifference of voting by a good portion of our nation’s populace that led to Trump’s election, which gives me hope because it is a strong indication that our nation is, once again, about to evolve... mentally, and when I talk about we the people , I am talking about my contemporaries, which includes the younger generation, women, people of diverse cultural origin, and people who are not as gender specific in choosing life partners; however...

Our planet has witnessed many empires from Egypt, Greece, Rome, Turkey, China, Maya, etc, but they all lay in ruins. There are many theories why, but nothing has been proved; however, it is obvious that these advanced civilizations popped up in-between periods of human ignorance. Humanity is in a continuous struggle between animus and civility. We all want, at times, to experience the thrill of living as an animal with instinctual justification for lusting after sensory satiation: the sinking of teeth into a juicy steak, the thrill of adrenaline the explodes after a near-death escape, the rush of speed, the exhilaration of unexpected electricity, and the screaming ejaculatory ecstasy of carnal exuberance, yet many of us, especially the infirmed, dig a more cerebral lifestyle. This is the battle of Homo sapiens from its terrestrial origins.

We seem to be morphing into self-replicating automatons, and this is why I am so hopeful. The status quo is not sustainable. Donald Trump may win this battle, but ultimately, the wave of progressive idealism will assuage the pain inflicted by his myopic agenda, either via peaceful revolution or war; either way, the status quo will become extinct.

I really don’t have anything personal against Donald John Trump. He is who he is and that is exactly what he must be. I am no philosopher; I am a jester; in fact, I am a jester trying my best to emulate Feste, who, I believe, is Shakespeare’s greatest character, but I digress...

Again, I don’t have anything personal against Trump. I just think he’s ignorant. Admittedly, I don’t know him personally; although, I have been exposed to way too much of his public speaking, and he has the mentality of a pubescent child who is motivated solely by his appearing to be a virile man... just like every average teenage boy, regardless of gender preference. The man is puerile, and I have witnessed his ignorant bombast since the 80s. It is no secret. The man acts like a hormonally charged pubescent boy whose parents didn’t discourage prodigality. That is it. There is nothing more.

Again, I am a jester who can’t believe that so many people still believe that Trump is in any way emulous, so I make fun of them. Can’t help it, or I shouldn’t...

I have known that Trump is ignorant, and I read Malcolm Nance’s book that he wrote months before the election, so I’ve prepared myself that he may be a #MuscoviteMarionette, but I had no idea about his total lack of concern for humanity. I am starting to wonder just how nefarious he is. It is no longer a joke. Maybe it is time to make amends with the people were duped by a charlatan, so we can, together, rise up and vanquish him… peacefully if possible.

Peace Through Music

Shameless Solicitation

It’s time. I need money to pay for someone to help me because I’m wearing out my family. I’m hoping to solicit enough money to overpay someone to help me throughout the day and night for a weekend... or longer; my septuagenarian parents need a break. Please read my story, and if you can, donate a few bucks. If a bunch of folks give just a little, I can stay home; otherwise, I will consider going into a nursing home. I am tired of being a burden on my family. If you are unable to donate, your support will be just as appreciated. Thank you very much.

Read my story...
...or you can buy my CD of jazz Vocals


To enhance the Quality of Life of People with Disabilities and the Under-served by Creating Music and Arts opportunities for Employment and Enjoyment!