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
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Preamble
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...
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CAVEAT
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.
—SSTJazzVocalist
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Barr’s Jarring Bar of Mueller’s Report
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The Mueller Report is now in the hands of the Attorney General, and a debate is raging, but I am confused about what exactly these diverging views attack; it seems, to me, that the division is between combatants who are patronizing opposing themes using different languages... as plangently as a prepubescent’s publicly declaring her displeasure with screaming jet engine intensity that her ice cream cone does NOT have sprinkles. The debate is merely an exercise in semantics, and both sides are claiming victory, which is tiring. What excites me is the fact that this fiasco, call it what you will, is just beginning.
William Barr seems to exonerate our president of “no collusion,” and, to tell you the truth, I do not know what this connotes. I may strongly believe that Trump’s relationship with Russia should be illegal (#MuscoviteMarrionette), but what I think is about as relevant as an ant’s fecal deposit
’s
ranting against the Universe... ain’t nobody care; however, my main point from the beginning has been that the exclusive patriarchal influence of power that has catalyzed the rise and fall of governments throughout the history of humanity is moving towards an inclusive matriarchal diversity, and this is still a movement in progress irrespective of anything that may be falling through Trump’s orbit.
I think it a shame that I feel it necessary to include interpretations of my own rhetoric, but I never know if anyone who still supports Trump might accidentally read this essay, so I do feel it necessary to include a caveat that when I use the terms
patriarchal
and
matriarchal
, I am not including a gender bias. In this essay and others of similar ilk, a
patriarchal
influence is the kind of leadership in which one non-gender specific person, or a very small group of people, have complete control over an entity’s modus operandi, which can be represented as a triangle with the apex representing the few who make decisions while the broader base represents the majority of the people who support the top. A
matriarchal
influence can be represented by the circle, wherein the influence of power reaches inward to everyone equally.
At the particular political juncture in which we, as global citizens, currently find ourselves, in reference to the patriarchal/matriarchal conflict, the base of the triangle that supports our eco-socio-political agenda is starting to show signs of stress that will topple the pyramid into ruins. Soon, matriarchal influence will bring in a more tolerant and diverse society until the pendulum swings in the other direction, which may occur with a total collapse of the system from outside sources like what happened to Atlantis, Egypt, Machu Picchu, Ankar Wat, etc, or, perhaps, the matriarchal influence will catalyze a different ilk of exploitation. Regardless, the conflict has waxed and waned for a while, and it will continue until we, as a species, evolve closer to our potential... whatever that is.
Trump’s unexpected rise to political prominence is the apex of the Southern Strategy that was initiated by Nixon and perfected by Reagan. Unfortunately, Trump exacerbates the surreptitious nature of the racism of his predecessors with much more hubris, a racism that is the overt catalyst for the Tea Party faction of the GOP, and this angers some “conservative christians” because they’ve convinced themselves that Manifest Destiny justifies their privileges that they, in turn, justify as rewards for their “working hard,” i.e., they’ve earned deific rewards for feigned intellectual or moral superiority. I do not doubt that these people worked hard for their remuneration, but this is an acknowledgment that also admits that the status quo did not restrict their opportunities but does restrict opportunities of others, which they fain ignore.
The Southern Strategy worked, but its power is fleeting; although, its detrimental influences will have lingering effects and will take a lot of time to heal; its downfall is that Trump, and far too many of his associates, lack moral and intellectual acumen, and this blatent ignorance will catalyze the complete destruction of the Tea Party, which will have to ultimately repair their brand.
A secondary theme to my rhetoric is that Trump is the paragon of what a man should NOT be... irrespective of his relationship with any foreign leader.
Trump’s usurpation of the presidency may last throughout his first term, but history will embarrass him and his legacy. The dude has been a douche his entire life, and he is still an amoral idiot. I am not judging; I am merely objectively narrating what I believe to be veraciously accurate. Trump’s post-terrestrial destiny does not concern me; judgment will be exacted by an unimpeachable authority, but the most ignominious aspect of Trump’s presidency is that we, as a nation, elected him... it should not have even been close, but he won. The glaring shame is our nation’s disinterest in government. We cherish our individual freedoms above our social obligations. This, however, will change... soon.
Peace Through Music
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I Was Fired Because I Am A Quad
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OK. We, as a nation, are confronted with a Pandora’s Box that everyone claims to want opened but with expectations that will make intolerable the interim between now and when everything will be disclosed, so I am going to take a break to address a personal experience that has been misdiagnosed by possibly unintentional obfuscation that has some of my own kith and kin discouraged with what they too willingly believe has been my worst failure: my being fired from TSYS.
For the record: My being fired was the best experience in my life; the second best experience was when I was hired.
I broke my neck on April 18, 1986. Not quite six years later, on January 6, 1992, I began working as a computer programmer for TSYS, a multi-billion dollar corporation with headquarters in my hometown Columbus, Georgia, the Fountain City. TSYS is a technological engine that maintains and develops software to help financial institutions exploit the credit card industry. From day one, I needed help catheterizing myself, which needs a bit of explaining. I am a quadriplegic who is unable to perform even the most rudimentary acts of daily living. This means that I need help urinating, but just how that is done was never considered.
I do not want this essay to mimic the excessively sophist pedantry of Mellville’s tome about a vengeful albino whale, so I will not go into assiduous detail about the surgery, but I was one of the first high-level quads to have undergone the surgical operation called an ileostomy with an Indiana Pouch. Basically, Dr. Bennett took part of my large intestine and made an organic pouch out of it. This became my new bladder into which my kidneys are attached. To empty this neo-bladder, one must insert a catheter tube into a hole that is to the right of my navel. That’s it... in a nutshell.
The point is that my catheterizing is a procedure that I do every three hours. It does not expose my penis; although, whoever helps me does have to look at my very extended and lily-white abdominal dome; there is a possibility that some urine might get on my helper’s hand, but it’s urine; it is a non-sterile procedure, so there is very little chance of spreading disease; and, finally, and most importantly, I need to remove the urine from my body or I will die.
The previous paragraph was brought to you by Hallmark... when you care enough to send your loved one a card written by somebody else.
OK. I am hired in 1992. Groovy. I work with a bunch of groovy people; I’m making friends, and the work is challenging. However, we work in the Annex, an uncompromisingly boring rectangular two-story drab-gray concrete building, which will make more sense anon... I promise.
Point is that for the first seven years of my employment, when I worked in the Annex, I asked co-workers to help cath me, feed me, and do other things for me that I am unable to do... and nobody cared. I asked mothers to help me because mothers, in my opinion, are true nurses. They have empathy and, it seems to me, want to help people.
Basically, my friends did not mind helping me, including the upper administration. I even spilled a bit of urine on the carpet of a senior vice-president’s office. It really was a family atmosphere. Then, in 1999, my programming group got transferred to the brand new campus by the river, the architectural wonder on prime river property. Suddenly, TSYS proclaims with the hubris of inherited wealth that my friends could no longer help me. That’s fine because the company decided to pay someone to cath me during work hours.
Capitalism at its best.
Then the financial crisis of ‘08 changed things. I am thinking that the company may have changed agencies to save money, but I only really know that the quality of health care changed for the worse. I don’t why, but the people who were paid to help me started arriving at odd times, and this lack of maintaining my schedule caused me to urinate on myself. Often.
I used Marta, our city’s para-transit service, but one has to schedule a pick-up 24 hours in advance, so when I leaked on myself, para-transit was not available. The regular bus route would take hours, so I generally took off in my wheelchair. I took the back roads, and when I got home, I would call someone to assist me. By the way, sidewalk accessibility throughout my hometown city is spotty at best, so I was very often riding my wheelchair in the middle of a few very busy streets... not so discreetly.
I’d been working for TSYS for 16 years, and the paid health care helper does not resolve his tardiness, so I stopped using him and asked my friends to help me, which they did. A small-minded sycophant in HR tells me that I can’t use my friends because they might get a disease or worse. I produce a letter from my doctor who states unequivocally that my friends are as safe as any person who changes a baby’s diaper, but I am still denied. I cuss the HR dude because he is a fucking idiot, and I am sent home.
A few days later, I receive in the mail a request to meet company management. Basically, a very high-level manager, who liked me, did not want to fire me, but when I asked him to fix the catheter situation, he said no. So I asked him to fire me.
But wait; there’s more.
Remember earlier when I detailed that we moved to the beautiful new campus at the turn of the century? Yes. I actually loved rolling down the river walk even though Hussey’s Tire Jungle was bought out. Anyway...
TSYS changed insurance companies... I think, but a human resource woman found that through this new policy, I could get $100 a day to pay for attendant care. Hurrah! Capitalism at its best. Unfortunately, it was a ten year plan, and the HR woman told me that when it ran out, there was no more to come.
I paid my attendant care all the money, and the quality of my health care improved. Life was good. However, 8 years after the insurance policy begins, I ask the vice-president to fire me. I realize that I have only two years left on the insurance policy. When it expires, there is no way I am going to be able to afford to pay attendant care, so what will I do then?
I
’
d have to move back in with my parents.
I was fired... and it is because I am a quad.
Had it not been for a smarmy individual in Human Resources who was trying to justify his employment but got his l’il ol’ feelings hurt because he lacks both self-esteem and mental acuity, I would still be employed as a computer programmer urinating on myself and smelling like an outhouse... and using a GoFundMe campaign to pay for my attendant care, which is what I am doing now without contributing to the economic divide that is exacerbated by our nation’s current interpretation of Capitalism, which exploits the status quo.
Peace Through Music
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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...
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...or you can buy my CD of jazz Vocals
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Abel 2's MISSION STATEMENT:
To enhance the Quality of Life of People with Disabilities and the Under-served by Creating Music and Arts opportunities for Employment and Enjoyment!
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