Comment moderation is a pornography. This goes into my next book. WE WILL TAPE YOUR MOUTH SHUT. I forbid NYT to review it. Comments that get accepted are accepted with an astonishing lack of diversity. Women comment the least. Men comment the most. 88% are from the upper middle class. They're on the Internet in a variety of ways. Most are democrats who make more than 100k a year. They Are the Managers of the Status Quo. It is your grandmother’s bubble. The retired are their biggest group. None of them buy the reality that they are the elite. They are the elite. 80% higher ed. Cut that in half for earning a degree. Very few commenters are passionate about NYT. 90% of comments are made by folks who have commented before. NYT is stuck in an indifferent attitude that symbolizes class and caste. The pyramid starts at the top. Moderators are the lowest of the low. Comments are seen as a necessary marketing gimmick. Upper staff gets pissed off when they refer to commenters. Brooks will not read them. Others, read lightly. NYT, too, has serfs and aristocracy. I want to know how people think. But it's a monotone at NYT. They overtly destroy voice. By keeping comments civil but no one at NYT claims to know what civil is. After reading, no one changes their mind. The word SHOULD is the top word. You cannot measure meanness. It's what they are about. Columnists can break rules. Commenters not so much. Try never. I will slip this comment to the front of the book. WE WILL TAPE YOUR MOUTH SHUT. -- Tim Barrus
I am a communist. I am having Big Trouble with Medical Authority. A pacemaker keeps my heart beating. The heart, by itself, does not beat. Every day, I used to have to go to more tests, more tests, more tests. I'm done. I will not do more tests because this is not a life. This is out and out torture. I want to be left alone, now. But still, I get the phone calls. Test. Test. Test. I am totally demoralized. I will not go back to that monstrosity. They throw me into a depression so deep, I am afraid that next time, I won't be able to crawl out of it. I feel morally compromised when other patients (usually in the waiting room) speak to me about how they are afraid (ain't it awful dialogues), and I can tell they want me to share, too. I have tried to avoid it. I smile. Nod. I reflect back to them. I do not know how to tell them the truth. We are never told the truth. I do not tell them that they are going to be sexually abused. Just like me.
You close your eyes and you tolerate it. These are the people who are saving your life. While it's happening, you are not quite sure it's happening. Post appointment, you look back on it, and you feel totally crushed. I become immobilized. I tell patients (rarely) going through what I am going through and they look at the floor and nod. I have only done this twice. Sexual abuse is the real killer. I go home and weep. The cure is worse that the disease. And sharing with other patients is more than I can do. But what about the truth.
What about it.
I cannot remember that time, we were eating concrete. In the photograph below, we were eating concrete. Those plastic cuffs hurt. The New York Times threw my ass out into the street again today. To prove there is no blacklist. They publish one paragraph is hardly la te da. There is a blacklist (comment moderators are very powerful as a adjunct bad words cops on the trail of us lowly serial killers). Truth to power. I want to stop traffic. And make it difficult for suburban white guys to get home from work and have ten refreshing cocktails. Let them know you mean it. How dare they burn our constitution. It doesn't belong to them. It doesn't belong to the Supreme Court. It doesn't belong to the Library Of Congress. It's our constitution.
It represents us. It spells out the future for us. It is the only bedrock we have. Once the timid Americans make it quite clear that violence is off the table, I have to mentally step back. And rethink it through. Why is violence off the table. We need to look at that. NYT didn't like it because it was too strong (they use the word civil, they have no idea what it means). It's not my bad spelling. Their columnists say exactly what I have said about the Deviant. I use the exact same words. The New York Times does not like new ideas at all. They want to ruminate and interview themselves. What wounds. What licking wounds as we retreat. That renders them complicit.-- tim barrus
These are only samples. There are tons more. I will post more soon. Yes, I take commissions. Here goes: You tell me about yourself. Share some selfies. I get paid. Then, I start making art. Usually around a story. I might be rude. I am autistic, and mask a lot if I think you need me to. I do not mean to offend anyone. You can't say no. Once I start working, I don't communicate much with anyone. Not until I finish, and that means you, too. Don't call me. I send you the art, digital, I am doing a lot of collages.
