Fri, Jun 4, 11:45 AM (10 days ago)

You're welcome, James, and thank you for the draft!

I'm very sorry to hear you're having eye troubles again and do hope they go away and stay away for good (even if that is too much to hope for).

I think we all have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other—whichever you may choose—perhaps both—should be whispering to you: social security disability. . . social security disability . . . social security disability.

Don't forget—you paid into the system for years—you should feel no shame or defeat in receiving a well-earned and well-deserved benefit...which would BTW essentially be just the return of the monies that were deducted/extracted from your employers and each of your own individual pay checks.

Best,

Snub-Nose Joe

Joe, thanks so much for your concern and suggestions. This does bear on the question of personal autonomy under the most pervasive and successful System of Control in the history of human mindstock management.

Joe, this is not the first time this has been suggested to me. In fact, at age 30, when suffering from a back injury that put me out of work for 7 months and financially ruined me to this day [walking away from a house has made me unable to even qualify for an Amtrak credit card] a neuro surgeon suggested I go on disability long enough to go to college and get a degree and go into debt and get a mind slave job instead of continuing with body slaving.

I managed to heal my back and spent the next 28 years lifting stuff for a living until my knees started to go and then walked away from that work, completely used up. I see myself at a similar crossroads with my eyes, an obvious case of use injury. I will have to find some medical and theraputic relief and begin treating these peepers like the injured organs they are. I have reduced my writing by 50% and my reading by 80%.

My view of taxes and disability are such:

I paid nothing into this system that I have always hated and has always fucked me. I was stolen from. In my idealistic stage I thought it was unethical to, in my greedy turn, become party to theft from other people in service to an evil nation that hates me for various crimes, such as defending myself and not kneeling before bantu warriors and not declaring all women my moral superiors like the many characters depicted by John Cuck Wayne.

In my decline, I advocate any and all use of the system to take from its slaves, for slaves deserve to be despoiled. As Xenophon said often enough, "what belongs to the weak therefore belongs to the strong." My reasons for declining disability on now three occasions, when people offered to help me, are informed by my one actual submission to the system of late.

My son was doing my taxes and fretting over me paying $1,000 to Obama for being uninsured, when I only made $9,000. My health plan of putting back $20 a week for medicine and dental was now gone, so he signed me up for medicare, which was great. Everything was covered. But, I had to move as my income hit $1200 a year and he and I were estranged.

It came to pass that I tried, cravenly, crawling on ether knees, to re-apply for this benefit online. I spent two writing days of 16 hours trying and failing to get through the maze of questions and passwords—I could not do it, could not prove I was me, remember my favorite color or any of that shit. There was the option of going to social service. However, when my lady friend Megan did that, she spent weeks being humiliated and denied by Queans behind the desk who sneered at white trash applicants. I just had too much pride, and not enough time for weeks spent bouncing around Baltimore seeking audiences with social service gate keepers.

I have no medical insurance due to being a fucking techtard, so deserve my plight, and for not maintaining close personal relationship with anyone capable for navigating the medicare site. I have further decided that I am done with medicine as an industry. I have a doctor friend who will write me scripts. I will not seek medical care again. People don't believe me, but harken, Good Samaritan, this time last year, I was pounding out a decision over the Land lady I was cohabitating with, something about a disagreement over which old person should be on top. Well, I stopped and began taking inventory in my mind and she looked up worried and asked what was the matter, surly the triple Gs were not getting in the way again...

I said, "Pain in my left chest, pain radiating down my left arm."

[Joint-creaking geriatric uncoupling omitted.]

She counseled, "Okay, this is where you decide whether you are going to start taking your health seriously or just ride your life into the ground."

I had to search my soul. Would I rather die now, enjoying this plump old girl for the one purpose she was rightly made, or should I go to one of these gay medical facilities and submit?

I said, "Let's go visit my Mom and Sister, then I'll call Doc."

"That's it," she said, cradling her breasts like inflatable draperies.

"No, girl, we've got unfinished business," as I pushed her rudely back, and she started, "But what if you die on me?"

"That's your problem..."

So, I passed that test—a stone age EKG.

Doc and I met for dinner at a burger joint and he checked my heart, lungs and arm on the parking lot and said, "Heart and lungs are perfect. You have a torn intercostal and carpel tunnel on the left. Let's eat, you freagin' maniac."

So, Joe, I would rather die doing something I like than supplicating to Great God Science.

I have become cynic and now have no problem with using an evil system to steal from its shit-bag mindstock.

I do not have the patience to deal with the gatekeepers.

There is also the parctical consideration, that I would be in the system's power, would be tendering bogus addresses and involving friends in my deception, dependent on the system to pay me, would have to go to various gatekeepers annually to reapply, to bend the knee again.

Never in my life have I taken unemployment, though I have been unemployed for 4 years.

Disability?

No, not happening, as I still suffer from delusions of athleticism. Hell, I boxed three young guys last month, twice and each one of them quit each round, before I even started to sweat. I might not be bullet proof, but I'm reason-proof.

Four years ago the state of Maryland actually sent me various letters and called me trying to get me to take food stamps. I answered that if the cutie who ran the department would personally bring my application and stay for wine, that I would consider it. Her secretary hung up on me.

There are two places were I have not been afflicted by these bad eye problems. In one of these places a woman offered to house me year round if I would stay in town and be her "live-in handy-man." This chick had just seen me working on the side of the road cutting down a tree and weeding and had started bringing me lunch.

I declined and she choked back a tear. I told her that she was cute enough, but I had places to go, ditches to dig and people to see.

Even making a doctor's appointment is infuriating. I called back the optometrist office that fitted me with my obsolete glasses three years ago. The lady was very nice.

She had many openings.

She asked me for my address, and I told her I had none.

She asked me if I could remember the address I had when I last saw them in 2018 and I could not, other than to tell her it was in East Towson—residence of the land lady who had since dumped me.

There was now only one opening in July.

She asked me what insurance I had, with a tight voice.

I told her that I was uninsured and would be paying cash.

She then became venomous and scolded me for being a low life and demanded over and over again that I show up at the door with $75 and pay in advance before the doctor would see me.

Joe, that is about all the gatekeeper shit I can eat this year.

If the optometrist says I have to see an opthamalogist, oh well. Months spent kicking around the shithole city I barely escaped in order to get an audience with a High Priest of Science is not worth it. I head west at the first week of August. Rather than be healed by the magic of science, where I have no bed open for more than 2 weeks and am more a nomad in Baltimore than in some far place, I'd rather suffer agony and sleepless vomiting nights in some better place. Beyond Baltimore I am not constantly eye-fucking Bantu warriors who are testing to see if I have slipped from predator to prey that day.

I only have 20 books left to write and then I am content to fade into the night. I think I should be able to manage two more years of writing if I am careful with my eyes. And if not, I will pay the price for my hubris.

That said, I woudl dearly like to linger long enough to see hordes of hate-filled invaders dragging boomer faɡɡots, Gen-X slackers and Mellenial soy boys from their science mindlots, into the open air of savage reality, long enough to drink a cheap beer and eviscerate a young buck and get dragegd down in the gory muck.

When only such fantasies hold real heart-felt appeal, it is probably time to look west.